Category: Uncategorized

Pain follows its footstep,
under where we cried
with blue in its dimmest hue,
wired in this shelter
where storms never pass,
deserving us
born upon another,
bleeding where we
are distantly smothered.

Thunder fades
to come, again, as we
are each crack in a tree
that grows if only to show
what it did not know.

We are those flames
that conceal our
brittle wounds. Nothing to
live for, with all things
to love after. Our eyes are
watered under those
descending tragedies.

Weather in those clouds.
Our hands, scarred,
with smoke rising
from open lips.

Our fever, our light
goes out in this faceless
night, where we
have been fused, if only
to never lose.

White lightning, a blank
page to keep our tunes rehearsed.
A bleak shell, a shape that
retains its hollowness, like our
words said, if only
to keep its silent,
violent melody.

See me. See safety.
See these wings that
never will give forth less,
when presenting a caress
upon your longest hurt.
You bend forth,
sifting ash, where memories
were scattered from
discarded photographs.

Are you afraid of storms,
when always welcoming them?
Something thunders
inside your deepest arms.
Teardrops fall, towards lakes
always bare for your
frozen, trembling body.

Will you come back
to see what never died,
as all it did was cry?

If I run to you,
will you move to fly
from cliff to become
a final brokenness?

Something had told
me, to never push
you against your scars,
against those cliffs,
where you keep yourself
seated, while weeping
waterfalls in a drought.

I never told myself
to not force you to bleed.
I kept you open,
hoping that I would close
with darkness over
these eyes that burn.

Delusional. Inside a
sentence, that promises
some other page
in a book with vast hopes,
with long tunnels
towards another entrance.

You will find arms
more comforting than
what wires you
to disconnection.

If all, might have been
after that emptiness,
of mourning. If two eyes
had seen, that sapphire,
those dimming skies, becoming
bright, in an aftermath
for one pleasant morning.
If one heart, had felt
its bathing veins, in a puddle,
to drench itself, in what
our fears, never muddled.

I have locked, onto you.
Missiles, cruising over blanketing
seas. I still live, in these currents,
as I hold, onto your hand,
even across, different lands.

You are never dressed,
while you have regressed
further, from me with that
bottle, with our belief, with its
teardrops, to make this bitterness
another source, of our sickness.

A vulnerable, nude depiction
that martyred itself, on loneliness.
Are you exhausted, within
these cold, lifeless winds?

I want to hold you,
though nothing can be
grasped, nor seen.

I count you,
leaving as dust,
smoldering over, in red,
upon lips, decorated
with rust. I am sheltered
in surrounding fog.
Blanketing memories, ever
keeping me near
to surrender. When I
pray to those clouds,
I still find everything there
to be collected in
shivering hands.

Those moments I come out
to see a sun being lifted
from somewhere distant,
I begin to feel an ocean,
before my dive,
I feel where I might have lived,
before I died, before I cried.

These times when I open doors
to see something else, I will
face everything that I have ignored.

When I turn back, I will see
another door, back to everything
I have adored. Back to all
that keeps me against a wall.

Cold winds, winter’s kin,
summer’s abandonment of
this blissful sin
that keeps me living in
a repeating fatality.

Piles of
shelter, your limbs,
your creases,
within releases,
while life depletes
in this mirror.

Fell your tears,
walking north. Kiss
this sadness, into blue,
aching in starvation.
Your resignation
to die, before a river,
as you will let
rapids come close,
after flesh opens.

Wait for night
to designate
our time-zones to
be similar, to be
familiar. Where have
all our oceans left?

Pressure me, while you
live to misunderstand me.
Do not ever allow
a single word, to run down
bottomless throats.

Nakedness of us. For weather
paints eyes into rust. Kept
shut, for salt, for stinging
wounds. A face reaches twin
currents, down to your
burial of hands.

A form fades into gray
wash, in colorless display.
A river takes your life
towards a fall,
towards my strife.

Whatever hiding spot. Meet
here. We wander on hot pebbles,
living inside fissures.

These roads, where all our
suns come down. Those valleys
where all our growth
fell low. We copy our youth
backwards, on a long walk
back to yearning.

Each inescapable sunrise,
all daylight we shun,
while words can run on
as prayers for a grave.

Late to be
attacked for belief.
We are closed in coldest,
stone-cold arms.
Rivers are our bridges,
while walls are our beds.

Wide-eyed, instigated.

Moon-lit, intimidated,
as current carry our
words, over cliffs.

Ignite. Bright light
carries debris past this
past. One awakening
sun can tear our shelter
down, these walls to
shake under a range of
forgotten emotions.

You live near me.
You age, while decaying
next to me. You were
buried with another heart,
that stopped moving.
When we touch,
explore a world that
carries no crutch.

One last letter
burned into a letter,
detailing our history.

One more teardrop
to describe a darkness,
before we turn
towards all that we
ever churned.

Say your sadness. You have
always been burned into
screaming your madness. You
have always longed for
a watering touch, from one
pair of approaching eyes.

You have burned for enough,
falling apart, long enough.

A bed for you. Rest for you
to never count what has
been left. What stays, inside
a closed shell, on your soul,
on your eyes – a building’s
inferno. You ask, to know
where relief will be.
Your questions, upon sheets
of snow. You ask when
grief will release.

Tell those oceans. Tell your
heart to quicken itself.
Command your eyes to run
rivers, past me. When I
grieve, I want to hold your
floating hand. When I
love, I want to keep you.
I want to keep you
from feeling.

Bleed on. Bleed past me.
Move on to abandon me,
under a moon’s eye,
within a lonesome,
nighttime cry.