Tag: Creative Writing

Poem – “A Visitor, A Shadow” – 3/1/2023

Loose pebbles.
Wonderment. For a second,
I thought you were listening
to me, screaming
under colder blankets,
than what’s outside,

than even what’s inside
this form, full of blood
melted from ice.

Will you ever burn
for another moment more,
to bring me warmth,
to turn apart
this unbecoming anguish?

Sanity will bring me
apart from me, back to what
still shelters me
even in misguided guidance,
away from what
stagnates this heart,

frozen, when torn apart.

You found a route around
these deserted roads,

while you hold your life,
clasped, in candlelit fingertips,

drinking from a bottle –
your wine, that never tips,
for your promises
to a life, that never slips.

Flash Fiction Piece – “What Use is Belittlement?” – 3/1/2023

I keep grieving on that last word, hoping that meteors will reverse themselves. Or that an eclipse will bring back its former light. Or that a tidal wave would not have crashed to topple a tower – that tower, the one where we were unified. Being held upright, because there was a desire to be as close as possible to stars. Instead, eyes were brought down, falling to pathways called scars. Burying everything inside, finding futility in everlasting joy. All familiarity upended itself upon everything somehow destined to keep going – if only to hear a heart at that last word, matching it with a final heartbeat.

Who heard us? Screams were whispers. Traded answers were given more questions, as those once-endeared had been deserted upon oceans that never teemed with life. Closure was merciful, or it merely cleaned off a written page I should have taken to, to relieve you, to let you go from these dirtying arms. I was responsible for all, to relieve that which confined you. I brought you up, for though we were unified at that tower, I was that tower.

My legs, here being crippled, are kneeling to this result, this emptiness. For what are stars but a white, blank page; and what is darkness of space besides another bewildering absence?

Lasting until a morning burned itself on our foreheads, and I refused to let you know. I refused to let you go, while you had already closed your eyes. You were deaf to feeling, while I was blind to what you were hearing. You were hearing another call, while I clung onto a single word that you ignored. Perhaps purposefully? It might be with purpose, as all you held onto was another word I could not tell had always been your truer fulfillment.

Poem – “Hold Hope Against Your Eyes” – 3/1/2023

Feeling faint, drifting saint,
passing a word through your mouth,
letting it leak out,

running with the highways
from your eyes, with your tears,
with smoke from your past,
where brakes never existed
in sending you across,
in letting you stop.

But I’ll come down
to your knees, on my knees,
soaking you in sunlight,
dreaming with your delicate mind
of what can come at night,

of what can stay in sight.

I’ll tear down curtains
to hold you, overhead,
while I wash your brittle flesh,
beyond consuming death.

I’ll keep you hoping
with daytime against your eyes,
for what runs naked
among morning skies,
for what keeps dreaming
in reflections of your cries.

Poem – “A Cry from Empty Corners” – 3/1/2023

I’ll stay here
to cross paths, to merge shadows,
comfortable in what we carved
on sidewalks, heavy with
a rush, from fallen rain,
soaked in our stories,
painted with feet
dancing to unending trails.

Though, I weep, wanting
what keeps these shoulders
buried down. And are you
hearing those footfalls
on pavement, lost and crippled?
I pull loose these tears
like bullets from dead flesh,

and are you still hoping
that silver has killed me,
an unholy monster?

Turning to find,
to remind all blankness
in this sterile mind,
that in those corners
I still abide by what remains,
even if all that stays
is hollowness and tearstains,

even if what has subsided
is sunlight, into a dense shadow.

Flash Fiction Piece – “Everything to Her Obliviousness” – 2/27/2023

I re-envisioned someone in a different state. A new world. Another pathway. She drew herself back into collapse, as all things, all memories would fade in her shadow. I drew her in, I carried her home. Many times, I brought her into open arms. Would they close? Would they ever truly close? I embraced an icicle. It wouldn’t melt, as arms were nothing but that which she confirmed as only to her familiarity. To her, arms would leave. To her, arms would dissipate, like fog before sunlight rises. It had been for sunlight to also leave. For fog remained, whether with or without sun, and she stood there not ever concealing anything.

I loved, for what I could know. Whereas she blanketed her mind in an emptiness that gave her grace. To step across feeble places, to find herself trapped; as that was, to her, something of a reminder. As memories faded, they’d return at the simplest gesture – of a pair of arms that were open, like gates or a broken dam, and she’d run to that sight. She’d run, take in, and soon find herself mourning before anything ever began.

She’d bleed from wide-open veins, of a color identical to a sunset. While nothing would rise to meet her lips, driven as taste of something bitter, while all to realize would be what falls. To crimson, to fire in rays of a distant, disappearing warmth, all of that falls to kiss her feet, to remind her of something that begs. For what? For what knows its own inevitability. To be inadequate. To be insufficient. To be faulted, like all human matter of flesh that breaks, that wilts, that grows old, though she won’t subside to that. She won’t embrace, because she won’t close chapter after bleak and somber chapter. She won’t close booklets of musical notes, of those that speak her grief to stars that are received with her blindness. She won’t see light, as it makes its presence, since despite a rising sun being also inevitable, she’ll only close that day to remind her of what fell.

To her feet, from her eyes, and back again. To her heart, from damaged recollections, and forward again to repeat itself.

Flash Fiction Piece – “A Pinnacle of Negligence” – 2/27/2023

It was a display. A sight. A sight that had nothing for me to see, for that’s what it was. An absence. Neglect. What did she neglect? All of me, from all of her. A part of her had been torn open wide, by love, than for what love did upon me. I felt its sting. To love, I felt shelter creeping in, though rain kept pouring in. To her, that shelter was a crater. A hole dug inside pure earth, for that would be her grave. Though, there’d be no one around to fill that space.

A neglect, she dealt upon me, as she left without a word to recede back even further into that same crater, that same space. It had been because whether to love, or to her loneliness, all dug areas were like graves, or pits of darkness where all to kiss for her was death. Death has room, as it must be, because she made use of it. All once-emptied corners, of a perfect circle, were replaced with decor to her liking. While none of it conveyed itself as light, she dwelt there, displayed as someone who fights fragility with fragility. Her delicate nature, as it appears to me, withholds. She withdraws herself back to feeling as numb as a corpse might be imagined to be. Lost, directionless, and phantasmal. Passing through, though not letting go. Finding space, setting herself into a place to call home, though nothing stays.

A word. One solid word, to describe her, and I could call that to be, “Fallen”. That word. One dismal word. A fatal singular from a strip of vocabulary that detaches itself perhaps from all motes of intellectualism; though, it must be accurate! Who finds her? Nothing but the dark, of a woman who entered in through me to nurture herself in sameness. She was the same as when alone, in love, with me. With me, with no one, and she fell upon this heart of mine like it was paper. Insecure. Insincere. Unsurprising.

Poem – “Stepping Around Her Absence” – 2/25/2023

Stilled, under
one of her stars.
This one, by instinct,
I follow, buried beneath
a puddle of gloom,

blanketed in this transparency
that everything had kept
its secret certainty.

I’ll force, to forge
a way forward, though not
while mirrors are decorating
these hallways. A mind –
a ceiling that connects
all things left behind,

connected at pebbles,
dissolved into stars.

One more, another breath
to keep me going
against her beating heart,
that brief thumping
inside entrapped portraits,

frames like hands,
canvases like histories
being filtered.

Going astray
to her stare, looking back
only at a second in time
when our lips were stuck,
when our outpoured words
wilted with promises,

no longer watered in gardens
growing black with night.

Poem – “Broken into” – 2/21/2023

For how far
will these passions ever stir?
Fatal comparisons.
Endearing journeys
driven west, brought forward
to serenity’s test,

as we fall forward
into arms that sink,
into compassion, underneath
passion, brought low
with our falling hearts,
like all raindrops
turned from fire,
into relief.

To surfaced reconnections,
with shells about us,
we lived without heartbeats,
with smoke that came from
abandoned embers.

No one hears
a sound, we used to make,
drifting on these tethered shores,
blanketing our eyes
in seamless skies,

while holding a rope,
connecting future back to past,
believing what we foresaw
to come back,

together, betraying knowing
that we only longed
for what, we could not
keep hidden.

All hope,
falling as a petal
on a naked pair of lips,
sipping sour air,

while arms are paired
in eternity’s dare.

Poem – “The Absent Muse” – 2/21/2023

Who knows that brightness?
Alike, miserable, and alike,
with brittleness to each of her
feathers of wings, tresses that bring
highlights to wounded words,

and am I finding answers
in these scars? Am I erasing anything
when all I have found,
could ever find –

is her barrenness?

A field,
an exploration of these feet,
over her flesh,
wandering to find,
to remind a mind
of a love where I poured
endlessness into endlessness,

and found a reusable strength
to hurl a light into an abyss.

I strangle these notes,
bite through these words,
fold pages into pauses,
moments into memories,
and repeat a song
I did not want to memorize
when it leaves me,
when waves leave me
crushed, upon a shore,

faulted, far from doors,
far from distances
and no more to explore.

Poem – “To Pleasure’s Height” – 2/20/2023

Upwards into
crimson timelines,
blanketing all moments
in a space, a crude, delicate
surface of white,

of flesh that mimics death,
surrounding eyes
that close for blooming skies.

Tresses, laid against
a pair of lips. She sighs
to pages being flipped,
while inside her smile
are those bared glimpses
of one more solid anchor,

one more stain of heaviness
contained inside pebbles,
black as shrunken,
ingenuine hearts.

One more lie, travelling as
uncontrolled flame, within her
hands, buried in her
teeming sounds. To lifted lips,
over to shoulders where lies
all strands of deception,

countless enough to transfer
her whimpering into sleep.

Enough, to tell a tale
with boldness for its sale –
of a heart that shows its limits,

though a thousand more chimes
will attract its same number
of repeated crimes.

Poem – “Still-Birthed Love” – 2/20/2023

Enactment. Discourage me
from accusing you. You are ashore,
waving your rotting hands,
decaying before waves,

of sunlight you sent away.

Another eternity
to match reflection
with a suddenness,
a truth just discovered,

emboldened, enlightened
at what you sent across
on sinking ships.

Who are we
to keep feeling this way?
A cross, hammered with nails.
A droplet of blood
diluted into salt,

of oceans,
with breath over
everything we have ever
discovered,

denying our fears,
crystallizing our certainty
in dewdrops and tears.

Which way? What day
will we be united,
with hands that never wave
for waves, blending themselves
in curves over sands,

upon burning shorelines?

What face will we make
when we are fossilized,
among remembered moments
of near-fatal heartbreak?

Are we hopeful? Are we fitful,
or are we hoping to fit ourselves
for limitless tragedy?

Poem – “An Air of Miscomprehension” – 2/8/2023

Slowing vows, fading eyes
that are debriefed for what’s uncovered,
no longer left in disguise,
no longer left to shadows that retreat,
weeping for their creation,
their light,

their position upon
abandoned trails.

To eyes, leaving tears
as pebbles on littered highways,

over to boulders, clogged hearts
that await their appearance,

filtering to be craters,
an absence of their place
discovered under lens.

Lens. Pinnacles of madness
brought forth, brought out
for book pages, as answers,
though no one targets
a keen source,

that dealt agony
inside stricken addiction,
faceless enchantment.

Who’s left to hold us down,
to keep us covered
in fluttering consolation? I keep
these wounds, closed,
remembering a white curtain
blocking sunlight to absorb,
shielding hope’s
glowing words.

What’s left to see?
These fissures, these seeds,

to forfeitures that entertain
another dance, towards death,

without much to keep this storm
humming on, with fragrant breath,
with running winds,
with trails, from eyes
seeing our reflection
in moving clouds.