Event horizon That fine line between lying and having something to lie about. Like a scent you cant place, but feel between the empty thoughts in your head. You have to pick up the motes with the weakest link. You have to feel them with your fingertips until the texture isnt foreign anymore. They have…
Category: writing
A fire; Slow and Bright
A fire, slow and bright Are you sure you want to do this? To dive into a fire so hot, The friction of your swallowed sins and borrowed regrets will be so shallow an experience that your hands will shake with fury and some kind of pride not entirely your own. I think that maybe…
So Much So
Maybe if I didn’t want to start everything I write with the same three words, I would feel the crater in my chest fill. I can’t measure the depth of it for fear of losing myself. The feeling of wanting to know your state of being never leaves. Tell me you’re sad so I can…
Matter
When your thoughts turn again to the grey space between anger and apathy. The foundation you have built between your eyelids to hold them open begins to crumble. Collapse. Never enough
Clouds
Cloud my eyes Pull the sickness of my sight from me. So the lust of companionship is not wasted on all I see. Flay my fingertips, so I only touch What I really need, rather than what I want.
Feeling/Felt
feeling-felt still some other greater mystery to me- I suppose this is how you understand your place. below and falling flailing and silent, for fear of waking the beasts above
Forget
forget Keep your hands where I can see them so they don’t plunge into some depth beyond my vision to pull screaming, those words I’ve said before and shouldn’t have.
Certainty
certainty building on foundations of mud and some kind of desperation I always end up back here alone. maybe if my pipe dreams werent flushed down and out the moment I trained my eyes upon them I would at least have a few stones to stand upon as my crude replica of happiness is crushed…
Some Other Greater Mystery
Some other greater mystery Maybe listening to the bands we once shared will make me remember our old ways a little more clearly Pretend we are still floating around one another in those nebulous secret ways Bare ourselves to that even steady judgement that never came and let the small things slip Its hard to…
Pointless
pointless -wilted flowers on notebook pages so many things I forgot- I can’t help but think: I guess it would be easier to accept if you had died or something. How conceited I must really be to think that someone wouldn’t want to associate with me anymore I don’t have a way to reach out…