She wandered to the creek,
Dazzling water, and light surroundings.
She peered over, to see the lightness become a black sky, with red eyes.
The creek had deceived her, filled with poison and not water
It was much like herself,
Distilled and distant
“You’ll learn to hate me, but will still call me baby.”
Maybe our souls all bleed the same colour. And maybe that’s why it hurts when we leave.
I don’t know if I really feel guiltyOr if it’s just the hour, that’s late and makes my heart drag backwards
Through memories and floods
Things I wish I could bleach but instead I just continue to stain.
Maybe it’s the cold and the smoke filling lungs in bitter air.
Clouded, confused, straying from truths and lies told so many times over
Said you hadn’t forgotten, when I said I had. I suppose we switched the roles we played and so maybe your guilt free, and I’m guilty.
When the world caves, and I don’t feel safe; When my bones rattle, and my mind shatters; You find my heart and hold me in place.
Winter reminds me of you,The season comes, and it’s here. It’s cold, but in a warm way. There’s love, everywhere. The kind of love that’s handed out in the most forgiving way. Full of meaning, and purity.
Then, it’s gone.
The ice melts into the sidewalks. And the warmth that lays in our hearts is forgotten. The break is over, and life continues to happen.
The winter reminds me of you,
Because when it’s here, it’s here.
And when it’s gone, it’s really gone.
You’re mine.It’s simple.
Sometimes I have to repeat those words to remind myself,
you’re mine. Nobody else’s.
Your eyes only focus on my eyes.
Maybe there were sun rises that kissed your cheeks, long before us.
But now the night sky holds you tightly, and carefully.
and the sun doesn’t just rise, it lifts you with it.
Not them, not anybody else.
You are mine, just like I am yours.
You moved far away. And then, your mind followed. I’m not sure how it started.
With stars in your eyes, you melted into a puddle on a sidewalk that everyone walked on.
it hadn’t even snowed yet but frost landed over your top lip, it felt good, you said. I screamed. But you didn’t hear me because of the miles that keep us apart. When that frost melted, hell rose at your feet. Every bad decision ever made turned into more cement, and that puddle that was you dried into it. You can’t decipher what is you and what is this fear. Neither can I.
They tell you to write what you feel, as you’re feeling it. And I try. And I feel. I feel too much, sometimes. But then other times, my chest sits like an empty picture frame. My mind hanging on like the nail slipping out of the drywall.
I don’t want to feel. I want to write. I want words to flow out of me like the blood that’s left these scars. I want stories, and poems find their way down my fingertips and onto the blank page that stares at me. I want the feeling of disappointment to vanish through the lines, I want the lines to be clear. I’m not clear. What I write is not clear.
What I feel is not clear.
I can feel the volcano in my chest, it’s rising, up through my lungs, reaching my throat. It pauses. And it’s stuck there. No breaths can slip past it, only desperation and despair.
My skull is wrapped in this hurricane, thoughts of being buried underground and the blackness that follows. Thoughts of guilt, shame. Is it going to kill me this time? Part of me hopes. Part of me wonders.
Then, the rupture. It happens. And it happens quickly and all at once. The colour red pours out, steam covers the room. It continues to happen. Clouds roll in to cover the fire lit sky.
Washed out, the dust settles. Whatever remains are left scatter the surroundings. The hurt, is there. But quiet now. Back to how it was before it was disrupted. Embers burn. Rattles calm.
And just like that, the cycle begins again.