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what lies in between.
I have always loved red clay, but resent it in this moment. It is the last thing that you will ever touch. What a profound honor for dirt.
"The scar I left you, what does it feel like?" and my answer will ring out across the years that once separated us “Like love.” I will say, “It feels an awful lot like love."
The empty you made engulfs so completely it leaves room for nothing else. I am filled brim top of the consequences of your nonexistence. I am void-full as my every atom is made up of you and your nothing and your lack of.
The rules of physics don’t mean jack shit when you're in the ground.
What an awful compliment, to be told you do well at summarizing the dead. How horrible it felt, being told I’d succeeded in fitting you in that fucking box.
one day, I will move on from my grief. from my anger. one day, I will sit here and only tell you joyful things. one day, I will, like Lazarus, rise and defy your grave. but one day, is not today as this today is painful and bloody while we sit in your tomb, nonexistence clawing at what is left of me.
Atlas has abandoned his post. Now he pays his penance In the center of my chest. The weight of the world, Terrible and heavy without you Now balances on my lead-laden heart. Pinned down and gasping for air I am left Wondering why Emptiness is so heavy.
“If it bleeds you can kill it.” Yet my bleeding heart still grieves. I have found no weapon to pierce the armor Which Grief has crafted from my love. You cannot kill what can never die.
Absence and fond hearts and other bullshit.
I when once young dreamed of wings But now I have grown into my lead-laden feet Yet I also find myself in a young grave.
Hope and betrayal are words that should not exist within one Yet here I am.
And to think, As a child I wanted nothing more than to be just like you. There’s your fucking poem.
I loath and resent and quarrel with the creature I have become.
I have yet to master the art of going softly I am frenetic and I am fighting and I am attempting to find my way out but I am three horsemen deep and this apocalypse is my own making.
and word-heavy air is something that demands stillness not disturbance.
A rare thing it is When giving away Makes us feel more full.
