Lazarus Rises (amongst other things)

by Berklie Novak-Stolz

Maybe if he can leave the grave, I can too.

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.

But now, it feels as if though I wear my heart on my entire body And it is bleeding And it is breaking

am left Wondering why Emptiness is so heavy.

and know that while you are lonely, You are not alone.

i say these things in hopes that you will understand i am empty in a way that exists outside the bounds of vacancy. in a way i have yet to find the words to describe.

You are not lost. You are gone.

I know this burdensome and heavy hollowness I carry is simply Love, But my arms are unaccustomed to the weight, and they are getting tired and you are getting heavier by the second.

Where I cannot find good, I must make it. Where there is no warmth, I must create it.

I weep because I know he doesn’t think he deserves to be saved.

and this apocalypse is my own making.

Misery loves company, not because Misery is greedy Rather, Misery is lonely. And so when our Misery sees another, we rejoice

And burning the candle at all ends for the warmth of others doesn’t do much to hold your darkness at bay?

or maybe because I’m scared to get better. It feels good to be sad. Comfortable in its familiarity, in its predictability.

Even on the days when I think I have given up, my body propels me forward,

saying that we have to try anyway. Especially on these days.