rough…

 

lines feathered and muted

rough art inside me anymore

uncertainty blankets my heart

I don’t really fucking care anymore (I try to convince myself)

running sounds sane

yet I won’t escape

I’ve tried to exhale

waiting to be delivered from

every thought and feeling…

yes

no

I feel

I don’t

I don’t fucking care (silence is convincing me)

leave

love

lie

wtf ever

 

 

 

 

 

atom & cell…

more than anything 
as she becomes further matter
as she is more dissected 
thinned
finer
defined particles 
these atom & cell
more the less chance 
of breathing 
combing into he
She is feeling loss
an end before beginning 
to become he & she 
A Whole…

sweet death of a rose…


May death be sweet
like that of a dying rose
past her prime
when molecular structure is chaos
and her heart only knows
to fold and shut in

each petal breaks apart from stem
her last vein severed
though her fragrance lingers
her perfume long lay breathing

shall you watch her 
release her frame
this life inside her aching 
to sustain her worth
and to what moment 
does she finally herald
love, let go…
(don’t…not yet)

May her death be sweet
inhale her one last time
achingly embrace her
beautiful loss in goodbye 
yet do not not leave her 
unattended in her decay 
wondering the reason
of her bloom
 

felled from my lips…

there will be an end…
I’m uncertain with which means it is to happen

perhaps I’ll be 105
well beyond breathing expectation

I may still carry an ocean in my eyes but maybe they’ll reflect his sky

I won’t ever unknow him and my heart races surging with that truth

yet I may never ever truly know the movement of he…my heart already feels every ounce of that kind of empty

I probably won’t hear very well at that age as my ears are forever plugged into music…even now I write with live and intoxicating sounds flowing through me

I am fluid in uncertainty; the remains of hesitation line my lungs; these effects travel through time…I know I still feel this, what this is in the now; and so feel it then

squeezing every drop of he from me…I’m airless and deaf in the loud disclosure of quietness; even then when I’m 105 I will feel as now; alone…uncared for…exposed and unfurled, scented with don’t waste me

I dont know how to navigate this terrain, its foreign soil slipping through my fingers, and chokehold on my red dusted heart

tell me, should I turn to leave
jump from cliffs
slide into the crevasse
disappear into a dark lake bottom
never speak of you again

I can’t undo you
too late 
I am 105, carried in my last breaths I whisper of now, of you, your every obscured words puzzled, nuzzled in my pores 

I whisper of the ghosts in your writing…chanting your name

come here
show me, love 
let me practice the entirety of you
open to me
the sound of you…

falling until felled from my lips

breath wasted…

kill me in the evers
this worthless heart
anymore
I am spent
upended
no longer care 
I am slit too much
just strips of rotting red…

am I
I am not fine
nor good
smiling hurts
my heart 
in love’s fuckery hell…

Foolish  (yes I am)
beautiful breath wasted
on for those
who could give a fuck