My answers sleep inside my bones
I try for
I lie for
I pray for understanding
but there's no love.

It's nothing you hum in songs or uncover in movies.
It fleets past you in ticket lines and huddles past you in crowded coffee houses.

Awakening Sunset

AWAKING SUNSET

She knelt and whispered, clutching her soul to her side, for it had escaped her somehow (through some uncanny manner, unknown). Yet she clenched it hard, in failing fingertips; though her grip would never falter, she knew better than to let go, you see.

There was a tale to tell, or perhaps several, but she didn’t know if the waves would listen, really listen, and talk back to her. Answers were what she was looking for, and she held her soul out to that great expanse of blue and grey hues, as if offering a chalice. She hoped it would accept, and grant her the freedom she wished. For this was the way she had always wanted to go, in a state of contented melancholy, palms turned upwards, giving of herself to something stronger than she.

Strength was not something she lacked, but something that had not occurred to her to claim as her own. Her strength was always something she attributed to other people, naming them as the cause that propelled her through life.

She didn’t know what it meant to be whole anymore. She had lost a little of herself with each new experience that tainted her, and though she realised that the parts they were replaced with moulded her, she did not care much for the person she had become in those seven years.

Her thoughts were interrupted as the blinkered sunset bent behind the horizon, leaving a trace streak of orange burning like a lone candle across the dusky sky. She thought of the moon, that glistened brightly as it dawned above her head, and the stars she had told only one person that she yearned for. Oh, how she yearned for those stars, to stretch their light far enough to cast hope into her eyes, or carry her away with them. Stars are what dreams are made of, or at least, her dreams. Their twinkling lights told her of lost cities and other worlds, of forgotten loves, and answers to the bleak questions she fired at them whenever they came out to play. Nothing caught her imagination quite like those stars.

In the hazy darkness rolling above her, she saw clouds hovering, as if waiting for her to continue her story. To her, they were a warning beacon; soon, there would be no light left, and only when her body washed up on the shore in several days, would her story have an ending. But, if she left the world in such a way, there would be no closure, and while it was life’s ambiguity that paved her path to brighter places she wasn’t sure it would suffice for those left behind.

For this time around, she knew she was sometimes wanted, sometimes needed, and this knowledge only increased the magnetic pull, the want, the need of the ending she so desperately sought.

Then the night had at last fallen, and her words trailed in semi-darkness across the paper, and the story, Her Truth, would never see the closure it desired.

horizon

I touched my hand toward the horizon,
unfolding a lark from the sky.
Stepping back,
barefoot, lush and freed...

I learned
not all of me is heavenbound.

paradise lost

Wet in the moon-kissed sand
tossed from the sea
like a frail pink shell,
awaiting the hand of a beachcomber.
The tide pulls pearls of sadness
from my lax hand
tucks them to her womb.
And I watched the last
star close shut like the
oyster’s shell.

Eden found.

time...

I have all this time to write, now. right now. ha.
The freedom of an entire summer is stretched out before me.

Words are calling me back. Like yearbooks, like lost love letters and pressed secrets in trunks, they call to me through the dust, "remember me, girl?" And I think that I do.

sonnet 130 and a half.

writing while high. let the mindfuckery begin!



Spake[ache]S[he]hard (Sonnet 130 and a half: The Remix)

My mistress' iEyes sh[y]ne brighter than the suuOn,
Her Lips, their.protrUding.pout, a SofT red...
Her sweet [tend]her skin, her breasts, Mmmmmm fun...
I'd give anything tO stay all day in bed.

Her teeth are sharp aNd she likes to bite;
Pleas[her]ure wiTh pain is what she seeks...
And I must confess it is a del[higH]t--
PrURiEnt thoughts Stay with me for weeks...

I l.o.v.e to read h.e.r thoughts, most of which iEye know-
Ot[he]rs spin me in circles, ro[W]und and ro[W]und,
Until I'm dizzy and it's time to go...
Then my feet are unstable on solid ground

And yet, it's this that I [ev]love most--
How She Holds Me up like a post.

symphony of release

Numb
A vacant void unable to feel
And make this real…
A crescendo of frustration building
Then it happened-
Urged by instinct, a shard of glass is moving about in sonata-allegro
form.
Scarlet beads rising to the surface,
Dis...con ..nec..ted
But ever increasing in size
Until the billowing pearls became a constant trickle…

A rapturous release
And I was hooked,
An aficionado
Anxiously anticipating the
next movement…

It became an affair of sorts...
An adagio-
Graceful, well-controlled...
Finding the right instrument,
The right space with which to conduct the melody
That will execute this absolution of sin
Bringing deliverance from this evil
Festering within

And finally I FELT
pain.free.

To compose a scherzo of lacerations waltzing
This way and that
Without hesitation
Until a rondo of indelible scars
Is all that was left

Distilling me

Bringing purity.

landscape imagery

Borderline Synapse

a LANDSCAPE of thoughts
exist In the interstitial space
of My cerebrum, cerebrating cerebricity;
defrAgmenting the ideas and notions as they emerge
merGing into pellucid thoughts, MY
sEmi-conscious mind elucidating words with similar roots
the Randomness swirling about, like Van Gogh's "Starry Night"
rarelY stimulating intellect, subsisting
without direct COMMENTARY or NARRATION...