The screaming dial begins to turn
,A cooling frost to soothe the burn.
The blinding flash
sharp and bright
Recedes into a softer night.
The iron grip begins to yield,
Like quiet rain upon a field.
An eight down to a steady five
The simple peace of being alive.
​
A restless night
Presence shone of the unknown
She danced softly on my mind
Weaving a tapestry of another
Tender
(Im)Possible life
A wondrous rhapsody
Of light,
Self harmony & inner peace
Soft and warm
A voice this mind did caress
Starshine dancing in endless night
Moonshine forgot to fight.
A quiet dawn
The sky begins to sigh
A velvet veil is drawn
Washing clean the morning eye
Leaving traces of that other
Fleeting
Subtle
Beautiful life
An anchoring stillness
Of earth,
Grounded strength & open heart
Clear and bright
The waking world does now start
Starshine sleeping in
morning light
Moonshine content with
the night.
​
It doesn't agree with me
Pale, bright white
A ghost at night
When I stop,
I become this
thing.
Saggy eyes consumed
by the physical and mental pain
that is existence.
Trace this broken face as it
Illuminates, insinuates
Eyes,
Purplish blue, a well-hidden hue
The mask fits right, the shadows flee
Alive again, or so it seems to me?
Something I always knew
It doesn't agree with me
Fight the thought, don't let it bite
Slowly now,
drop by drop
An urge,
to Stop.
It doesn't
Agree
with Me.
​
A knot that pinches,
twists,
turns,
gurgles,
churns.
Wet little fingers
wringing my insides.
A dull, dumb gut punch
that burrows deep
and sits there.
Stand up.
Lie down.
Curl up.
Turn upside down.
Nothing.
Just the squelch
of pain
sloshing around.
Make it cold.
Make it hot.
Press here.
Rub there.
Nothing.
My guts are a swamp,
a cauldron,
a clenched fist
full of numbing thunder.
Gurgle.
Groan.
Grind.
The pain won't stop.
It just churns
and churns
and churns.
Some kinds of longing never truly heal, they simply learn to live without your hands.
The quiet whispers that it wants you back, to swallow every word and blur the track.
​
Do you dig your heels into the dirt, grinding your teeth into dust just to stay still?
Or do you unlatch the cage, let the marrow catch fire, and run until your feet tear up the earth and the inkberry thorns rip the clothes right off your back?
​
The horizon bleeds a static gray,
A clock that ticks the light away.
We build our towers out of sand,
With fragile,
temporary hands.
The stars above are cold and blind,
Indifferent to the human mind.
We scream into a silent space,
search for meaning in a distorted face.
A breath,
a pulse,
a sudden pause,
An effect that lacks a conscious cause.
We wake,
we drift,
we disappear,
An echo
in a well of fear.
​
It grows daily
screaming to be felt,
clawing for relief.
End the urge.
Let it bleed quiet.
Embrace the failure.
Let it swallow me whole.