Posted in Blog

Tú Me Acostumbraste

All that remains,

is a montage in my mind,

a little cry of “after all, it didn’t mean much at all”.

It did,

to me.

All that remains,

is a recurring dream,

that is so sweet,

so cruel,

that it becomes a nightmare.

Sad sting,

in the corner of my eyes.

How they flow,

when the time is right,

when it’s wrong too,

all through the night,

just in time,

to catch me creeping home,

sold out by the stars.

Throwing the memory of you,

in a bottle,

against the back door,

watching the glass reform,

on the kitchen floor,

spelling your name,

cider,

settling around an island,

of the things I’d still say,

if I weren’t so afraid you’d reply with

“Okay.”

“I’m sorry you feel that way.”

I glitter, beside the glass,

bewitched by the moon,

the misleading mood,

a perverse kind of peace,

when the earth is finally still,

everything is destroyed,

but I can sit in silence,

and say those things,

without a reply.

I walked out of my mind,

because I didn’t want it anymore.

You ruined it.


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Posted in Blog

Over

I am free, at last,

but I’ve never felt so trapped.

Capture me again.

Capture me again,

my helpless cry, pathetic,

but it’s all I know.

All I know is us.

Waist deep in regret and dirt.

My mud stained heart, bleeds.

Posted in Blog

Straw Poll

Is fate kind?

Is my life decided?

Am I helpless?

Hoping for the best,

but just a person that life happens to?

You decide.

They decide.

Life decides.

I just wait.

Posted in Blog, Personal

The Beginning Of The End

I haven’t slept.

I spent the night,

at the mercy of memories,

how my miserable mind contorts them.

I am comforted,

by the old,

“No news is good news”.

Carrying my anxiety,

to my altar,

empowered but exhausted,

I kneel before the rising sun,

as if you are at its core,

my tears are on full display,

sacrificing,

offering,

pleading.

There are some moments,

where I’m so sure,

where I’m going,

until I am undone,

unwelcome by my own mind.

It has been six days,

since the last time I started counting,

spades are singular,

by the front door.

Am I digging?

Am I planting?

Posted in Blog, Creative Writing, Writing

1 Day

Maybe I hold onto you,

long after you’ve left,

so that I’ll always feel you’re mine,

never having to accept that I’ll lose you again.

It’s easier to ignore the reality,

of life and it’s sickening cruelty,

if I just close my eyes,

hearing my inner monologue in your voice,

kinder tones,

kinder times,

no suitcase in the hallway,

just two pairs of shoes,

that know,

deep in their soles,

that they are soulmates.

There are knocks on my door,

a frightening thunder,

that gets closer,

the further you get,

I barricade,

with each thing that you said,

because though I could let them in,

and be loved,

at long last,

they would never be you.