No moon Trees hush Water lapping Your body floats On mine Squeezing Stars Bellies throb Breast To chest Damp hair Steaming Hard breathing We look up Not wanting To part And see Between Silhouettes Of giant Trees Orion The club Stalks Cassiopeia The chair, The serpent Rising.
I cleaned my room a couple days ago. I never do. I get too tired. But, ironically, today it is messier than before. Isn't it always? You try to fix something and it just bites you in the ass in the end. Best to just leave it all alone. It takes too much energy anyway. Besides, maybe my head was just mean to be messy.
The skin around my eye sockets ache A thumping dull thud On this Christmas Eve I drink hot chocolate, a glass of red I wish I felt like I had it all together.
The television rumbles behind me My boyfriend and I We line up like soldiers To try and determine How to better treat And be with one another.
Like a worn down page Near the end of a book The front cover you first fell in love with The introduction you might have mistook But as you read on You couldn't help but flip and flip again Drinking and soaking up the red coated rum Of delicious page to page.
But we discovered today In the wooded neighborhood Called McGee Estates Where I hang my tired hat for a few days That a transfer of emotions and hard comings Have come and settled And with white torched fingertips Breathed their name into mine.
An awareness, we find it We discover it with a pail and shovel I imagine mistletoe must be hanging Everyone around me gets engaged Or their videos go viral And it doesn't make me bitter at all I just fight to try and live my best life.
A big deep breath A surrender to the knowledge That I cannot conquer and own everything there is Expectations whistle and thistle Like the Southern whisper of morning dew As I run rampant Trying to discover whats new Whats new.
But whats new is here And within me as it always has been That burnt page doesn't have to spiral into embers Or a lonely attitude
Its Christmas Its almost Christmas I feel as though I've aged eons But this is the hustle This is the point of no finish line.
Paint-chipped floor. planks, tapered by moisture and passage, line the empty room. dried wallpaper and hardwood panels, dusty curtains and muddy windows. hazy echoes emanate from the shambles.
A brick through the pane. a hollow crack and sunlight bursting in. dust spiralling in lively disharmony. fumes rise as the air blurs and twitches. embers bloom from imperfections. debris bonfire - mood lighting.
The walls shake with fever. the ceiling draped in funeral veil. darkness's dress demeaned by incandescent wrinkles.
Doors blast open to the sound of glass-shards hitting the pavement. the soul furnace letting out a violent gasp. rush of blue sky and mountain ranges, fuel the tinder box - gone open flame.
