the darkness folds in on you tonight
with such unforgiving gusts
your eyes are closed already
to what has compromised your trust
but, fear, my blinded lovers
for love and life are not so kind
if you awake again tomorrow
buried love is all you’ll find
Violet was in the center of a fierce affair with a passion for life and the alluring whisper of death. They fought for her attention, love hiding beneath the sheets of her bed while desolation filled the space in between. She, too, filled the space in between.
What filled her?
Violet felt empty. Her head felt heavy and slow, and her words had this tendency to escape from her mouth in a jumbled, frantic fashion. Violet sometimes wished she could just stop talking. Carry around a notebook, write down her thoughts. Clear and concise, no room to slip the things that had never meant to reveal themselves, so naked and restless.
Violet’s eyes were tired of all the seeing. The quilt that lay across her bed. The pine trees outside of her bedroom window — | | | — obstructing her view of the neighboring home. The colors of the walls of the rooms of her home. Beige and pastel. The people who filled her space and time. The polish, chipped, on her nails. The clothes and books that littered her floor. The hollows of her dark, tired eyes. She was tired of seeing what she was seeing. Of seeing all but feeling none. Of feeling something and nothing, all at once.
Her life often felt like one big leap from a never ending cliff. The bottom was too far to see. Just the same barren landscape. The cliff wall. The beige. The constant falling.
Violet was waiting for the landing.
Maybe, then, she would know what to feel.
You are sparkling, fleeting
As you ripple with the tide,
Smooth is the back of the current
To home I will ride.
When the world flips back
And I turn off the light,
Smile to the darkness
Of a world not so bright.
As my setting sun whispers along
To the flowing of your current,
Sing a morning’s song for lovers gone
And the day can break anew.
august 3 2012
I found you when the stars were high up on their canvas, blinking and fluttering nervously as they flirted with the sea. Your eyes were glowing as bright as the sun, surrounding me, so encompassing. Like a lover’s forbidden touch, those eyes, how they held me. And when I searched for an escape in all the wrong places, you held on still to me.
And as the iron waves swallowed the stars, as they tore down the canvas, as the water flooded our field and engulfed, defenseless, our bodies, your grip held fast. Our eyes danced as the stars fell around us. We jumped in puddles and skipped through the rain, the stars glimmering down with such maniacal glee.
We, too, were taken down with the stars. I found you lying at the bottom of the world, your bold eyes glowing beside the fire. You were smiling when you looked at me then. You never let go, and we danced on still.
july 7 2012
Cold water against my bare, broken hands. Truly broken? Or more of an internal crack? My foundation had, essentially, been split after mere seconds, mere moments minutes days months, mere years, after an ever-growing eternity of me struggling to salvage my conceptual unity. The water eliminated all illusions. Spread, it did, from tip to core to the opposite pole, my being lay naked, as if born anew, to be exposed in its true identity. It is rare for such liberation to take place, for it is, indeed, just that. A liberating experience, to heal in some far-off sense, to expose your truly broken, intrinsic self. It is a risk, however. To open such a curtain is to be placed upon such a carefully conceived display of reality. Tip-toed around a regal pedestal of your own humility. A tower, of sorts. Even a mere, cool breeze will send your fragile frame tumbling.
uncontrollable water stands it runs it shakes before us.
years it stays in constant lucid thrashing eager movement.
How they protest against such
far a distance.
Never has such a void been filled with such volume.
How it blinds
it scares me, so.