the problem with the line / dividing me up / between the measurements i take / and the compounded screams my body’s chambers / make / is the simple fact that it makes me see / the atrocious fear your restless heart denies
my mind getting lost in the sanctity / of your eyes / blurring the space between / where you stand / and where i need to be
my pride in a pool on the floor / i wait for you / to catch up / to our start / waves of your echoes / rattling you / behind
faultless rains / washing us clean / yet you take / the first leave
out / to secondhand streams / a blinded sip / from a cup / mistaken
loss / the formidable space / reevaluating the stacks
that i’m just another fleeting moment, in line with the past.
pushing myself with the weight of tomorrow, blindly
reeling a cast.
just needing forever.
sometimes the love just floats me. enough. and at this moment, it’s all i have left. it’s still the only thing i look forward to. the only thing that wakes me up and aligns the forms.
i’ve never had a reason to push beyond. not even enough reason from just myself. i’ve never felt enough for just me.
but then i look into a world, hovering in blue, and i peer into forever. where i’m distraught with the fear of letting go. and i feel this delicate balance i’m walking right next to — afraid of my tumble, my steps, shivering — and i see a look so pure that this world becomes a single flake, floating down. the slightest tinge of its cold touches me. my skin, then bursts with its spark, flaming my existence into a wildfire, burning everything around me.
so then, i know.
that i have to become. more into myself than i’ve ever known.
forever searching for the sound of his laugh. the one from his gut that strangles my air. pushing me to the front. telling me to hear.
there’s a wall between the blame and me. i’ve isolated myself to the point that it’s all i can see. this concrete boundary. splitting the breathing. between me and heavy shoulders, beating. existing.
but you see,
because i hate myself for waiting this long. and i hate the idea of italian summers. locks without keys. a shuffling of what’s already been. reeking havoc on the status quo when that trick has already
people are so stupid. believing you.
how the fuck can you balance your happiness on something someone has already built? where do you get the gall to measure yourself with the people who haven’t guilted you into forced sex or stabbed so much fear and meth into the heart of a supposed love that ten years later they’re ashamed of being or even having a voice? the damnedest dreams fogging up their nights. no reason why. just sick of the air. they’re buying up all the proper house plants. searching their skin for flesh-eating pests. harboring a tragedy. for a time to come. a proper one. knife at the neck. a slight suggestion of where to go when no one is there. a falling chair with a tightened rope. no hope.
how dare you smile. into a glorious sea. how fucking inappropriate to allow yourself to be.
i can’t even imagine what she’s in for. more of your father, i’m guessing.
“you piece of shit.”
you’re a disease.
and i can’t get well.
i feel better
how the fuck can someone who has a track record of hitting women be engaged?
i’m wasting time.
i guess it has taken me a while
to view the synopsis of your heart —
a reconfigured alley way
where only the rain enters in —
waiting to breathe with my steps
splashing through and in,
to the other side.
it’s my mistake that i never saw
the opportunity to rise above
that time i asked you
who she was
i guess i just got lost
along the/your way
even the thing i revel in won’t take me.
no safe angles
to straighten my seams,
just a prick
how i’m fastened
no way out.
the flipping of scenes,
repeating the weight
of my empty belly.
how it grumbles
like rocks under a boot,
a lack of left behind(s).