I curl inwards Though no sleeping rose am I Waiting for tomorrow’s sun Protecting the bloom Tighter and tighter until it hurts Fingers curling, toes, too A spine made willow Bent by autumn storms This is the life you’ve granted Sights and sounds Growling through the dusk Moaning through the midnight Weeping till the dawn An emotional contraction I’ll never unfurl
There are no depths to this loneliness, it is endless, whereas, I am not. Trenches of ultramarine night stretch out into an unseen distance; I follow them with my fingertips, groping wildly. Creatures flit past like agitated fish, or scattering bats, or just my dreams. Go, I say. But nobody hears.
Somewhere, a raven sings a sonnet, or caws a eulogy. I’m no longer sure. An inverted moon plunges with no intention of sending moonbeams my way. The stars flee. An ebony darkness fills the void. I feel it behind my eyes, pulsing.
Once, I lived the life all younglings pray for, of family, future, and past. Once, but not any more. Now, I loiter on the periphery of a something long forgotten. It is Death. She waits with open arms, ready to wrap her nightshade shawl about my shoulders and give me what I’ve lost. What have I lost?
These depths. This depth. This death. Ah, there you are.
Invasive creature Slithering through unctuous blood Poisoning my system With indigestible venom Blocking arteries Licking nerves Curling into spaces Where no spaces were Like cholesterol This snake at my core Lingers.
The first slice hurts The second less so The third is a pleasure Exposing innards Revealing truths But the snake, this viper Remains untroubled Sliding elsewhere Gliding within Leaving only scales of injustice Behind.
Acceptance is the key Acknowledgment of this other Welcoming the pain Desiring what poisons Not expunging So I sit, run, sleep With my significant friend Saying good morning Bidding good night Until my serpentine deconstruction Ends.
Unsatisfactory, these moments, these supposed snowflakes of bliss. differing as they swirl before me, never once the same. They tease at the ground as though coating before endlessly melting away, a perpetual circle of almost, promises lost in a kiss. If forever can hear me and eternity has something to say, I wish they’d speak a bit clearer like the snowflakes that tumble my way. This obsession with winter is now all I believe, as the cherry blossoms distract imagination with springtime promises. For the summer shall never venture, nor even attempt to loosen mind’s strings whilst still this ‘almost’ persists. I am lost in it. I am done with it. Lost in false tranquility, I’ll remain.