in between

NYE

spell it out.

it’s not romantic. nor love lost. it just is.
it’s not the end of the world. and it isn’t a travesty
because it never was
love.
but i feel small. and ugly.
and naive.
i wanted something enough to be blind.

but guilt is heavy.
chains that sink.
me.
holding you accountable would be a watery grave
because i am the only one who feels
bad.
it was my love. and my mistake. and my loss.
and thus, my internment. my laying to rest.
now
walk
the
plank.
sink
or
swim.

whammo

grief

this is your nighttime;
but my bad behavior.
your addiction;
but my willingness.

i use your weakness to avoid my own,
and i squander the sadness for myself.

delightful ignorance. a painful forgetting. a numbness that eats.

free-flowing thoughts. about nothing at all. except for the despondency in everything.

i break me down. for easy consumption. disgusted with what i produce.
i hate my own bullshit,
despise my own character,
and swallow my own lows.

wallow
wallow
in my own depression
it will all be over
soon

nightmarish and low

melt me into the wall.
i want to be invisible,
i want to have no insides
and i want never to be seen.

i look to hide inside this- nothingness.
sink into this void.

i hope for these words to ooze out of me. to seep out of my pours.
to perspire out my sadness.

i feel disgusting
and low.
nightmarish
and despicable.

visibly distraught
uncomfortably me
i hate myself.

it is what it is

my breastbone shatters and snaps as he plunges his fist though my chest, extracting my beating heart. simultaneously ending me and keeping me alive he holds my heart out in front of me. rhythmically pumping it to keep me going.

i curse my ribs for not protecting me. my frail guardians asleep at the hearth. curse their weakness and inability to see what it was they were standing at the gates to.

i look up into his eyes for mercy. for clemency. but it is impossible to levy someone with nothing at stake. nothing on the table to be lost.

a final wrench away from me and my heart is ripped clear from my body, vitals in tow. a last gulp of air and i fall to my knees; thorn having been shed. hands by my sides, chest open and bare, i dread the breath to come.
because i dont want the pain to be over.
i am not ready to live without my heart.

an ode to one’s self; postmortem

i am sorry.
it just got too hard.
waking up everyday broken. and drown.
i can picture your smiling face,
and feel your disappointment,
and despair.

i’m not weak when i say it got too hard.
letting go was the greatest feat.
but my departure was not one of celebration
and i do not feel jubilation or success
i feel a long-lasting numbness
which is what i had wished to escape
and for that,
i am sorry

muse

i have fucked things up before.
and to far greater depths than this.
but never have i been moved to words
as when i lose
you

that being so, if the words come at the prospect of our fatality
how will i write, once it’s finally over.

perhaps instead of looking to be a Baez,
i’ll start to look for a Hughes.
or it may be, for the first time,
i’ll step out of the other,
and do it all myself

you’re underexposed