My Truth. My Journey.

The days offerings bleed red while my eyes see only green
It's hotter than hell here
and nothing speaks to me louder than his silence

Once again I am a hunter of the spark
Wondering what it would've been like to iron out the wrinkles of his politically correct and oh-so-conservative heart
But in the early morning hours I can still taste the distance delivered in his kisses,
feel his lazy arm draped over me in an effort to convince himself - an imitation of emotion while no one else was watching (he was surely just testing himself)
it was dead weight, just like my love, every promise anchored in the deep - tied to the weaving threads of his indecision - and it hung over my waist coagulating calendar months and blackmailing my pride

his hearts inertia,
keeps the ensemble wondering.

in many ways it's my saving grace (and anyone who knows me knows i don't have much grace, so i take what i can get), but there are times when i wonder if i secretly or not-so-secretly enjoy reliving the journey simply because it reminds me that it's possible. that i felt that way when i thought i couldn't or wouldn't (and even shouldn't) ever again.

admissions of guilt or confession, it's all very real to me every single day.
and maybe the pain i revisit is worth it in it's own way - but if it isn't i will know soon enough.
because it will end swiftly just like it always has in the past. it will travel backwards like i seem to every time i slip up or just want to feel it and it will live quietly and patiently there until i need to feed from it's all-you-can-eat buffet of simultaneous excitement and torture once again.

impatient for the days, the years, the words that will flow with ease, gentle smiles without careless intentions and selfish motives. arms that wrap me tight and words that never push me away. eyes that scream there's no one else that will ever.
ever. do.

i long to dream but i fight to remain awake.
in the best of my moments i am a walking contradiction. but i only emulate life and therefore feel no shame. sure it's a struggle out there on the wire, but i revel at the chance to fall flat on my face.

just like i dared him.

and he could only walk away.

The war begins with (my) deja vous
circling in and out of the insolent and pompous gimmick nicknamed love

it's contradictions amuse me even while I'm licking my wounds

we, with our strategies like stubborn still births,
reluctant to abort
content to float aimlessly

because death only exists on the outside

the complicated blueprints of soul like portraits of failure
wasted energy and the heaviest silences rooted inside like phantom runway models half naked but swallowed up with ego
their bodies screaming out for nourishment and bullet proof backbone

Every word is weighty
with each and every finale discouraging my libido,
wrapping them up to suffocate luxuriously in the comforts of my mind's anarchy

the revolution?
it can only exist in the bodies of the delusional
on the faces and in the hearts of the undeniably foolish

Believers.

So c'mon, Mister.
Dress yourself up.

Dress up and tear me down.

Mister. dresses up just to break me down

Yours was a touch far too clinical
a heart roughed up as they worshiped the cradle
while lacking the forethought of your future with recklessness


we could meet at the base armed with everything unsaid

holding steady inside the gun.

I packed it all.
The pictures, the ticket stubs, every smell, memory, or phrase,
every inside joke, all the ideas, thoughts and secrets shared.
I changed my bedding, made new friends, cut my hair, planned a trip.

I've kept myself busy, so busy in fact that I often believe it's behind me - packed up and buried like a coffin - death, it's (just) 6 feet under.
And there are times it's all so far away. I can't reach far enough to grasp even one memory.
I can't remember what the love felt like that once poured out from me because in those moments I become overwhelmed with sadness and grief, and questions, and I sink - lower. deeper. further away from all logic. from me and my relentless, unforgiving, persistent need to get. over. it.
To move on.

But there are days.
There are days when it all comes flooding back to me. And I drown in the tears, from the wonder, from the heartache, the lies. the soul crushing, debilitating and seemingly endless pain of it all.
I can't get far enough away from his voice - every word echos inside of me.

There are days that 6 feet simply isn't deep enough.

And I wonder. How do you pack up the stain it leaves on your heart - on your best days and worst nights?
Because it just couldn't fade away fast enough.