The wolf statue that stands guard over the raven feather the wind gave me was facing the wrong direction and the feather was positioned wrong as well. Didn’t realize until this morning.
One of the ocd people in my house must have seen the books on that shelf leaning over and used the wolf like a bookend. Nope, nope nope.
And when the shadows bleed away
I’m left with all I want to say
These tattered dreams
these hopes made clear
bound down and weighted by all I fear
(note: not about anyone. I love you, GMH.)
I love you, my heart.
Just a liar dressed in the clothes of a writer. Just a fraud dressed up as successful. A fool dressed as a genius. A romantic idiot dressed as the jaded master. As plagued by doubts as I am certainties. Both convinced of what I am and cowering in the corner of my mind, convinced I’m a fraud. I could turn this around, make it a rejection of these anxiety filled thoughts. But would that be the lie? What if all I am, all I’ve done, is meaningless. What if these dark whispers are the truth and my confidence the lie? I’ve been wrong before, fundamentally wrong. What if these aren’t demons? What if my brain is just demanding I wake up?
The car sits in the desert sun. Windows shut the air takes on a quality not unlike flame. Into this heat, I sit down. Car off, no ac, just silence and heat. The pain of the heat making me aware of the feel of my skin becoming taught. The heat eases the tension out of my body. A tension I am holding onto, even after this forced relaxation. Something only alleviated by you. A word. A picture. And this heat bringing me back around, heartbeat rocking my chest. Air becoming harder, heavier. The butterfly crush of your lips to mine as we plunder each other, tongue finding treasure with each touch. Desire made tangible with the pressure of the heat.
There is a bloom that grows
In shades and shallow groves
It smells of wildness and woes
But still it blooms
And still it grows
I’ve found this bloom on nights awander
Where minds do flit and emotions ponder
And sleeping now, I grow to wonder
Where it goes when all do slumber
Perhaps of self, it is agleam
Or bound in burrow, in silt of stream
It grows and bursts, along its seams
To reveal the goddess,
The goddess
of dream
I want more time, more words, more connection, more touches, more teeth, more nails, more kisses, more sex, more sharing, more, more, more.
It makes me seem greedy or needy. It makes me seem mad. It makes me seem unreasonable. I seem, seem, seem.
What I’m really asking is will you stay? Are you mine? Am I yours? I’m here for the distance but my insecurities drive people away. I’m looking for yes. I’m looking for, of course. I know it is needy and I hate feeling this way. I hate needing that reassurance. I’m so used to standing alone but I crave to stand together. With you it feels so present, so now and I can’t seem to be, just be without a word, just a word. And I hate asking and I hate being this mess. I want to be a pillar of strength at your side. But I need that reassurance not because it’s new but because I don’t take it for granted. And that’s odd and that’s weird. But it’s me. And I’m spinning out not from depression but from stress. I want to make it all better but I don’t have the tools or the words and I keep fumbling about looking for the right words and I just want to hold you and not need to say anything
desolate heart made bloody
treacherous blooms blossom
( with the stench of rotting flesh)
that which was whole will be torn asunder
and in the darkness eyes long closed open
the shadow that sits in heart awakens
the aetheric shudders as monstrous fealty wakens and forms
horrible to behold
long in fang and claw
look into baleful eyes and know
that balance in full measure comes
Pelgris 