I love you like a mad thing
straining at the leash
gnawing it’s own limbs to get to you
ferocious
blood spattered maw from any that dare harm you.
But tongue lolling out and dancing around
happy as can be in your presence.
This physical, visceral need for you burns in my veins
I struggle against everything that keeps us apart.
Mouth open, I roar my defiance
until bled out
the last dregs of energy bleed away
and only my eyes plead
stay
A slow burn like wet gunpowder mixed with dry, the ruined with the ruinous, the truth with the lie
A kiss is all I have to give, a touch to make one cry
I’ve fought my battles and lost my wars, I’ve drunken from the wells of sorrow
But then I saw into you, and breaking heart, I’m born anew.
But always, always burning
Don’t take me in your arms my love lest you be burning too
Or hold me close and trust, my flame is ever for you
This is what happens when I’m in a good mood and I wake to a sky filled with partial clouds the sun filtering through
To be, nothing more
to experience, not expect
to feel, not need
to desire, not burn
to be at peace but not peaceful
to love, but not envy.
Life itself shapes us. Molds us into the image of our fears and lusts. It breaks us when we resist and washes us downriver when we give way. The only thing we can control is ourselves. We can choose to see the world as it presents itself or look deeper and seek. We can choose the branches our lives will take. Even when choice itself and our path shows as a single road we are allowed the freedom to control how we walk it. Ultimately, the only thing we have is our minds and ourselves. But this does not mean that we must walk our roads alone.
What’s this feeling
that beats deep within
waiting for a chance to breathe
Waiting to see
Waiting to hear
eyes gone blurry
Blind to only the pain
And the time between
Words rip out
Leaving jagged wounds
Forced to the surface
Do you ever sit back and think, “Fuck. I don’t know what I’m doing.”
Every time I finish a story or a project, I sit down and think about what’s next. The last project is the past. I’ll direct people to it. But in my head, it’s over and I’m thinking about what is next. And I’m freaking out. Because I don’t know what comes next. I have no idea what I’ll write. And after a year and a half of writing and recording, I am either done or I just don’t know where the story goes from here. And I honestly don’t know which scares me more. That I’m done or that I have no idea what I’m doing next.
It’s not writer’s block. I wish it was. That I can work through. It’s idea block. That’s all I need. An idea.
There’s the Pel and Sara story and a poetry compilation I want to put together. But what from there?
https://youtu.be/Wm4CrOfbHMI
Touch bloom
Black and blue
Fading yellow
Old lines
Trust shattered
Sitting alone
Lost
Eyes pleading
But truth dies
Undiscovered
This is a poem I wrote for Twitter.
Pelgris 