Have you thought
In passing moment and stinging thought or dismissal and moving on. Just the moment by moment terror of too much available communication, the ability to drop a line to anyone I used to be with, anyone. The growing need to communicate, to speak, to talk, but I know I’ll get no response. This is bad, it feels bad, but when I try and all I hear is echos, that is so much worse. So I refrain, because there is only so much pain I can take and not talking to you is bad enough. But talking to you and never hearing a response is so much worse.
Author: Pelgris
The fear that keeps
think…and I’m falling loop by loop
contrails in a clear blue sky
spiraling down
it’s not the ground I’m afraid of, its the fall
the ground I’d almost welcome, the sudden stop then nothing
but I still hope for a place to stand
I sound suicidal, I know. And I’d be lying if I said there were days when I wonder, what it would be like to just leap, make the decision and stop. I wish I could say “but hope pulls me back”. But it’s not hope. It’s fear. Fear of the pain, fear that I’ll miss or that I’ll be crippled, but most of all that I’ll set the pieces in motion and after it’s too late to stop, when it’s all but a fait accompli, I will find someone, we’ll find each other, and it’ll all just click. That’s the fear that keeps me going. I wish I could say it’s my love of beauty or strength of character but in truth, it’s fear. And I wonder, how many of us are feeling that same fear, how many of us are falling through our lives, looking for a place to stand.
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Winter turns to spring
Stirred from inaction, a heartbeat sounds across ashes, and turnings bought shadow burns lower
Times slow in passing, drifting as hearts leaping, and echos through the dying trees
Winter is the building and sounds of ice breaking, though silence in the drifting, and turnabout favors fair
All desires meeting, conscience and the slip of the tongue
But shadows still are burning, times resumes it’s pacing, and winter’s promises brings Springs regret.
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Why, discontinued
The Why story has been discontinued, due to lack of interest on my readers part and story muddle on my part
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Sinking ice
I invite the cold in
The chill soothes me
Numbs me
Makes me hungry
Makes me want sleep
Warmth is a memory
Close my eyes
Just for a minute
What’s the harm
The shivers have long past
I’m so tired
Let me sleep here
Without you
I let the cold seep in
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Heat
The heat soaks in, pain riding the edge of pleasure, all thought fades only sensation as it sinks deep to bone
From the depths rises a dull ache, a desire birthed in remembrance
The visceral touch, the need
The body floats, burns
Need
A surface tension
The ephemeral touch of slivered light
Ghost, and your gone
The casual cruelty of cowardice
The delusion
It’s not over
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Why 8 delayed
Why 8 is delayed, working through some creative issues, there will be a poem instead
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3 AM comes each day and each day takes a bit of my soul in its passing
I never allowed for the possibility that I’d fall in love with someone who didn’t love me back. Who has said she doesn’t see me that way. I thought that friendship would be enough. That some contact, some laughter, some shared experience would be enough.
And when I’m with her, it is. I can delude myself that these crumbs, these small morsels can sustain me. But then, hanging out is over. She’s home and I’m alone again. For a little while I’m OK. But then I’ll see something, something stupid that will remind me of her.
Sometimes, contact with other people can mitigate the longing. Fill me up with something other than false hope. And I’ll think I’m being smart. Some time with her is better than nothing, some words with her will illuminate my heart and everything else will recede.
But here I am at 3 in the morning, sleep is no longer a refuge because she’s there. In my dreams, she’s by my side. She walks with me in the world and the world is brighter for it. We’re stronger together than apart. Then I’ll wake, alone. And I’ll know that even in dreaming, I knew it wasn’t real. Because my heart aches so.
Where does that leave me? The rational part says to deal with this. That to leave this as an open wound can only end in poorly. But I can’t bring myself to stop the delusion that maybe. Maybe if she sees my heart, maybe if she sees me in verse and story. Maybe the weight of experience will accumulate and like a light turning on she’ll love me. Maybe she loves me now and is denying it.
It’s a treacherous thing, hope. It can sustain us through horrors, drag us into a better future. Or it can bury its blade deep into our heart, pulsing the possible while slowly ripping us to shreds.
I wish I had it in me to hide from the truth. I wish I could just be happy with what I have. But hope has buried the blade deep.
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Oblivion
Oblivion is what I want to feel
Soft warmth and darkness
Just enough sounds that the blood rushing fades to background
Oblivion is what I can reach
Striving for more seems foolish
Fruitless
Escape into dream
A world of tattered synapse
Made bold verse and spoken rhyme
Where words are valued and the loyalty of my heart is enough
Oh, oblivion
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Why 7
It’s inevitable. The people that got away. The ones who are trying to forget; the ones convincing themselves that they drank too much. That it was a hallucination. Those people aren’t prepared for what is hunting them now.
I wish I could tell you that there is some kind of group that watches for this kind of thing, but the so called Age of Reason, the inquisition brought on by a misinterpretation of a single line in the Christian Bible, and that same inquisition used to eradicate rivals.
Fuck it… Suffice it to say that humanity, for a bunch of idiotic reasons killed off most knowledgeable practitioners. So now we have these newbs with a smidge of ability and a bunch of youth summoning up demons and ghosts. Me, I’d let it run its course. It’s a damn shame but they brought it on themselves.
Sounds harsh, right. I’ve tried teaching, I’ve tried intervening but nothing teaches these kids. Their lives are too easy. Sounds like sour grapes and maybe it is. Maybe I should have found these kids before they started the ritual, before they got it into their heads that it would be a hoot. But then what, watch them every minute? Take them on as apprentices? What if they choose to walk? Then what they do is my responsibility, after all I could have stopped it…
Screw it, enough of this pity party. Somewhere there’s a barstool and a Jack Blue waiting for me.
Pelgris 