I want to write something epic that grabs you by the heart and only let’s go once you are bleeding.
But I’m too empty now.
Too tired from working long hours
From still being at work 12 hours after I started.
Instead, I’m taking a beat to write this.
To decry and lament being unable to reach that aspirational dream of you, my dear readers reacting with the emotions that overwhelm me
But which instead lay dead like a caricature of a fish
Painting the page in reek
What is it to yearn to connect but only to find empty?
How do I after years of pouring out my lifeblood find I have so little left?
Is it burnout or just being burned?
Wondering if I’ll be able to steal some time before I sleep and it all starts again?
I’m trapped in this mess of a life
Some things cherished
Some things bad
And most just blah
Trapped by my own desires
By my own hand
What way could anyone see, when the path is empty, all
Destinations equidistant
empty
Nerves jumble on the tip of a tongue
Sitting on the uneven ground
Looking out the sun blind window
Life exists out there in the trembling blue
Waiting for the reach
The grab
Holding on the hardest part
Pulled or pulling
Hard to find that balance
Building a life when age has allowed us to build These esoteric edifices
Tear it all down?
Or try to find spaces in each other
Life out in the blue
Yearning for the shiver of home
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Slow motion fall
There is a euphoria to posting something that is both personal and fundamentally true. It carries you for a time. Like walking after setting down a great weight you’ve been holding on to. And just like that, it wears off. Pretty soon, you feel like yourself again.
It may be this time of year. I just can’t seem to reach back beyond that night. I try to think of the night we met or any of the hundreds of other moments that we were happy in. But it all just morphs into me holding her. Waiting for the doctor to arrive. Her shallow breathing.
I feel empty. For the last few years I’ve been, at least, talking to someone romantically. That takes the edge off. Like there is hope. But this year, it’s all just ashes.
I find myself crying. And have for months now. I can’t seem to get out of this. Mostly, in the day, I’m OK. But night brings the silence and I can’t handle it.
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This silence that shatters
This silence that shatters
Shivers
Nerve endings breaking
Pulse by pulse bending
To in tremor
Wake as one
In step slip unsaid
Tongue shod in
Clumsy brass
Too heavy and too sharp
Crack as glass
Pebbled sand hiss
Wrapped
Mouth and eyes
By
Silence
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Substitution
I am uneasy.
I can feel the blood coursing through my veins.
My muscles twitching in time to the beat.
Ache spreading out.
Circulation not quite cut off.
Dizzy and reckless.
Falling out of the edge of consciousness
Floating but aware as the drumbeat holds me steady
Sensation from outside
Fevered heat
Slowly melding in
Then a suddenness of pain
Almost shocking to wakefulness
But receding into the background
Replaced by eagerness
Anticipations building
Unbearable
Again! Nerve endings crying for more
Again! Pain turning to the muddle of both it and pleasure
Mixing until all is lost to rut and ruin
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Dance fallow
Music pulses into the shallow echos
burn hallow in bright fire
Lift broken from memory of dawns false hopes
soft touch sinking into dream
free constraint of the drift
first taste of drought in pleasures embrace
the kiss dripping honey
buried in the seeking
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Karaoke
Spinning notes hung in vibrant
Illumination
drink the poison to be free
one last note of the symphony
denote the heart and it’s losses
pitched down into the dust
flat and empty
but rise and gain color
live a life extra ordinary
or choose to not be judged,
a voice is no place for lovers
but love gives voice and winds give solace
as the turning world bounces the hiss and pop
experience no crescendo
no tinkling rush
hurtle forward to the bridge
throwing our locks away
or
hand each other the keys
Pelgris 