I bear an unfortunate truth. Namely that I cannot forget people or places. Things I’ve read or watched but not physically experienced are harder to retain.
But people and place and and what I was feeling at those intersections, they are always with me. For good or for ill. I envy people who can walk away. Who can put people in the rear view and mostly not look back. Or let go.
I can only work through the situation. Examining all the angles, understanding my place in events and relationships. And still left to wonder, because the picture is never complete. I can never see their side.
So while I can keep going forward. Because there is no other real choice. I can never forget. And those I’ve declared mine. Those I’ve said are my person. I can never forget. Nor leave behind, if it is in my power and is not against their interest to do so.
But still, the memories pile up, some I shoulder alone and others I have help carrying. But all are there, indelible and immutable.
Memories…the burden no one thinks is one
Feeling broken for no particular reason
No glaring signal saying this is the red flag
This is where the healing will begin
Instead just hurting
Just a bag full of empty
Spilling out over symptoms
The endless seeking of distractions
Anything to not think except in those moments between cease and sleep
Where all that was held away comes crashing down through paper walls which held it at bay
Thin constructs fooling myself that this is a normal life and these are normal activities
Fundamentally seeking but burned out from the search
Looking for a reprieve but places aren’t safety
Just defensible rooms
People have ever been my succor
Holding and taking care of those I love heals me
Keeps me going to the point where you say you want to see my darkness
But become Mired in light
Because the darkness retreats when my love is allowed expression
Wrong to say it’s gone but it retreats to lurk and wait in ambush
Too tired to even think about suicide
Instead yearning for sex, something passive, to be done to me while I curl and cry
Anything just to feel more than empty
I’ve been seconds from the ledge, one steps from jumping and still this all consumption of emotions is worse
This endless expanse of nothing
Stretched borders making for the treeline
Drowning in the blood of mourning
Lost without her Yes or Sir
Masters have demons too
Ours just seem like controlled because they are control
Perfection is a lost art
Artists lost in the false storms of embrace
A yes away from hell or salvation
One more chance
One more piece broken
One more piece of jagged glass
Still capable of cutting me free
Burned ash deep
Just a empty voice in the wilderness
Shouting my pain
This shaking wakes
But remember who I was
and can never be again
Heartache’s luxury breathes where lights burn
the thick smell of pancakes and fresh blueberries
passion wakes but all was lost ere it started
words falter in the debate of will or won’t
A mad dash for someone to hold
and lost amidst the jasmine
soft smells of resin and yellow pollen
unable to speak.
Your song seeps in, moving through my blood, wrapping itself around my heart.
This rhythm holds me to brighter smiles and upturned eyes, grace written in the moue of lips and tone made madness of love, though burning set fire to coils and snap, synapse lapse,
break bread in dreaming but no salt to be had, the wants of memory and a spent shell casing pinging against concrete steps, finality in the cymbal crash, in the sodden thump and cascade, never more,
but the ravens merely hungry and doesn’t want discussion,
drape the sanity like gauze, easily ripped away when it’s purpose conflicts with the grey light of dawn and the question on your lips.
Cast me out but let me fly, though I perch outside your door or bake me in and I mistake the warmth for the sun, flick ash and sand and watch world’s turn but only this once
Say that you are mine and wake me, a dreamer trapped in the dreaming, last relevant elevator pitch meeting,
let passion claim madness, let hope claim strength, let peace weep pain or merely love me, as I love you
There is a thing in movies and TV shows and in books where despite everything that the protagonist does, every action taken. Despite it all, the person they love is killed or dies. And it destroys me each time. It rips my chest open and for a minute it’s like the door is opening again and I see her, laying there, dying all over again. Every time.
No matter how much time passes, there are things that will trigger me back.
I’m torn between wishing I don’t experience that again and never wanting to get to the point where I feel nothing.
Because if I feel nothing, I will have lost that last piece of her.
But I also don’t want the person I love now to get the impression that I somehow love them them less. I love madly, deeply, completely. And I love you.
What stranger in turmoils touch made bled
by bone, by sword, by roan
in skins own fever made whole
bound by rowan and switch
kiss me in glade
found in the slipping mist
called by lips
full of midnight and nightshade
A candle flickers to life
Rasping the spark
Kind words a scourge
No balm to the furies within
Drinking midnight wine
Alone in my bed
Straps that held me down now hold me up
Strange the last flares of thought
Slipping into oblivion.