It tastes of the river.
Bones rattling in the empty darkness
Echo in the stillness of her ribcage.
Restless; you stare into the stormy night,
Imagine bodies falling from bridges.
A light footfall and the sound of indigo
Blend into the subway. It spills its secrets
To the dark tunnels
As women rush by
Exposing wrists–haggard and drawn
As the worn grey scent of money.
You move your fingers over her spine
And think of lightning.
You frighten me.
When you ask me for things like friendship,
a night on the town.
An invitation thrown carelessly,
like a pebble in the water,
as you walk away without a care in the world.
As you walk away without realizing
that I am made of glass
and a misplaced throw may shatter this perfect illusion
of my reality.
I tighten my grip as anxiety roars to life
and settles on my shoulders with its familiar cold embrace.
“I’ll be there,” I whisper
Because I’d hate to disappoint you with my silence,
my mysterious disappearances.
But I breathe in and swallow my fear
because even a broken clock
tells the correct time every once in a while.
If you’ve never truly hated someone with the deepest of bitter resentment and the hottest fire of burning rage–then do you truly know what it is to love someone?
If ever the black crashing waves of the purest loathing have never pummeled you, sucking you under in the fierce current of their bottomless depths, then tell me–how do you ascend into that sweet paradise of sublime beauty in equal measure?
To love deeply is to risk letting the pits of hell take you into their unrelenting embrace.
To crash unexpectedly into that fiery inferno, arms and legs akimbo as you pinwheel helplessly through the air.
To feel a thousand deaths as you watch your dreams sputter and die, winking out one by one.
But the glaring tragedy here is not having to survive such unbearable loss, no–the real tragedy here is to never have felt that kind of consuming love at all.
Invisible in a world full of molds,
We search desperately for someone who will see us–
Beneath the masks, beneath the facades, beneath the uncertain smile.
Will today be the day that someone will finally take notice of me?
Hear my words, look into my soul,
Acknowledge the small flame of my existence?
Will you be the one to stop by for a moment,
And warm your hands briefly by my fire?
To let me know that for a moment in time,
I was not alone in a world full of molds.
We collect scars like trophies,
Running our fingers down each shiny surface
As the dust of years dissipates with each stroke
And pain, like the grandest of glittering diamonds draped around our neck
Each memory a sharp-edged facet cutting deep within its cold embrace
While the finest cloak of purple–so carefully draped around our body
Is knit of wounds and bruises too slow to heal in time
And yet so regally we stand
Gazing silently upon the carnage wrought throughout the years
As echoing within we hear a whispering refrain
Who set me to rule
over this desert land?
To wrestle with God
is to prevail in the face of adversity.
It’s to have hope when there is none.
To keep striding forward
when all you want to do is lay your weary soul to rest.
To wrestle with God
is to battle your very self