I fear the depths of the
memories I’m not allowed
to wade in, watching as the
waves crash the cityscapes
against the life that you and
I have built together, where
our toes should be wading
along the trails of memories
in the making, not haunted
by the thoughts of those we
have tried to bury deep in
the sands – I fear the ocean
as I fear my own mind, lost
in the aftermath of what can
wash upon the shores with
any given change of the tide.
I had left the tainted fragments
of my mind buried in the ruins of
my heart – I had failed love again.
I had twisted the knife inside my
chest, letting the blood trickle out
and relieve me of my own burdens
of loving poorly and hurting those
in the wake of my pending storm.
I was relapsing into a destruction
of my own making and although
I saw it coming, I could not stop it;
another day of destruction, another
chance at happiness if we could find
a way to survive the aftermath and
resentment pulsating from your soul.
It was just another day, and that was
the only truth I was allowed to feel.
I thought I had your heart,
all this time I was calling it
mine, still believing that our
memories had been painted
on the walls of your heart in
crimson shades of the golden
days when a whisper was all
that it took, more than just a
look and I was yours and you
were all mine – but with days
fading, and the paint chipping
away, I ask myself how long
I shall be allowed to stay…
Bury me in the autumn,
propped against the dying
willows, so I can whisper
alongside them until the
mornings end – carry me
past the river, where the
roots are growing plenty,
caught inside the daze of
my lengthened goodbyes.
Remember me in autumn,
when the trees have faded
into whispers beyond the
river, where the age of my
innocence and youth still
linger in the roots; and if
the winds shall no longer
reach the willows, miss
me, in my final goodbye.
At the peak of the hours
when the sun is refusing
to rise, and the clouds are
falling like ash and debris,
when I am hovering along
the outskirts of loneliness
on the edge of denial and
fear, I hear only a whisper
from you gently soothing
my own voice against the
rapid beating of my heart,
bringing me back into your
arms, where I can think in
fear, knowing I won’t fall.,
Lie to me by the moonlight,
lay me covered in the stars
with fragments of the truth
holding me tightly, bound
to the skyline in memories
of constellations, as though
history will repeat itself and
the truth will become good
again – instead of speckles
of rust not gold, tainting a
clear sky; tainting a perfect
memory, with a broken lie.
So much for words when
only actions hold any truth;
resemblances of the ideas
we can’t form into coherent
thoughts past our lips, instead
focusing on silence and the
act of distance to showcase
feelings – providing time to
play the enemy, and for our
memories to fall apart under
pressure, as though actions
aren’t in fact confrontation,
nestled on the lips of a lie.
I lived long enough to see
myself become the villain
in my own narrative; once
the hero, fighting tragedy
at the hands of a happily
ever after, only to lose sight
of my fights, while taking a
bitter sword against myself –
twice for the blushes, once
for a lie. Burning morals
like bridges against those
non believers, reciting lies
with a sharp tongue to view
chances past my cause; left
to put together pieces of my
own destruction with only a
realization that I’ve become
my own target, left to fight.
In a rush of swollen blazes,
spewing ashes of autumn and
charcoal, where the half burnt
breezes are being carried out
as though fragments bare no
harm, and memories are only
as good as the dreams in which
they are kept; with the roots of
flames burning blue in the light
of love and smoke hovering past
realms of suffocation, waiting
for life to distinguish the blazes –
as though indecision was just a
game, with all of us left burning.
I struck a match to call
in a favor, watching and
waiting as the smoke
billowed from the tips of
my fingers, heightening
in ashes and the cherry –
patience was never my
friend, as I longed for
time to escape me in
silence as I struck one
more match, hoping for
my luck to finally change.
Storylines in Verse 