“I guess I fumbled this didn’t I”

and thank god I knew enough to pause
and take eighty four steps back
because what would’ve had me leaping into a pit
of guilt tipped spears

had me giggling
miles away
because darling you already know the answer

and are hoping
I’ll bite

she was something
no
is something
to behold
to touch
to make beg and shake and groan
to laugh into a sugar cookie
or four
and whisper the recipe across her bones

she was something
no
she is mine

safety is not always comfort
and comfort is not always safety

but he was home.

and I was a stop along the way.

how do you showcase
that it’s not just the success metric
the ache roiling within

It’s that running became safety
a reclamation
a chant
a war cry

Droplets of who I was
bit by bit
Lost in the same few miles

and compressed
through blood
through screams
and loose gravel

stripping seven layers of skin
or maybe just hell

dying to the flame
to the fear
no small deaths for me

to become
nothing
but
I am

She laughed
“There you are”
like I was tucked under covers or hiding around the corner
like I didn’t emerge with blood soaked hands
having fought tooth and nail

I found you she squealed
reaching out for me

and god did I drop
with nothing short of relief

Because to come back to her little laugh
and find her effortless grin

I could finally remind her
or maybe it was me
her confidence came
from that little me.

Alone on the plains of immortal grace,
Stands a lemon tree,
Planted from a single seed,
Watered by tears,
Pruned by a biting breeze.

Guarded by the lion
Who sings of wintry days,
Where skies turned pale
And nights sing.

Of an old soul,
Roaming starfields and comet roads,
Even as cold suns and river runs
Fell into black holes—
Still, the old soul roamed.

Tears of grief,
Like silver leaves,
Drifted on the cosmic breeze.

And where the lion sat beneath the lemon tree,
He listened to its haunting song—
Of love
Lost and gone.

Grief is a sacred song,
A raging roar
For his dearest one and family,
Buried below
This lemon tree,
Ancient and old,
Sowing bitter roots.

Where the lion roams,
He roars,
And the lemons grow.

There he’ll die,
Returning to the fruits of home,
Wrapped in leaves.
Until his song has ceased,
Lives the Lemon and the Lion.

I’ve never smoked a day in my life
But today I could breathe that fire one time.
Don’t care about looking cool,
Those aspirations are long in the review mirror.

They say grief is a sacred giver,
But today its hung up its visitor sign
And its settling in.

One breath of fire,
Isn’t going to solve a thing,
But it might make the ache spread.
Make my lungs feel like one exhale,
Could blow it all away.

They say grief fades with time,
But today the future doesn’t mean a **** thing.
Hang the noose of hope round my neck,
I’ll wait this out one day at a time.

It’s quiet now,
In my mind the smoke rises above me,
A memory of what I thought would be.
Come to me sacred grief,
I’ve got no light but I’ll pretend,
That I could smoke this grief into yesterday.

I’ve seen the day,
Coming down the road,
Scribed in my dreams,
Lived in my nightmares.
I’ve always seen,
My ghost of a soul,
Has always known,
And it whispers to me in the dark.

For whom the bell tolls,
An answer hits the mark.
Voices call me home,
Though I squeeze my eyes shut,
All I see are lights
And visions of afar.
Silver bird of light,
Screaming in the dark
Of places beyond heaven, hell, and earthy might.

Why do these plague me so?
I’d ask if any were perhaps to know,
Though the answer already lies in my soul.
It is for me to know,
To dream,
To live the hellish scapes,
To see beyond winter’s end,
And summer’s embrace.

With utmost care,
I transcribe these things,
Perhaps for no one or posterity,
For simple insanity,
And for all those who cannot breathe.
This isn’t for me.
I’m here only to see
And perhaps write these wordless things.
Come the day I journey across the sea
I’ll send a dream,
To the ghost of me.

Obsession gripping
Compulsion dominating
Total confusion