Healing isn't linear
It's obvious when we say it,
but it slips our mind as we are blinded
by the steep walls and cliffs
of the mountain ahead.

Cliffs waiting to be scaled
looking insurmountable
Turning to find another path
feels like turning back to quit.

Spending a night in the midst of the deep foliage,
vines twining around limbs, digging thorns into our spines
Feels not like a rest before fighting another day
but falling into a sleep that will never end.

But eventually
winding and twisting and
climbing up boulders, then
sliding back in the gravel
only to do it again
and again

The summit will appear over the edge,
and the sun will rise on your first day
on the top of the mountain
above the weight of all those memories.

You will still find thorns in your shoes
every now and then,
but you will always be able to look back
at the great mountain that you climbed
the great trials that you faced
and find pride in what you have overcome.

Does everyone feel like
Happiness requires discipline,
Or is it just me?

Truthfully, we are our actions
Not our accomplishments.
We exist in
Being
Not in doing.
In living the same day
As every day,
In having happiness in each repetition
And not trapping our contentment
Beyond the horizon,
We can finally be
Happy.

There's beauty, a peace
in discovering
tiny steps

Satisfaction in the small goals,
the close goalposts
the list of checkmarks

There is peace
In lowering the expectations
but not the goal
In lessening the pressure, the blame, that
cycle of shame
So that even if the speed slows,
it never fully stops moving

Progress
Healing
is not linear

Tiny steps
That never quit
Will overcome every setback,
Every rewind,
Every mistake
Tiny steps are what keep us moving
And faith is what takes us to the end.

I am neither here nor there, in
Limbo, my next step postponed
Stranded halfway across the river
I lean down to taste the water
It is full of salt.

Forty days and forty nights
But there is no sign of rain
Or what comes after.

I wonder if I am meant to wait for the ferryman
Or if, when the tide releases me
The path I will walk
Will lead me to Hades on my own.

Three raps on the door
Why not four?
Who comes to knock at this hour? they say
But is it late, or early?

What are you wearing?
How is the weather?
It doesn’t matter much, if you’re under a stoop
you will be sheltered from the rain
Unless, of course,
the sky is clear
But if sunlight or the moon is at your back,
I have no clue.

But you do.

Who comes to knock? they say
Who are you?

Are you merely the name you are called to?
If that, then what else are you?
Besides the names, the words,
the thoughts
others hold inside their heads

Refracted reflections of
fleeting conversations,
like passing notes
Only mere simple impressions
of the very person you spend every day,
every hour,
every minute walking alongside.

The knock comes again,
at your door.
Who are you?

Returning
is like donning an old, familiar cloak
Heavy, and somehow still warm
though it hasn’t been worn,
despite its wear,
in ages.

The years under my eyes
slip off my shoulders, like
rolling drops of rain
As decades of a different kind
settle in my mind,
Feeling like wisdom might
though it could just as well be
simple vanity.

I imagine myself to be
different,
Not arrogant enough to envision
what I ought to be,
But merely something better, at least
than what the mirror sees.

I avoid looking at my reflection.
I hold my breath
like plunging under water
when I turn to face the miles remaining
that I must tread
a second time.

The ice, that ice-
It chills me to the bone
As I sink under,
it freezes my lungs
and paralyzes the breath inside them-

And yet, I pull the coat around me tighter,
smelling of mothballs from the back of the closet
digging my nails into the fur fabric
I force my eyes to open.

Beyond the darkness I imagined,
there is, of course, still light:
From between my lashes, I glimpse myself
and find I am still, no longer trembling-
And though I am not beautiful,
and even this curious look
somehow exposes every piece of me
which lacks perfection
And I remember what it used to be
And

I take a breath,
I let the surface of the water calm.
I reach deep inside for comfort,
and meet the small voice
who trusts I can return there again.
Maybe I will be wiser the second time around.

How much does it take to grow,
and change?
How much does it take to stay open?

Time, effort, pain -
People will only believe you
if you can prove it hurt to get there

But to not become jaded
To avoid the tarnish that comes with
washing, scrubbing the dirt from under your nails
a thousand times over

Remember to polish and shine
preserve the tenderness in your soul
Keep your heart open and kind
even as you gain strength to protect your own.

You have my whole heart
I can’t believe I found all the pieces
broken off over the years
to give to you.
Don’t make me regret it,
my love.

Everything we love, we will lose
The deeper it binds, the deeper it cuts
Should we not love a sunrise
because it is lost once the sun sets?
Look away from the beauty
So we are not as chilled, being left
in the dark, cold and alone?

No,
I can assure you
It is far better to see and be burned
than to never feel warmth at all.

They say there are meanings to the different colors
The ones she sends are red.
Because she loves with her whole heart,
with nothing left to spend.

It comes with no expectations
No subscript between the lines.
Genuine and honest,
simple love:
vulnerable and kind.

I don’t know how I’m going to die
but I don’t mind.
If it was sent in a letter
it’d be left unopened, and marked
return to sender.

I don’t need to know the way
the twists and turns coming ahead
the fraying and tearing of fabric
being fed into the loom

I will know only what is in front of me
and trust the enjoyment I have is enough.

Lean on the day in your hands
because it is the only one like it you will ever get to see.

Now, when she smiles,
there’s some sadness in her eyes

I don’t think you ever thought
how much of your thoughtlessness
would find a place
inside her mind

She’s still kind
and yet I wonder why?

How long can she last
behind her smile?

It’s defiant
a glimmer in the dark
It comes with the tide,
her lonely eyes
There’s still something, there inside
It just took a while
to purify the poison from
inside her mind

Now when she cries
her eyes have changed
She looks past the tears, to better days
Some sunshine still remains
The flame that burned under the shame
under the blame
There are mistakes left to be made
Though it will fade, it will return the same

The shifting sands left room
for her to write her name
She sits among the rocks,
within the shade
Patient in the surety of better days.

The aches of grief never fade, do they?
There is so much more to lose than
your eyes, or the wrinkles from your smiles
So many what-ifs, and dreams, and half-thoughts
Plans and routes on maps before we
picked out all the stops
Colors of sunsets unseen
Days yet to be
That are forever changed by the past,
set in stone.
It is cold to the touch.
The face of a tombstone, the whirls of marble-
is it beautiful?

No, the pangs of grief and lost love,
They come like the aches before a rain
From little reminders or long conversations
that dig a little deeper
Unsettling the sediment, flashes of light as
flickers of memories pass in the mind’s eye
of what could’ve been.

But the stone warms under your touch,
heated by the sun
It does not remain mere soulless bone:

Though the past cannot be changed,
the future is free to be shaped
by your hand.

Days and desires are left untouched, but perhaps
just yet to be seen
If you were only to open your eyes
and look past the tears.

I can taste the salt in my mouth
Sand crunching between grinding teeth
Rocks pressed into my skin, my palms
Grit under my fingernails
Sweat dripping from my brow
Underneath the beating sun

Beating out into the ground
Old past dreams, burying them alive

Waiting to see if they will sprout to life
Or stay under the surface, decomposing
Poisoning with their debris, seeping into my blood
Like a deep infection
Growing roots I must pull out like weeds
Only to bury again

Until it takes
In this infertile soil
Finally growing a scraggly, ugly thing
That will bloom after enduring storms,
Being battered by the waves of violent seas

The wolves will come to dig it up,
Rooting noses in the dust

Keep them at the threshold,
Keep the door shut

Give it time to let it bloom
Trust in the time in takes
To make something truly strong
You must endure.

Making from scratch
The next batch
A new breed of life,
Watching it rise, covered
Yet to be unveiled, revealed
The growth a secret, kept to myself

Self-sustaining
Thoughts remaining
Only feeding into the cycle

Letting the good, and the bad
Wash over like rainwater
I like the smell in the morning

Doesn’t it let the grass grow greener?

Speaking into silent nights,
I step into someone else's shoes -
Walk the paths, late at night
Through cemeteries and past grand tombs.

They fit well, are deeply worn,
From all the readers who wore them before
And we pace, muttering,
Some fast and some slow
Lurking in the murky spaces the stanzas show.

The view is the same and the sun never rises
The eternal evening is peaceful in its quiet.
Ravens caw overhead, our mind's eye marked in lead
It sketches the pavement under our feet.

The path has been walked a thousand times,
More so, over this past hundred years
With good fortune, it will be walked again
By students of writers, and those readings through tears.
We walk in your shoes,
To see what you see
And together we share small moments to breathe.

There is art
In this catharsis

Making beauty
It's cathartic

Words and paints and splatters and strokes
Giving shape to the unknown

We hang our pieces in this vast gallery
With new halls waiting around every corner

Not to be admired, but simply to be
Here we all have our own space to believe

I want to be proud of myself and focus on what's next
But I keep coming back around to you,
Like I've stepped over an ice cream cone dropped on the ground
And I can't keep myself from glancing back to watch it melt.

Over time,
I will become more accustomed to my footsteps
Not being echoed by other mirrored sets
And watching my shadow grow long in the evening alone.

And yet I keep turning back
Because there is something fascinating about the slow death
Of what once brought smiles,
Being fed to the ants and the hot sun.

I'm moving on, even if I keep glancing back to you
Because I know I'm not coming back
And with every step I take, it hurts a little less
And I'm comforted in knowing you will soon be out of view.

I'm proud of myself
For seeing the truth.

Like excavating a great ruin
An archeologist of my own pain,
The more I dig up the more it hurts
Yet I know exactly where the answers lie.

Underneath the dirt and grime
The dust that clogs my lungs and throat
Until I can't even tell if I'm crying, because
My face is numb in the cold

My fingertips are cracked and
Bleeding, it's
Shattering
I'm losing rhythm

And yet now,
I'm on a peaceful plane ride home.
The white noise and warmth is soothing
As I relax into the padded seat.

I left a lot of bodies under the rubble.
But I am done grieving
For what I've found died a long time ago.

If I could speak to my younger self
I'd be the friend I've never had
The one I thought I did, the facade I believed

So the pain of ripping that mural off the wall
Shattered painted shards of tile all around my feet
Fingernails digging into the mortar
Bleeding jagged edges

In my mind
I'd be able to comfort myself
The way I wished you had.

I don't need to prove myself to you
To any of you
Because there are still parts of you that disappoint me.

You are not who I want to be.
So why would I ever be
******* in knots
At the thought of disappointing you?

If I want to sleep at night?
I sleep alone.
So really, I only need to be at peace with
Myself.

Not that
That's always easy,
But it's easier than
Finding peace with you.

To my Younger Self,

I'm glad you are so happy. Remember to enjoy it, and not just in passing, but every second of it.

You should go by your first name. Not everything has to be related to work. Make friends with anyone you can, because friendships last longer than duty stations and billets.

Remember that you are bigger than what you do. You are more than who your friends are, where you live, or what you score. Souls cannot be measured.

Dream big. Dream wild. Dream with ambition and love and unrestrained hope, for "only in their dreams can men be truly free. 'Twas always thus, and always thus will be."

Set your boundaries, but not your limits. Believe yourself to be free to pursue your passions, to define yourself by your highest hopes in the morning and your fears alone at night. Do not be afraid of obstacles or fights, but only of your own doubt - and then, do it anyway, and prove yourself wrong every single day.

You will lose a lot. You will feel as though you have lost everything you have ever gained, anything you've ever managed to work for, and then even more. Know you will come out the other side. Know that when you do, you will not be alone.

Rely on your own eyes to find your way, but know that when it really is too dark, those still standing at your shoulder will be there to guide you any day.

Stay forgiving. Stay kind. Stay generous. Stay hopeful. Do not let these things go, even as they leave doors open for others to hurt you.

It is worth it to get hurt to stay true to who you are. The only question is: Who do you want to be?

I'm still looking for an answer. And I'm starting to think that the searching is part of it.

I trust you.

I am angry.

It takes a while for me to get there,
But that doesn't mean I won't.

It took some time for me to learn to read it
The subtext between the lines,
The looks, the fake smiles
But now I can see it.

I see you for who you are
And who you were,
And I can see now
Behind your smiles
The way you see me.

I am angry
Because you lied to me.
Because you still pretend we're friends
Like you'd die for me
When you prefer my absence to my company
But didn't decide to let me know.

Instead
You found a fault you could exploit
A guilty, shameful moment, a moment I slipped
You could have forgiven
And instead you let every little thing that remained
Pour out onto me.

All of the lies got too much
The uncomfortable lack of love
So you said it was the last straw
And you will blame the desolation
On my mistakes.

But I see it now
Rereading the chapters of our history,
The moments I felt a minor mystery
Speedbumps I painted over, glittering
Because I thought that's all they were.

Now I see the signs on those old highway roads,
And that this was one exit ramp of many we've passed before
I'm glad we finally went our own ways
I'm glad I see it now, that it was you standing in the way.

It wasn't my fault.
It isn't my fault, the way that you felt, when you didn't tell me.

It wasn't my fault.
It isn't my fault, the way I was hurt by the guilt you pushed onto me.

******* for making me think it was.

Thank you for the times you built me up.

And ******* for ripping it all apart,
And for making me do it with my own hands.

I know I am capable of something great
If I can let myself believe it.

My biggest enemy is my own mind,
And without you, I can free it.

I am enough on my own
Without your validation.
I don't need your accolades
Or your labels,
I don't need someone to orbit

I am enough on my own
I'll put the work in by myself.
Long days and long nights,
With just my own company

And all of you can go to hell.

Taking pride in

My clean room
My folded laundry
My books, bursting with sticky notes
My calendar, color-coded
(Though I don't update it, it's still nice to look at)
My vase filled with flowers, even if they're plastic
The candles on the shelf, one lit, always burning...

Shiny mirrors and scrapbook photos
Strung up fairy lights and a made up bed
Clean floors with supplies tucked away
Dishes in cabinets, spices filling the rack

A grocery list on the fridge,
A book of recipes I've handwritten
Poems in the living room, a guitar by my bed
Running shoes by the door, for early mornings ahead

All the things that make up me:
My dreams, my goals
The work I do every day

A none of it has anything to do with you.

Talked over and
Ignored,
One word answers
With days in between

Asked for favors
Taken advantage of
My generosity
A flaw, it seems

Again and again,
A quick apology
I'm quick to forgive
But the fuse is burning

Breaking down my walls
But eroding my patience
I dismiss and defend
Because it's the role I play

Over and over,
I say it's okay.

It's okay because
I didn't need you anyway.

Fighting the good fight
Is not easy, which seems self-explanatory
But there's a reason it is a "fight":
It takes great effort to spin reality
From the thread of your dreams.

Walking the narrow road
You must have faith in the summit.
The path is strewn with sharp sticks and rocks
You will not reach it unharmed.

Limping, hurting, you may even lose your way
The trees seem to grow taller once the sun has set
But if you are moving uphill,
Against the struggle, and the pain,
You are moving in the right direction.

Just because you are doing good
Doesn't mean it will feel easy.
Even the best works require struggle.

In fact,
It is the worst path that is the most enjoyable
The downhill gives the wide sweeping view,
With easy steps worn by many other passerby
Generations who were tempted to leave the narrow path:

Keep fighting the good fight.
Though you will struggle in the dark
Have faith in the last sunrise
You will watch crest over the summit.

Decide who you are, every day
Shaping your life like clay
Moldable, resilient
So even a dip or a crack
Can be smoothed over,
Just with some time.

A vase, a sculpture
Anything your heart desires,
The world is your oyster
To fill with platitudes, or cynicisms
To each their own.

But you should know,
It may bring some comfort
That there is paint in the back closet, and
The tools are cleaned in the cupboard
For when you want to repaint,
Reset, retry, rebuild.

It takes time to build habits
Character,
Heart.
But these towers, once built
Will reach the stars
And never fall.

I think I am too analytical for love.
Which is contrary, startlingly so, considering
How deeply I have loved before.

I think it may be a fluke, the times I've thought I've loved
They say thinking you have something is sometimes
The same as having it: to be true,
It hurts the same once it's gone.

But maybe I am a fool,
Fooling myself in these fools errands

Searching for something I cannot allow myself to have
I am too analytical, I focus on the small things
To make excuses, and find reasons for dismissal
Simultaneously fighting for reasons
To love, and to let go
Because I'm not sure where the path goes
And the uncertainty is terrifying.

So I analyze, and pick apart
And keep it all to myself
Hoping and praying but with no end to the sentence because
I don't even know what I'm asking for.

For things to work out -
To continue? To end? To end in heartbreak, or in relief?
To last in treachery, through deceit, to lead
To peace? If I'm hopeful.

If anyone could break through my programming
Like waking a robot back to life, bringing sentience and emotion
Where it was once quiet and dark inside
I'd hope it's you.
Because there's a chance it could be, and
I've found no one else who could.
I don't even know what's there, anymore,
What could be brought to light?

Maybe you would only wake me to hurt me,
Or to use me
Maybe I should be willing to risk it to see the light at all

I am in a world I don't understand
And I am scared
But I'm willing to let you try.

I'm waiting for certainty
Surety, that moment of stillness
When everything stops,
You can't take your eyes off them
And you just know the world is right, again.

Isn't that what they say?
Something new should feel this way
Shouldn't feel this way
Uncertain, unsteady, questioning, flustered questions
Piquing my anxiety, my mind racing
Yet my unrelenting heart still skips a beat
Tormenting, unfaithful feelings
I wish I could be sure, before I want more
But something in my head is disconnected, and it stutters my steps
I'm stuttering in my words

I don't know how to explain myself
Speaking, critiquing
Saying my own words back at me
I wish I could feel the things I'm waiting for
So I could stop waiting, and instead
Just feel.

I'm hesitant to hope
Caution tempered by the memory of hot stovetops
Still felt in my fingertips.

But I know
From the chances I've lost,
The opportunities I've let pass me by
That the only way to live a life
Is to let the windows open up
And lean out to smell the roses -

Don't live under the weight of,
"It's the hope that kills you."
Be freed to seek new answers, let life be open-ended
Ask yourself: "Do you believe in miracles?"

I've come home / I hate it here
It looks the same / exactly as terrifying
I find it comforting / similar to a straight jacket
The stillness / it's suffocating

Hands reach for hugs / unwanted
Eyes search for meaning / we look away
Colors stream around us / they're dull, shades of gray

Why do I want to run away?

They say it makes you stronger
Like a callus, like a muscle
Turning the soft into something tougher
Hardening the weak, reinforcing the strong

I think what doesn't **** you,
It simply scars you
It is what you learn from your wounds, if anything at all
Which changes you:
To not touch the hot stove
To not reach for the sharp edge
So you are prepared for what comes next.

Like the ticking of a time bomb
Waiting for the payoff
The gift, or the stone
Gold or indigo
Weighing the scales
In your head, in your heart
The decision is already made.
Risking hope, waiting days
In time, your debts will be paid.

Ease my mind,
Keep me safe
Be the home I can fly from
Knowing I can return
To you.

Maybe you don't want me
But you only want to be wanted
So I will take what you can give me
To fix my broken heart, and

I know it's not forever, and
I know this is a trap

All the love I give you
Will stab me in the back

But where can I go wrong
If it's all never gone right
I'll keep shooting in the dark
Let it go without a fight

I have nothing left to give, but
Everything I have
Unless I keep it to myself
I'll be alone until the last

So, maybe you don't want me
But you only want to be wanted
So I will take the pieces you give me
To fix my broken heart, and

I know it's not forever, and
I know this is a trap

One day, maybe, someday
You'll want to love me back.

I wish I could turn it off
And be happy with being alone
No longer wish for connections
Stop wanting the things that hurt me.

I am happy alone
But I would be happier if I wasn't
And seeing the empty space beside me
Has made all the difference.

It distracts from the view
Though I wish it didn't
And even if I don't look, I can hear it, in the silence
I wish I could be happier alone.

I miss who I used to think I was
When I loved myself
In ignorant bliss
Of my flaws, and the mistakes I had yet to make.

As I've grown older, I've come to know myself better
And I can't say if I've liked the change.
But I'm stuck here with me, for better or for worse
So we will bear the growing pains

From old me, to new me
Pretending to shift while staying the same
Fooling myself with the same name
Unable to decipher these blaming games

Who or what is responsible for how I turned out
I don't know
But I know I'm not who I thought I'd be, at twenty-three
At least I still have hope that time will make up the difference.

Why does hope
Sometimes feel like barbs in my heart?
Is that the doubt creeping in
Or the poison of my dreams
Slowly, finally
Starting the process of my own death?

Why is it
That I give others the power to hurt me
So quickly
Before I'm sure they won't?

I watch myself do it,
Like when the horror movie turns towards the basement
And as they walk down the stairs
I scream for them to stop,
And yet that is simply the way the story goes.

To avoid it is to stop playing the movie altogether
And while I know what is coming
I know I need to simply let it play
To see the end at all.

Helping myself
But what is it all for?
I climb slowly out of the hole
I didn't realize I had been digging for myself
Though I know as my vision crosses the rim
There will be nothing but a foggy open field.
Damp in the clouded light,
Unable to tell evening from night
Sunlight or moonlight, it makes no difference
I have no flashlight anyway
And no one is here from whom I could ask for one.

It is good to want for yourself
But what is the good in wanting,
If you are wanting alone?

I guess the hope is in the waiting
For a light across the field
Maybe, there is only the theory
You could only chance finding another
If you have both climbed out to the surface.

Hours, waiting
Left at the dock
The water cool as I dip my feet
Pants rolled above my ankles
The sun sets beyond the horizon
As I know he's not coming,
But I try to enjoy the evening anyway.

Each time the note is slipped under my door
The handwriting is different, the phrasing
But the date and place is always the same
So every Friday, this is where I am:
Alone, waiting.

Someone smarter, maybe,
Better in some way
Better for herself, or better for someone else
Might not have found themselves in such a position
For these propositions.
I can't even tell if they're from strangers, or maybe
Just written from myself, and I can't remember

But I hope, anyway,
And I show up
Just in case
There was a reason left
For hoping.

They struggle to contain
The feelings inside bottles
Messages to throw in the ocean, iced over
They skitter with a clatter
Scattered snow-covered glasses
A pirate's best haven
Maybe one of these corks popped
Leads straight to my heart

Through monsters and ruins
Sharp claws and fanged vices
Struggling up to the surface,
Finding purchase in the darkness

Messages in bottles
Voices to be unheard
Some are my own
But the labels are too worn
Best leave them closed, and wait
For the ice to thaw under her.

They, on her shoulders
The child, and the older
Manipulative and scheming, plotting to point out
Every flaw in the artistry
Every wasted second, every fear

She wishes to give every
Benefit of the doubt, assuage every tear
Every anxiety to be released,
Anger and angst held back

But she protects the child
And sometimes, she's wrong
These overprotective anxieties can cause harm
But every time she's persuaded
It only took time, for the voices on her shoulders
Are the only ones who do not lie.

Sentimental
A sentinel
Colored pictures would show him
Old, and gray
Weathered by winds and storms he couldn't name
Memories, weather-beaten
They fall the same
On his creased, stone face
Rivulets of rain dug in
Sweat stained
The outcropping set to collapse
A thousand years from now
He remembers when his placard stood
Not so close to the edge
And how many has he seen
Plummet, where the rocks do
He will follow one day
And no one will place his face,
Or remember
The monument to the sentinel
Stood by the river
An oceanside ringer,
Immediately recognizable
Yet once its gone
No one will know his name.

After so many times
The cold is what feels normal
The open air, uncomfortable
The shock is lulled into a
Coming home,
A settling into normal.

Water overhead,
Pressure in my head
I feel like I'm dead
When I can feel anything

Ice in my veins
It feels the same as
The times when I'm
Breathing.

Cold shock
Isn't so shocking
When after all the
Tries, the lies
It's the baseline
Without it, the heart rate
Skyrockets

A body in space doesn't know
What to do without the pressure
Holding it together

I step on your feet
I'm clumsy on the dance floor
Though I love it, I never had a chance
At least not before

In my dreams I'd sweep you off your feet
Or you'd lift me off mine
But here, it is awkward
For this time, it's just fine

I try to glance to your eyes
Your hands on my waist
I don't notice your gaze
Over my shoulder, looking at her

Is it meant for me
Is this meant to be
Or do you wish
I was someone else?

I lost my dance card
I don't know if I'm just a name on yours, in a list
With her name at the bottom
Instead of mine.

I must be red-green colorblind
To miss the signs I'm driving by
Pressing the gas as the road gets slicker
Rain and pain splattering onto the windshield
I can see the pain coming
If I breathe too deep, I feel the stitch in my side
I'm getting weaker
I'm too drawn in to fight, to pull away
I want to stay,
I want you to stay -

I can see the crash and ambulance lights up ahead
Minutes before they arrive
911 is on speed-dial, the bystanders on standby

Maybe I'll hold my breath
Just to watch the world burn
Moving into the smoke
Breathing deeper for the hell of it

Straining to hear whispers,
A last cry, or a word
Maybe it's a death rattle
Maybe it's a yell for her

Maybe I've tried enough, I know it'll hurt
Maybe my only chance
Is to watch the world burn.

Maybe the only thing keeping me alive
Is to hope that one day,
I'll walk through the flames
I'll be glad I had tried.

I am a living ellipsis
In waiting
Mourning
A transient period
Temporary
A traincar station
A layover
So many hours disappearing
Unaccounted for
Unmemorable, yet endured
In their brevity, in their nothingness
Time that doesn’t exist
Yet it can be measured in its passing
Unseen, and
Slipping
Sand between fingers
Waiting for
Something to come from
The waiting, the silent breath
Holding the air still,
Motionless lungs
Before the next rise and fall
Seeming, every pause, there will be no more
Until it comes
Until it stops again
Alive, and yet not, and yet somehow still
Waiting…

Oh do you know how it feels
To be the tree that falls in a wood
With no one to hear it?

Was it even there to begin with?