Shall you not move, deaf and wordless

Being blamed because of stillness?

Or shall you go ahead, instead,

Carrying guilt for every step?

Or maybe buzzing all around,

a way not found, a place not found.

Till a saving killing hand clenches fingers on the sound

of the foolish fly it downed.

Now it’s over, now you rest,

with the bitter taste that lasts

when no balance can be asked (and no harmony forecasted)

between two different parts, if the first weights twice the last.

I saw her again, there at the hospital
Her hair had begun to silver in early autumn
She was no longer the child
That I had tried to protect, but a grown woman
She was now a matriarch
And she had developed steel in her soul
The years of neglect had been a fire
That forged her an inner strength
Burned the Iron until it became hardened
Even better than it would have been
We talked in the hushed waiting room
All echoes of happiness muffled by the sadness
That clung to the walls like padding
We walked the sterile halls
Scrubbed clean of tears and smiled sad smiles at each other
It was her first death as the matriarch
And she was in charge of this thing, this dying
She was the one who had the strength
To keep everyone else together
Keep them functioning, even if robotic
They did whatever task she gave them
Feeling as if they had accomplished something
And forgetting for a moment
I was proud when I saw her, even through the sadness
Although it was no work of mine
I felt that I had let her down
As I couldn't protect her from the unspeakable things
That visited her daily and worse, nightly
She had been so young and vulnerable, but no more
She was strong and stable,
The rock that the rest of the family could anchor to
As they were buffeted in a hopeless ocean
Yes, she was now the matriarch and she was in charge of this thing,
This dying

Venturing into the heart of insanity,
(my mind)
I fear that i will lose myself.
I hear the blood rushing in my head
(Will it ever drown me?)
As its the only sound i hear apart from myself.
Alone with my thoughts,
(Wish me well..)
Maybe this is what i want.
Insanity. Chaos. Something.

I would have been
A stalker
But she loved me

an empathy face
comes into focus out of the grey rain
with her own set of capitulations to the greater good
with her own price paid for the comforts cold and thin
an empathy face alabaster finely carved
with tears in stark contrast to the brightness in her eye
comes into slow resolution out of the grey grainy surface of the rain
with its harsh aspects felt like nails slowly driven
her thin red lips and blue shadow
her divine voice as she talks to some side person
her eyes never leaving yours
she is drinking you
with a deserts worth of thirsts

graceful she flows across the tiled floor
like she was born to such places
like she was born to glide where all others had crawled
but when she reaches you puts her hand to your arm
her fingers trembling her breaths short and swift her face flush
she pauses and lifts her head and plunges her soul into your eyes
with breathtaking abandon like an ******
her black sweater with a golden bird stitched into
her bracelet silver and bejewelled
her perfections catalogue in your mind in that momentary glimpse of heavens unattained
that she breaths in deep
drawing breath and strength
before she opens her song
before she cries out in such sweet tongue
at the bitter night

an empathy face
with her own set of capitulations to the greater good
with her own price paid for the comforts cold and thin
and i cry with and for her
as she cries with and for me
an empathy face
in the grey rain

Your lips are dry like mine, and the stubble on your upper lip and cheeks scratches my face.
I can tell you are exactly what I want in bed.
You are fun, energetic, controlling, a little bit selfish so I will actually have to work, too.
I don’t let anything happen, though,
as much as my gut and my blood want it to happen,
because I’ve given my heart and my brain joint custody and they both know you’re a terrible decision,
that especially being in your bed and
smelling your skin and
touching your hair and
even looking at you in public is a risk.

I want to be in your body and your brain and your heart,
but you just don’t feel as intensely as I do, probably about anything,
because you’re just a boy,
you’re just a person with priorities and thoughts and control,
and I’m just a girl,
I’m just a bag of bones and blood and dreams. I feel and you don’t. You just don’t.

I am made of bones and blood and dreams.
I am made of hopes and fear and adrenaline.
I am made of tears and teeth and tangled hair.
I am made of loathing and gluttony and predatory instincts.
I am made of skin and curves and fingertips.
I am made of orange and blue and brown.

You could be so much to me.
Your body wants to. Your body wants to hold mine, you are my fire at night, you let me put my cold ******* feet on your legs and keep them there so they would warm up.
You want to. Your body wants this, it wants mine,
it wants to feel my skin and my lips and my nails.
Your hair wants to be tangled in my fists and pulled tight.
Your hips want to crush mine with your weight,
to match the heat of our bodies face to face.
Your hands want to curl around mine.
I felt it, for just a few minutes you held mine like a father holds his child’s little fists,
or like a lover holds the blessed fingers of his companion’s hands close so that they will not stray.

The fist, that is our motif.
I want to punch you, to hit you on the *** and in the face and against your chest.
I want to wrap your hair around my fists and press your cheeks to my closed hands.

How fickle my heart and how woozy my eyes.

In these bodies we will live, in these bodies we will die.
Where you invest your love, you invest your life.

How wise you are, Mumford, you and your Sons.

Will I do this again to myself?
Will I continue to climb into your bed,
to press my tired cheek against your tired chest,
to wrap my weary fingers around your lion’s mane?
Will I keep testing my emotional limits on you, Mt. Kilimanjaro of the West?
I have to ask myself these questions and decide what to do. My sanity for the next month or so depends on it.
I made a promise to myself not to blindly and needlessly give away my affections,
not to accept love and touch where it didn’t belong.
Have I broken this promise already?
Have I already given up on myself, on my will, on my future, on my ability to dream and reshape myself?

I don’t know if I can stay away from you. I truly don’t know.
The smart part of me, my brain,
my dying brain,
reasonably denies you as an option.
My brain listens to you when you say you will break my heart.

My heart doesn’t hear that at all.

Can you lie next to her and give her your heart, your heart
As well as your body, and can you lie next to her and confess your love, your love
As well as your folly?

But tell me now where was my fault, in loving you with my whole heart?

Lead me to the truth and I will follow you my whole life

I felt your bones,
for you are so thin.
I felt your stretched muscles and a hot need to hold you close to my body.
I have not cried about it yet but I feel tears beating against the backs of my eyes,
which you said were pretty, and Kelso said they had sunflowers inside of them on good days
and when they are green I can’t stop smiling because I think when my eyes are green they are sexier and prettier
and that it’s God’s way of telling me to be confident,
that I am lovely and worthy and must work for the things I desire.