withdrawal

a visceral, almost unusual pulsation
but not quite
something like it, maybe
no-
familiarity of the self
breeding contempt
(getting there)
a rejection of my darkest
corners.
(maybe)
jaw-locked
tightly gripped
and crooked lips
repressing a smile
(a kiss)
kicking away at the weight of
the world
(love)
is not for the faint of heart or
spirit, and I give more than
I am ready to take.
(lack thereof)
is familiar familiar familiar
leave me with a black eye and a
chipped tooth for safe keeping
some mementos of my self-inflicted
martyrdom.

because I did not feel I was ready
to touch the ocean floor
just as you weren’t prepared
to tread fickle waters.

The truth, or something like it//This past week

The truth , or something like it,
becomes fissured between the soul
and the mirror
so I search for glimpses of it
between his lines and
in the subtleties of affectionate glances,
flushed cheeks,
and the irrepressible smiles which are almost
continuously contradicted by cold shoulders,
blank stares,
and unconvincing displays of stoicism .
I find a dissonance between love and pride
and another between who we are and who we pretend to be.

I lay by the sea, my toes pressed firmly into the sand
and stare up at the sky while a movie montage
fast-forwards through all the details I told myself
not to overlook.
The faces blur and instead my memories take the form
of feeling. The in-between bits seem muddy, melting
into tacky puddles at my feet. 

Time, I hold onto you with clammy fingers.
How hasn’t the neck of the hourglass
shattered in my hands yet? I search:
How to get a grip
on the shapeless, that which is all
around me yet drowns me?
Another dissonance found
between who I am,
and who I’ll become.
So I let the hand of Time slowly stitch over my perforations
and allow the promise of Death to gently iron out the seams.

The Edge of Longevity

I.                
I can no longer have the last laugh
for it reminds me of the silent pauses in between
and what I must return to in the darkest depths
of your absence.  

II.
I saw you at the grocery store the other day
and my butterfly wings took flight as they often do
in times of danger and discomfort.
A memory repressed returns twofold
and I had buried us a thousand times.

III.
The truth is sour enough
to be demand extraction from our tongues:
We are not who we thought ourselves to be.
You held a mirror to my love and I to your essence.
Repulsed, we confused the object in our hands
with the figures gripping the edges.  

IV.
I let you go gently,
our memories pulsing quietly through my heart
as I silently send you the last of my hopeless love.
Our whispered song finally fades into oblivion
and I am met with a forbidding stranger
who can no longer recognize the melody.

Arbitrary Nothingness

stretch the corners of my lips and
press a staple through both edges
while melancholy crawls through my veins
and wraps itself up in my heart space.
maybe one day it will build a home within me
and become a luminescent blue-winged butterfly
fluttering away into the night as quickly as it lands.
if, for a second, I follow its flight into the ether and
catch a glimpse of the stars,
may they wisp me away from this body
caught up in its selfish existence,
and remind me of the arbitrary nothingness I share
with a common housefly.