ceiling feeling

I swallowed a hand grenade that never stops exploding.

[ceilingfeeling]

Variation

I do find it odd

that grief stemming from close kinship tends to be a selfish breed that sits at the foot of your bed and reminds you:

I will never be able to hold that hand or that body or enjoy their warmth, 

or hear that voice of compassion behind the electric screen

It is less about the absence of a whole person than the sudden fragmentation in your own fabric of existence, a gaping hole in this personal trajectory.

A far more distant fog engulfs a popular death that enters the conscience with the fanfare of block letters 

like CNN or BBC, 

following a “breaking news” headline.

The all pay tribute to the person, but not just the person in relation to the self,

the person independent of kinship.

A celebration of a legacy of theirs, their past, and the crater of their impact in far more objective terms.

Perhaps this is a more intimate exercise in grief. 

[ceilingfeeling]

Vast

I want nothing more than to be alone by the mountains or the sea because I think the trick is to be surrounded by such intense emptiness that you feel whole inside.

[ceilingfeeling]

garden

there is a certain shame in the cultivation of sorrow

it is the tidy patch i tuck out of sight as soon as sunlight hits the glass

it is how everyone around me becomes an exercise in abrasion

scattering new seeds, plunging deep into the warm soil of the open wound

the ocean of smiles and nods swirling in a pesticide cocktail 

on the outside, i burn

inside, i bloom

[ceilingfeeling]

I think it is easy forget that we are just quivering hearts in seas of bone and flesh. Life hardens us, and all day we get by with our expertly placed veneers of packed schedules, places to be, things to do and people to meet.

There is very little room to feel. 

[larmoyante]

You have played, (I think) And broke the toys you were fondest of, And are a little tired now; Tired of things that break, and— Just tired. So am I.

EE Cummings, You are Tired (I Think)

[ceilingfeeling]

iron tongue

last night a bonfire of whisky danced in my throat and while the edges of the night are soft, i distinctly remember feeling the pleasure of the burn and wondering if this feeling was what turned you into an alcoholic. being addicted to that swift heat, to the point where it feels cleansing seems eerily doable. 

increasingly i find myself arriving at the conclusion that most relationships are based on an exchange, but it seems petty to say it out loud and shatter the fragile sanctity surrounding ~~unconditional love~~

but i am tired of the imbalance and having this pain the back of my throat as though all sorrow has congealed and settled in the one place that matters. 

in the one place that can bring these thoughts airborne and vulnerable to the surface 

but never will, (damn iron tongue).

[ceilingfeeling]

For the Poet

i ask how you stitch seventeen syllables to form a thousand sighs

[porphyrean-deactivated20160628]

[ceilingfeeling]

A lachrymose truth

the anatomy of weeping is surprisingly systematic

you begin with your brow furrowed (a mix of confusion and incredulity)

this shouldn’t be happening now, I thought we were done crying alone at night like teenagers in the heat of youth

the ache of realization in the jaw as you strain to hold back the storm - your muscles, almost foetal in their contraction

as for the tears, they carry a particular synchronicity in their flow

the kind of confidence that comes with a dance rehearsed a thousand times.

the only messy part is the residue. here’s some advice, don’t wear white when you cry (days later, you will be happy and the light will catch you at an angle revealing outlines of the fallen).

the dampness glares back at you in the mirror and it is far more terrifying than the collective redness of fragile vessels in your eyes.

see, the blood stops flowing after a while, but the massacre of the heart never does. 

[ceilingfeeling]

Confused

Are you my yellow paint? 

[arcaneimages]

[ceilingfeeling]

Subset

In love and happy, 40%.

In love and sad, 60%.

[ceilingfeeling]

Stage 4

Understand that intimacy is not about presence or touch, but about the shared world you now inhabit together and can expertly navigate. The world where your words are mine and my patterns slither into your dialect.  

In this new universe, everything is at once, familiar and new. 

[ceilingfeeling]

Mismatch

Stage 1: Be optimistic, be thankful that you have modern day technology at your disposal. An abundance of gratitude for being able to see each others' faces every few days, to have a proper conversation and look into each others' pixellated eyes. Exchange compliments and promises under the glow of white screens. 

Stage 2: Begin the sacrifices, layered under smiles of understanding. Swallow the bitterness in your heart, will yourself to be mature. Traverse the depths of understanding that your lives are now conjoined but still disparate.

Stage 3: Find yourself trapped in a constant flux of uncertainty of what's appropriate to demand and what isn't. Cry at night because of the mismatch in your reactions to this new landscape. How one of you is a conqueror, wading into the marshes and other, paralyzed, pines for the warmth of a lover's hand in theirs. 

[ceilingfeeling]

Things They Don't Tell You

Love makes you feel like a hostage. 

[ceilingfeeling]

Ravaged

Since this is the first time, it is hard to understand if it's supposed to be this way. The topography of this particular plane of emotion is endless when you navigate alone. 

Pendulum means you live both, joyfully suspended in the highs of our lightest moments, and uncomprehending in the stillness of my equilibrium. 

[ceilingfeeling]

Classic

I think back on our moments and realize I should have appreciated them more. What a typical trap to fall into. 

Every kiss was a poem, every shared breath, a lasting promise. The latter was one of the distinguishing factors that hey, this time would be different. I found myself anticipating the prolonged impact of being together - not just succumbing to a temporary high but understanding that this was transcendent.