Ψ

this is my poetry blog. Thank you.

[psiigh]

I never believed in God, But if His Heaven is anything like staring into your eyes, I wouldn’t mind being wrong.

[psiigh]

It's when the strip of blue on windshields sinks the moon into ocean that I think of you,  Think that maybe if I peeled away the drowning suffocation overflowing out and over the brim and turned you on like tap water, then you wouldn't be so alone.  But rivulets fill your lips and the pools at the corners should be, would be, kissed if it weren't for windshields that can drown the moon.

[psiigh]

I taste stale yet you kiss up my creaking spine despite, put my crumbling fingertips to your lips and sigh into the vague prints left behind. I ask you what it's like to have statue on your tongue, disintegrating flesh in the back of your throat, but you say it tastes green. 

[psiigh]

The color pulses to a steady flow and fills my Veins with every hue, vibrant stretches of pigment that Filter from the crystals encrusted in the canals of my brain to Separate what truly matters from the dull, a Prismatic beating to the skull, painting it with Sudden understanding. 

[psiigh]

The rot creeps throughout my rib cage, tainting the confidence of bone with Malice, age, disease. Just beyond the heart, I feel the soul chipping away, peeling off-colored Ribbons of life that knot in the pit of some place I do not know. It blackens from the edges inward, shrinking into itself, and I can only hope that from Decay comes a vibrancy I've only dreamed of. 

[psiigh]

Take me by the hand as my light waxes and wanes with your touch.  You ignite celestial burns that sear stars into tattooed constellations,  Mapping out a destination other-worldly on my skin and I fly with you to the moon.  You take me where time exists no longer and we can look back at our selves through the  Stillness of breathing through suffocation.

[psiigh]

Your kiss upon my temple planted an  Infinity to blossom galaxies,  Petals of stars and comets that began  Lacing clarity through realities  Smeared by harsh fingers gouging the eyes of  Eternity out of vine-encrusted  Sockets, that could understand all above.  Unto you I placed myself blue, trusted Thy sky I folded, pocket-sized, a pressed Flower with planets in the petals, now Willing to bloom from roaming palms, be dressed  In bodies of light, be gently shown how.  Your lips had been soft like the night sky - see,  I gaze lost, for I'm still where you left me.

[psiigh]

Kill me for me. I'm too tired to raise my hand and inflict the sleep I yearn to dream in,  Way too exhausted to care about how it's done, as long as it's done.  To be tripped or submerged into an unknown, either would work, for  I desperately want out and will accept your mercy with Sobs of gratitude and arms falling at my side, lifeless - thank God. 

[psiigh]

Skyscrapers tower from the foundations of my fingertips,  Loom over storms welling in the palms face-up that stare  Expectant, dry as thunder rolls across the lifeline that etches  Length into the metropolitan desert cupped and easy to break with Faltering touches.  

[psiigh]

I lay in the fields behind my house,  Soak up the petals and feel as they stain my  Skin with fragrance and sunlight.  I become an overrun garden, daffodils and daisies  Printing my flesh in floral fabric that stitch  Intricate patterns I cannot Scrub clean. 

[psiigh]

All the fucking time I hit my head on the world, Bruising underneath the hair I desperately try to rip from roots,  Wisps of blonde smoke that slip between my fingers and  I am reminded of a softness that cushions that which always hurts. 

[psiigh]

I hear my skin pulling, don't want to see the colors that Splash across my teeth, electric spit that I want to Dam under a tongue I'm not attached to.  I pretend that I'm comfortable in bone yet I feel trapped; I touch the goosebumps that rise like lightening and Worry about how dry my skin is, parched, and although I cry I do not wet the flesh that I am frightened of.  I understand nothing. I dream of feeling, emotion, of a spectrum that I can actually taste.  I hope it tastes like life.  I am trying.

[psiigh]

magnet poetry today!

[psiigh]

I find myself looking out windows and  Contemplating whether the fall would be sufficient, Staring the pavement down from "not enough", "more than enough".  I trace the descent with a reluctant gaze, tap the glass Halfheartedly, get sick thinking about how the  Stains would most likely be lifted, Nonexistent. 

[psiigh]

I sat on a tile of sun, closed my eyes, smiled.  You sat beside me, said it was too hot, that you wanted to move.  But maybe seeing me vulnerable, finished in gold and  Geometric warmth made you hesitant, because you saw Life return to one sick.  Maybe you wanted to kiss me. Maybe in that moment of towering windows, slanted light, my Reddening face, I would have let you.

[psiigh]

Time creeps up my spine, constricts vertebrae and Hugs the nerves that are planted like seeds up and down. These vines wrap around my knuckles, sprout from my pores,  And I am a trellis of wrought, rusted metal that cannot contain the  Seconds blossoming out of creaking iron, loose eyelashes. As the verdant tendrils lace me, pamper me, I water them with Moments lost and watch them thrive as I look forward to  Dying.

[psiigh]

My fingertips settle on the steady pulse Splitting up my veins, blue circuits damned by Bitten-down fingernails and thumbs applying pressure.  I feel my life mapped out in splayed threads, Framing the constellation of freckles that I don as if I were the  Center of everything, omnipotent so long as the Nature trails of sea that stitch up underneath my skin stay Thrumming, percussion at a steady march that I try to silence with the Galaxies interwoven in my fingerprints. Yet my pleas for quiet are drowned by the  Heartbeat orchestrated from the meteor trails just visible on a Pale canvas, that tattoo my eyelids with indigo stains of starlight, And I am loud, my thoughts are terribly loud, And I am still, my breath caught in my throat and coating shaky inhales with Eternity.