#12blackbird21

[throughthemotions7]

54. incomplete

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and with this sentence incomplete and all my words at your feet i go and close the door. softly. quietly. for there are still snakes stirring in my hair. you act as if they weren't there, so i give up. i do. i wave the white flag and the rain stops try one more time then my head drops maybe i was wrong all this time. but i can't tell black from white anymore i can't tell the ceiling from the floor high and low are much too quick to switch sides. now the tip of my tongue is a burden the vapid silence is too quick to thicken and it's past my turn to speak again. and with this sentence incomplete i leave you to your wooden seat with the orange you've just peeled. with the soft lips you've just sealed. we've always dealt in afterthoughts and maybe if we weren't so alike we may be finding a gentler path through these brambles. picking the pieces ire disassembles. but i'm always afraid of the wrong sentences hate my voice when it shatters your silences but perhaps it's the only way that i know to test out which soundwaves will act on your soul i hope these few erratic words are enough to polish the edges that remain too rough.

• through-the-motions (poem + photo) • prompt : “a sentence incomplete” by @12blackbird21​

[throughthemotions7]

52. view

so tell me how's the

view up here

is the

sun too near

is the

cold long forgotten

joy hardly begotten

tell me how is it where you

do finally get a view

of everything you've ever done

every song you've ever sung

isn't the picture too twisted

isn't the light too insistant

tell me can you still cover your eyes

is there some room left for disguise

cause there's

blood on your hands and

tar in your feathers

ashes in your hair and

sand under your covers

it's always right until it's wrong

always night until it's dawn

it's eye to eye, teeth against teeth

reaping what you sowed with only too sharp a scythe

cause by and by, as it turns out

veils all vanish and silences shout.

• through-the-motions (poem + photo) •

[throughthemotions7]

48. more to say

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surely there was something more to say.

i was standing at the door. i'm always standing at the door. i'm always eavesdropping. watching a fly circle around the ceiling through the slit in the doorway. no one listens to the fly–and i mean, no one hears it. but the buzzing sound fills up my ears from the outside in. in concentric circles. it becomes the only thing i hear.

the other day–the other day, remember, i was trying to wave a gnat away from the sink so that it would not be crushed by the dripping, dropping, ever-dripping water and my father–my father told me "you can't save those who don't want to be saved."

but surely, surely there was more to say.

i'm standing at the door i'm always–standing at the door.

always in-between.

i walk along the threshold and i catch my breath. most of the times i can't breathe.

and i mean, i can breathe, but not down to the bottom, the very very bottom of my lungs. i'm not gasping for air, i'm gasping for room in my lungs.

surely.

surely there was something more to say.

but everyone talks and listens through their minds and through the thick, thick fog of their compressed thoughts.

• through-the-motions (poem + photo) •

[throughthemotions7]

46. wolves

. now it's quiet we hush through winter and broken mirrors now it's alright i don't think the wolves are after us anymore now frost is beginning to flake it's getting crisp, branches don't shake no more– silence is numbing down our brains as i blink, looking into your tired eyes it's all white around here, all snow all fairy dust, all collar bones angles and angels and cotton ice spikes and icebergs and poison it's a monochrome landscape, where teeth chatter and feet scrape the ground neither lost nor found– i can't keep my eyes open in the glare can't take in the light – like in my nightmares but the wolves are gone, and the night is too yet there's no comfort in this blinding view no reassurance in so harsh a light that falls sharp on our flaws, brought to the sight of everyone – but there's not a soul in this lonely maze of voids and emptinesses– quiet, dear, for this must be the end of the world again– remember how it used to be when it was warm enough for rain?

• through-the-motions (poem + photo) • 

[throughthemotions7]

47. miles and dust

"sandpaper gravestone

blood on the trail

drunk in the boxcar

asleep on the rail"

there was fire when he left

there were ashes in his lungs

whispers hushed on his footsteps

knuckles white on his guns

"sandpaper gravestone

blood on the trail

drunk in the boxcar

asleep on the rail"

he walked miles and he walked hours

the sun melting on his back

his mind racing round in circles

his feet dusting off his track

"sandpaper gravestone

blood on the trail

drunk in the boxcar

asleep on the rail"

voices chanted in his ears

demons tapdanced in his chest

"it's as if you didn't notice

we would never let you rest."

"sandpaper gravestone

blood on the trail

drunk in the boxcar

asleep on the rail"

and when alcohol and pride

did not carry him no more

a train rushed in from his side

and he flung himself on board

"sandpaper gravestone

blood on the trail

drunk in the boxcar

asleep on the rail"

but on the other side he passed

– a most dusty second birth –

he'd been thrown out by the last

the very last human on earth.

"sandpaper gravestone

blood on the trail

drunk in the boxcar

asleep on the rail"

• through-the-motions except for the chorus by the talented @12blackbird21 •

[throughthemotions7]

41. petrichor . and maybe clouds will keep us sane but say what's the use of rain when there's no blood to wash away no crimson cells to soil their clay nothing to trickle down the gutter of these broken roads nothing to stain their hands or their quiet abodes the only evidence is exhaled air exhaled pain silent death broken breath-- but what will twist the neck of this blinded nation i wish there was truth but there are only recollections reconstitutions of a black-and-white past of stale words that don't last—  as violence condenses ready to pour down again and fire and gasses keep them on the other side of pain watching peacefully as the rain falls down and rises up again– –st your peers, feeding on your fears that's the water cycle for you you'll learn history's cyclical too you'll learn it the hard way with wild thorns in your hair and acid anger in your veins. cause there's no relief in petrichor when rain hisses against the sultry core of a burning problem– so expose it as such and disentangle its flames from the rotting oil that fuels them know where the cycle can be disrupted know which raindrop can be inverted there's no systematic need for violence if you know how to make use of silence and turn it against the sirens.

• through-the-motions • 

[throughthemotions7]

45. so far to go

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so hush now there's only so far to go with all these snakes crowding your feet and this asphalt in your soul. so hush now there's only so much to know 'bout how madness rings in your ears and tiptoes behind your bones. so hush now there's only so many days to go with nightmares clouding your corneas and mud growing thicker in your throat. so hush now you've ran far enough and the sky high above is coming to an end. so hush now you've got it wrong again it's just not your fault if it's starting to rain.

• through-the-motions (poem + photo) •

[throughthemotions7]

53. neurosis

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i. watch the sink as it's leaking. watch the drops dripping. every drop is a threat. every threat leads to guilt. everything's tangled up. every sign's lighting up at the same time. alert. alert. alert. neurosis is a color and it's bleeding out on everything i touch. gotta wash my hands. my skin's too tight, too dry. cardboard over tangled veins. i told you, i just told you everything was tangled up. i fucking told you. why isn't anyone reacting? my words, my throat, the news, your perception and mine. blurring in and out of my brain. and i'm just sitting there, emptying my pockets into your hands, expecting you to know what to do about it all. expecting you to know how to piece all these broken mirrors back together. you've seen them whole, remember? or perhaps you haven't. i don't really know where i found them anymore. i just know i was smiling with the wrong kind of smile when i took them down from the wall and smashed them on reality. reality didn't break. they did. i did. i broke my glasses, too. neurosis is a color and it’s fading out. i told you. i fucking told you. wash all your thoughts together and soon enough they'll all have the same hue. indistinguishable, they call it. wash your hands. tie your sleeves together. watch as you fade in and out of rationality. grow in and out of proportion. monologue on. on and on and on. forgot what i was thinking about again. ii. neurosis is a song. there are no breaks, no bridges, just a chorus, an endless chorus, an empty chorus, a fucking endless empty chorus. it's stuck in your head now, it won't go. it will always play somewhere, even when you manage to think louder. your mother told you about it, remember? before you know it you're singing along this upside-down cacophony. now you're talking in a language no one around you understands, moving your lips in a way they can't decipher. and you've got special words for special things, and special rules for special moments, and codes, and rules, and words, and words, and did you wash your hands. see it's easy. just repeat things. it's a chorus. just repeat things. until your body moves along the rhythm without you even being aware of it. see it's funny. it's rehearsal for a show nobody wants to see. so coat your mouth in silence and feel the song boiling inside. feel the words xylophoning away at your ribcage. feel them sink like stones in your stomach. feel your stomach sink in turn. synch in turn. nobody's singing along, for goodness' sake. iii. neurosis is about slipping away softly. it's about slipping through your own fingers with a bitter laughter. a stranger's laughter. it's swirling down the same old holes, the same old excuses. it's crawling. it's treading carefully through your brain so as not to trigger the wrong thoughts. boom! sanity snapped. look for a life-raft under your own covers. pray for your pillow to float. try to fall asleep before the eye of the storm catches yours. iv. words are failing me. sometimes neurosis is silence. sometimes it's simply that. nerves all collapse at the same time and the mind gets blank. feeling the same thing over and over again can turn into numbness. enjoy it. enjoy it. they say it's the next best thing.

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• neurosis is a window you gotta keep trying to see through • through-the-motions (poem + photo) •