Tear in my side...I feel it all.

Poet, eternally sad, coffee addict, pizza snob.

[tearinmyside]

day 5...

half of my life is behind me and the other has changed somehow

stored in metaphorical boxes and sealed with packing tape that has already begun to yellow. what was home smells like the linger of burnt bread, an epiphany in the dead silence of a void that has been carried into the now— all of your dreams of falling have happened here, filled with the jolt backs to a reality that has always been steeped in your brain's bog, molasses thick and insurmountable. there will be no more hiding in the dense shelter of towering trees. escape was for the bold and determined. mirrors now reflect a faded light, your bag of losses held in a tightening grip, the iron taste of blood as teeth sink into a weary tongue, again and again.

-kab

[tearinmyside]

day 4...

splintered

a family tree as victim of dismantled dream field, as disjointed shoulders, numbed and tingling in a landscape of landmines, a line drawn across some invisible border— fealty moves from topical to skin etching, a wallet full of talking points, meme storage and the way bloodlines thin over the widening distance, a clear cut front yard, new space for browned knees, a smoldering end over a live feed.

-kab

[tearinmyside]

day 3...

hope is a train wreck

dew eyed and prone to hysterical sobbing as you lean your head into a sofa cushion, as the long day fizzles into a dying horizon, as hope dangles sweet relief from its smooth mouth, the glint off of hot tracks as promise becomes a streaked mirror, a bumblebee drowned in rain water pooled in a leaking birdbath.

-kab

[tearinmyside]

what is with all of these spambots trying to scam people into "getting paid to read poetry"? i get one every frickin' day. tumblr needs to clean this shit up.

[tearinmyside]

day 2...

june elegy

an ephemera of snapshots burned into gray matter, the crease and crack of the mind's recall, a ring of condensation worn into the cheap wood of an end table covered in dying succulents and a box with your dog's ashes. the blur of days into fragments of wants gathered against the lip of a steep driveway. the violet moon in your ribcage, a dim nightlight, your blue iris fade.

-kab

[tearinmyside]

day 1...

recovery

the parted and stitched skin raised like a bristled rope, your waveless sea behind a window, crossed fingers and toes for relief from a flesh prison. it keeps you as a curtain in an afternoon breeze— the memory of your foot drag, our sorrowed parting into an abyss of unrealized affections. june gathers your honeyed voice like unreachable treasure, the echo of goodbye ringing in the ears.

-kab

[tearinmyside]

day 31...

i fear the coming summer

there is no way to soften the blackened stone that sits crooked in the ribcage. the sun's tight fist will squeeze the brittle surface, leave behind a pile of soot. winter has insulated me, has kept me sheltered like a young deer in unspoiled forest. i fear the wake of a thaw's heavy hand.

-kab

[hatin]

via weheartit

[petaltexturedskies]

Albert Camus, The Complete Notebooks

[tearinmyside]

day 30...

catch up

a hand extended then dropped, draped over a railing in the swelter of almost summer— ¿quién va a bailar contigo? chalk left on a sidewalk, lessons are left for me in between the pages of your fan fiction, my dirt hive of slivered lust, desperate in this deepening want— what is there to discover in reciprocation's cruel indifference? a zipper seals a confessional.

-kab

[mournfulroses]

María Casares, from a letter to Albert Camus, featured in Correspondance, 1944-1959

[tearinmyside]

day 29...

the softest violence

fall leaves on fire in a pile of backyard death, memoria as a blanket, yearning as the split wood of an empty birdhouse, deep dive into a murky summer, excavated texts to coax skyline blaze— something feral that lies in wait, that travels a hip's curve, the violence of remaining fallow, a fallen tree that leaves me stranded, tethered to the ocean's arms.

-kab

[petaltexturedskies]

Haruki Murakami, Norwegian Wood

[bitterballin]

My body is my temple. Ancient and crumbling. Probably cursed and haunted.

[nixscriptum]

[petaltexturedskies]

Albert Camus, The Complete Notebooks

[tearinmyside]

day 28...

guilt trip

my tangled legs, your sinkhole shove, to bottom out as a dimension shatters. one thousand knives pointed at the chest— finish me, finish me. sealed into walls of unhappiness, to fulfill the promise of failure, this final bow. never able to stay afloat, sepsis ravenous as cracked shutters close. a chapped hand over the mouth, the plummet into a dry well, a last blink, this emptied shell on a muddied shore.

-kab