full circle

40s,

[words-and-whispers]

[spookshollow]

[words-and-whispers]

I never cried when I fell of my bike, blood mixing with dirt, sweat running down my face, into my eyes. Feeling the adrenaline of intense flashing pain radiate up your core, I would stand back up, limp to get into position, get back on and push forward.

Was the thrill of the pursuit, the excitement of speed, jumping from earth to reach sky, taking the path most would never travel.

Maybe it's why I trace the scars on my heart, feeling the tender muscle fused with the tangled calloused texture lent by traumatic falls of emotion. Though I am grateful for certain chapters are closed,i don't regret the journey.

It isn't that I love the pain, it's because I thrive to feel what could be, addicted to the feeling when found and always want to take that path no matter the bruises.

[words-and-whispers]

[words-and-whispers]

memories of your shadow paint the corridors of my mind

almost tangible to the touch, just enough to feed the crave

Illusion isn't magic, not when you craft the stage

filling the air I breathe with your whispered promises

fleeting care delivered like a bandaid

keep your taste on my lips just enough to sell the story

facade of desire masking the jars you collect

rhythmic beats silenced by your callous hand

but you should know that I died slow

sipping hope through a wounded straw

walking an eternity yet losing ground dream by dream

one ticket out of your heavy gaze

any horizon that doesn't bear your decay

I'd tear your kiss from my throat

If it meant I'd never hear your name flow from my lips again

[words-and-whispers]

The desire to paint upon the canvas of your skin, intentionally planted kisses, flourishing crimson blooming accross your flesh.

[shisasan]

And the moon, under its dark hood, falls out of the sky each night, with its hungry red mouth to suck at my scars.

August 4, 1972 Anne Sexton: A Self-Portrait in Letters First published: 1977

[words-and-whispers]

I behold before me a sight

perched in a golden light

radiant and bright

vivid red beak

strong and sleek

raven dark feathers

eyes as deep as midnight shadows

clutched at its breast is Tokyo's sunrise

and it's looking right at me

[the-enchanted-little-star]

[words-and-whispers]

I hate your resentment but mine defends yours you carry.

[words-and-whispers]

Hard not to be dispirited, reach for anything I can to build up my walls.

[words-and-whispers]

[festeredhearts]

[words-and-whispers]

I am blessed to have a few people in various ways that truly care and listen.

Not to take, use or seek anything from, just honest care.

Some never find that.

[words-and-whispers]

Long past the moon rose, well before the sunrise, my mind traveled, dreamt, and ran through every scenario in a matter of a few short hours.

[words-and-whispers]

[words-and-whispers]

This is not poetry, nor an artisticly spun tale. This is not art.

Just going to bleed on the page, let it stain parchment the shade of red it desires.

I didn't think I would feel this way, didn't think confirming an overthinking thread of a thought could feel this way, I told myself before I pulled that it didn't matter, wouldn't matter.

It mattered.

I can't defend why it happened, only that either it lied to protect me or my brain was not prepared.

I felt my heart break, fracture and pull, every small clinging particle separating, painfully tearing away from itself.

I have felt it hurt before, I feel so many things can have a piece of a heart and break them independently, this moment I just very truly feel it blindingly bare to the exposed air, wounded and exposed. What was earlier warm, safe and joined, locked together strong now just feels completely destroyed.

I can't blame what wounded it, I saw it coming. Knew it to my core, yet just didn't think this would hurt. Love will never fade for what severed my heart, love hurts. I suppose it always should, no matter the fairtales my brain tries to subscribe to because it was too scared to see the road of common sense.

I am just spitting my venom, spilling from my flailing veins into the void.

I try not to overthink it, but where the fuck has that ever even worked before.