why am i addicted to the tragic
why does my blood sing for the broken
is there something in me, irrevocably
that makes me gravitate
to those who are as sick as me?
why do i love those with hollows inside
why can’t i seek something healthy?
is it because i have never known health and so
it feels foreign? it feels like I
don’t deserve that life?
why does the idea of someone whole loving me
feel like an impossible dream?
Why does everything come crumbling
Couldn’t I just have fallen asleep?
We had so much left to say and do. Should we
Have kept everything and nothing, lost it all or
Will there be
Someone who loves me for me
NEVER MIND, I DON’T CARE ANY MORE, I’M OVERWHELMED BY A DESIRE TO CREATE AND BREATHE
TO MAKE SOMETHING OF BEAUTY
TO DISPEL THE loneliness IN ME
CAN ANYTHING SET ME
i see your joy, your patience, your storms
you seem very happy. Someday i’ll
if there’s a man waiting, so shall it
I am full of terror at the idea of repeating this pain
But it will not happen. Not again.
He is lost, and I am not the Finder
I can speak words of faith but not
He cannot fall in love with me and I cannot fall in love with him. Peace, dear heart,
Ahead of yourself
I did not think I could be knocked down again
But time and again now I have found
Myself near edge of being drowned
Taught this well, re-instructed and blessed
Learn-ed by life’s patient fists.
I keep my face above the waves
Just barely, by effort of prayer and strain
Like sand through an hourglass.
Someday my buoyancy won’t last.
Whatever sorrow I bring with me. I am sorry
No, no more wishing.
I will grieve and
Let go and
Hand to the plow… moving forward.
tomorrow we move, we flee with the wind
seeking a respite from the trouble we’ve been
how do we find peace if we’re our own wounds
the suffering courts of our souls?
i’ve now lost my thoughts, let me find them
on the morrow
Another sick little game I play,
The darkness swimming in my head to stay
I feed them just enough to exist
A veces, enough to burrow deeper in
I drink up the bloodsongs, the chalk and its taint;
What cannot defuse me and cannot refuse me
The silvery coldness of inkstains and paint;
They told me to stop this but I love the madness
A small part of me is fascinated by the sadists
I watch. The shadows. And.
Let them watch me back.