Sdrawkcab

i’m not sure how i feel now that it’s revo,

and so many have left me to tor.

My heart feels tsol, ytpme, unwanted

and no one is still here to speak.

 

he left like the others, two winters ago

i still dream of him from the long before.

i see him in faces of men whose blood

never burned quite so black;

and from whatever traumas, they’ve found their way back,

but not him. not him. i still pray all the time

one day your heart will be healed

and maybe you’ll say

hello again

to mine.

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There are poems of love I will now never finish

Singing nothings that are now nothingness.

You did this, you killed them, you stole out their flame

Now silence must pay back the debt of this pain.

there is now a song

it sings in tones of spider-thread

it wanders up and down the Pain…

The song is caught in a timeless place,

where the hurting worsened ’til it grew a face;

and the face is blank and its eyes are dead;

& wilted blossoms frame the head;

beautiful, but also gone.

just like us.

i wrote us a song.

Self inflicted

We sometimes want what will not help…

We seek the lights that will melt our hands

Fingers stretching to touch the gold;

Grasping flames not meant to hold…

We sometimes trust what is always wrong…

Freeing floods deeper than our souls,

Lamenting as we cannot float

Cries for mercy cut off by mill-stones

We trap ourselves then weep for home.