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
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.
It hurts to know I
And the rivers I cried may as well
Have been blood;
For the hurting they brooked
Was as deep as a wound;
And my streams now have dried
to evaporate you.
What is a face but a gathering of bone?
Do not call me beautiful, do not name me your own
There is no meaning to the utterances you give
You grieve me with compliments, your endless digress
Speak to the dark what you would speak to my flesh.
It cares more than I; and it judges you less.
If the only constant is change
Then why am I ceaselessly in pain?
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.
I miss your love, your kindness
I miss the way you cared for me
The softness with which you treated me
It hurts like knives in my stomach to let go
I have to trust that God is just
That he wants for me what I cannot
I know He is jealous for me…
And will hold me as I weep