Only Ever...
only ever lived in retrospect. only ever gave a little. only ever loved in waves, and washed ashore too soon. only lived a couple lives only learned from what I've lost all along, I've only lost the things that I've let out
Dispersed
The air around me contracts to the bottom of my lungs.
One hundred thoughts, one hundred battles.
Those beaten breaths left hanging stale, dispersed.
Cutting In
I didn't speak a word all day,
and every one rehearsed.
Conversations all thought out.
I'm cut along a line that only I can see.
Strung alone from side to side to brush the things I love.
On The Line
If we could talk forever I would sit in silence hanging on the line.
Every word all yours. I'm stuck again barely breathing, fault internalized.
Steady Inward
Here, with a habit of looking only at the lives I've failed at living, and I've trapped you there. Between my walls, an easy infatuation and my tired anxious draw. Now I climb steady inward from worlds where I'm complete.
A Shelf Behind
I have a hard time with waiting. As if every single act has an ideal instance of action, and they all land on the back burner until the moment shows itself. In subsequent truth, I now own a vast shelf of ignored ideas and trials, passed their prime, missed out on, lost in their own space just to fill a corner of future conversation where I once had a thought and lost it to a whim. Each moment itself a ghost of my former face in a former time and former place, left and left forever; only for me to visit in regret and faded contemplation of glory days that never quite made it. I get so lost in my mind, the last to pull a thread, the anxious awe my name, I've lived in vivid waves.
Strange Enough
Days like this, I come to places like this and just to sit, just to watch. Take a seat a seat at the strangest table and watch the strangest lives surround. Strange enough to love, but only as an observer. Strange enough to still-life in a frame that isn't mine. Leave a seat here open, pulled aside a bit. A lasting invitation, and a friendliest decline. These days all play like B-sides...an after thought, post-everything and undefined.
Where We Meet
Sit with me where the sky and the streetlights meet. Two lines intersect in the moment our stories speak. Tangled fingers in our tangled space, hanging, freely in all the times we'd wait.
Love Lost In A Fire
Where are you now, but tinder and smoke. Forty floors of orange, and the ash of the earth. Love lost in a fire, long beneath the crust.
In Gardens
Not all that follows are ghosts. We live clumsily among the garden of our past, and though we move, fatefully forward, any second’s stumble sends us back. That song, alive, the sound of longing now, the sound of laughter so. Smiles stretching back, tears we're holding back, a love for reaching back. Forever is only times we've strung together.
Starry Spaces
I've sat in circles, in the center of the room with faces flush for conversation in a way I've always known. The walls have ways of fading, the faces all grow faceless. Their words yet spilling where their formless mouths believe, in these rooms I've all but left, watch my starry eyes recede. I've gone to all the spaces, to find the in-between.
Little Lives, Little Rooms
All my life we've kept our lives in small concealed compartments, in hiding spots in little rooms, our little home in separate boxes. We stole our eyes and left the rest, and small talk now survives. Please forgive my faulted faith, I've lived so long alone outside.
Worst Case Parade
no matter how many times you tell yourself "everything is ok" the unsettling edges of overthinking parade and with every worst-case scenario, your breath has run away
Quiet House, Silent Home
Make the same mistakes in finite steps to breaking your own heart. Break. Reprise. Break. Repeat. And only break until you're no longer left, and all you had to give is lost to lust and wasted in fleeting fucking smiles and double taps until that lurking fear you like to think can't happen does and the only thing thats left is lonely. The only one to share it with is you, and any brief encounter in whatever hour your life brings home. Your quiet house, your silent home will fill with lyrics of only your favorite sad songs in reminiscence of all the lives you crossed and times you couldn't commit and all the second chances you had and left for loss, always believing they were better off, better faired, when all along you were always scared.
To Stay
Running from parts of myself that were easy alone. But baby whats left? And how much have you known? I can't get very far, very fast from the place, but I opened a door, straight into you. And the pulling parts, the ghosts before, keep pulling back from running more. The parts of me I've longed to leave keep coming back in fear of the left behind. My life is always leaving, staying sounds sublime.