These memories are ashes
of long gone fire lies.
Where their faces fell,
I settled in the dust.
I’ve anchored in so tightly,
and days have forget to trust.
It’s her and I together here,
our lines full bold abroad.
The ghosts are closing on me,
with a backlit fear of old.
These thoughts are not my own.
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.
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.
Not all that follows are ghosts. We live clumsily among the garden of our past, and though we move, fatefully forward, any seconds 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.
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.
Posted in between the lines, contemplate, fading, nomad, notebook, once rare, prose, restless, the mad ones, transient
Tagged from the center, starry eyes, the in-between, the restless rhythm, words
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.
Posted in between the lines, candid, exposed, heart, notebook, of the heart, pages, restless
Tagged family, little lives, original, so quickly to the outside, the restless rhythm, words
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
Posted in between the lines, candid, drunk poets, exposed, notebook, original, pages, poetry, restless
Tagged anxious always, overthink everything, the restless rhythm, words, wosrt case