I do not remember the last time I felt safe. Even in moments of pure joy, a lunatic impulse to rouse the corpses out of their graves overwhelms. A fear seeps into the cracks, reminding me not to let my guard down. Yet, I welcome it.
Perhaps this is both my delight and my folly — wherever the void’s hands moved, my body is as yielding as water. Submerged in the rapture of the deep – hundreds of fathoms down and still sinking – the fumes of the bog still faintly cling to my nostrils. The air escapes my lungs, but the effervescence of my fears keeps the heart beating.
I am perpetually on top of a skyscraper that has seen better days — every inch of its vertical space occupied by chaos and dust. Malice overcomes the rose-colored haven in my mind. I let it. Thick and heavy, I feel every quiver of its breathing.
Atop this high place, the void beckons and I come alive. For every paramour or friend weighed and found wanting, my knees numb and a coldness creeps under my skin, eventually making its way into my spine. Yet again, I come alive. In the humid stillness of noons, when my reserves deplete, I bask in my viscous humanness and I come alive.
Heaven is the opium for the credulous and the afraid, uncertainty is mine. Neither herb nor alcohol comes close. So, when the void calls, I jump.
My mind is a forsaken battlefield riddled with the aftermath of the war I wage against demons that linger in the fog. There is a minute’s reprieve in moments I stop and lick the blisters on the hands that allow me to hold on for life.
Funny how you would like to believe you have healed from everything that wounded you only to find in the middle of the night, in between the pauses and idle time, that the scars are still there — red, indented, throbbing.
There is no rest in dreams. The light dims as I succumb to the call of slumber. What nightmares await me under the heavy blanket of REM sleep?
The onus is on me. Damsels need not be in distress. It does not serve protagonists to linger in the excruciating realm of the known, but the road that ventures into the promise of uncertainty is lost in a haze of salty tears and unfounded hope. I no longer wish to live in the bog, but that is where the familiar thrives.
Where is the lie? Where is the truth? Who am I if I am not this?
Once upon another time, there was a girl whose hopes and dreams left her aching for time to go faster. Her heart was massive, her faith unshaken.
“What could possibly go wrong tomorrow?”
Now, her cigarette smoulders in her makeshift ashtray. She’s been putting off getting a real one because she cannot bring herself to admit that she’s been a slave to this nicotine tyrant for a good part of her life now.
The island is vast, but life is short in her city. There’s a knot in her gut just kicking and screaming.
“Do people in my life care enough to love the muddy parts of me just as much as the shiny ones?”
It’s five minutes before 11. She sits and marinates in the gloom and silence. How many others share her delusions of a high-functioning adulthood?
Melancholy brews in the pot and she sips from cups filled with her own internal tantrums. She has yet to pick out what to wear for work tomorrow. She keeps staring at the clock wishing, praying for time to stop so she can while away in the standstill.
“Can I put off life for a little while longer?”
Only a few know the way she breaks. Only a few have cared enough to help pick up the pieces. Her light flickers most days and she dreads the burnout. Her grief changes shape, but it never ends.
My sunset boy in a sea of sorrows,
do you know I worship the gods that reside in the hollow of your neck?
We were both born on hallowed ground,
my bed is our witness.
Hold me as I moan songs of pagans.
Kiss me as I sway to the ballad of your lies.
Your skin radiates carnal bliss
and I inhale every bit greedily.
Let’s hum the unsung melodies of this permanent fate.
We are too big for our skin,
too morose for the dripping sunshine.
We wear our anguish like brand new shirts,
words come too close for my liking,
careless promises taste of honey and leaving.
Bedroom eyes and measured steps,
my knees made liquid.
Let repetitions be staged,
I implore you.
I adore you so horribly.
The sirens came after my thundering heartbeats
screams of rescue pounding on the door
You with the syrup hair and bedroom eyes
Words, wine-sweet medley
I drink them all up
until the glass is half empty
I prayed to the fog
addressing a loan god
Summer insomnias amidst body heat
Scent like the heady aroma
that rises from the earth
Let’s make homes out of the echoing silence of this paved uncertainty
Ego, larger than life
yet cowering deep within
You are both a fear and a wish
the nightmare and the daydream
Loving intent hidden in confined spaces
of a black hole heart
I scurry away
Love is the specter that hides in the closet
the insidious shadow under the bed
How many times have I made a home
in the belly of this beast?
So I scurry away
You are both a fear and a wish
the nightingale’s song to the poison in these veins
So I sway
to the ballad of your singsong voice
to the twinkle in your eyes
There is no way out
there is only surrender
So why do I
refuse to answer the door
His smell lingers on my sheets;
his love saturating my bones,
all its warmth filling up my heart.
Sun’s light giving way to the days.
give it my all – there is no other way to love.
Let the clocks tick fast.
Let the days close in.
Let my love be enough to make him come home again.