More dreams. They only get more twisted. Taking my hopes as hostage and rendering them listless. Making sense of everything’s nothing. And -nothing- makes sense. Rising up, more like a limbo., seeking to find what is it of truth I may know. I feel like I am reaching into a melting pot and the ideas are ripe and the fruit is not. How do I get back to the feeling of elevating where the words spoken are the rhythms validating love. Endlessly. Entirely giving more more more. Still wanting to give more more more. But silence, it is misleading. Gaps are filled with meaningless pleading to an empty space. The wetness is recognized by my face and the facing of history in retrace mode. Please, I beg myself. Do not implode. Not again. Not this time. Rise up and receive the divine. Maybe In Time I will see and we will see. Maybe in time it will all make sense to me. But while time dares to not pass, I stretch my heart thin and it shatters like the glass. The same glass that I built my hearts house with, transparent and breakable in the name of love. Transparent and and breakable in the name of love. Transparent and breakable in the name of love.
It’s not safe here anymore. Maybe it is safer. I feel stuck between loving myself and being a self hater. Traitorous to what is reality mostly because I am confused by the indiscrepancies of what I see or think is me. But who am I kidding? It’s me, I’m the joke running. Only fooling the messenger who is delivering the ammunition gunning my own self down, I’ve stitched a target in the threading of each gown that I wear, each item I put on, it’s just a matter of time, I’m not sure just how long it will take for me to be blamed for another mistake. Another settling down from the the shit I create. The things I make up in my mind. It comes cued in, right in time and in line with any hope that “I’m better” … in short that’s the descriptive head letter. Short hand expresses the energies lessened and the dread of resent is moreover presented.
I feel vibrations on the ground and tires trembling over the earth. With each rotation and gripping of the rubber onto the gravel, my breath subsides. I track the volume and duration of travel. Little bits of hope escaping the stronghold of knowing better and disappointment. Breathe again. Now I hear nothingness. Hope remembers this feeling and falls away fast.
My house is so quiet. There is no one here but me. I’m not used to this feeling.
My house is so quiet. My mind is incredibly loud. I’m trying not to be proud.
My house is so quiet. It is close to time for bed. I’m begging for a quieter head.
My house is so quiet. There is ringing in my ears. Maybe that is just the echoing of my fears.
My house is so quiet. It seems so lonely inside. Is it from me or you that I’m trying to hide?
My house is so quiet. I need no lights on to see. No one will notice I wear your shirt to sleep.
My house is so quiet. I wish I could know what is next. I pray for resolution, for the heart, what is best?
My house is so quiet. Maybe I’ll hear the voice of reason. I yearn for the truth and our warmer season.
My house is so quiet. I see that resemblance from us. The next choice needs to be trust.
I can’t stop and it’s twisting up my head. It spills, stains my brain and makes my view full of lead. I see only nothingness as the target in my chest has been washed over as unimpressive, unimportant. It must be an imported goal, complete with unidentifiable instructions leaving a hole where it was intended to be whole. Gaping, kind of oozing from a wound that is nothing short of self abusing as I sit here expecting or even hoping for the perusing of such words I have put out to be read. Most likely taking risks of it being misinterpreted. Although that would be welcomed moreover than any false hope, and following paths that keep my interests broke. The trigger that pulled the gun of loves infliction now has chambered echoes of bottled indignation. Insulting the very beginning of held out foundational building. I keep building. Seeing with a blind intuition and leading myself into clear confusion. Seeing what’s not there, but knowing it is. Giving bits of fresh air but those breaths are short lived when I see the amount of time and space afforded to something stealing away, causing priorital decay, pushing the interests further away. With that, stay. Stay there in that example of complexity, in that world of feeling not quite wrong but rightly denying the subtle intensity. I see. It should be me, maybe too clearly I see. Maybe too clearly i just want to be seen, a scene hard to turn away from. And now, killing me, I play along, willingly. I want the heart, the soul, the brain to be freedom.
Where am I when I am searching inside? Can anyone still see me or is it a matter of mental seek and hide. I feel faded and not fully alive. I feel jaded like it’s difficult to contrive.
I sink deep into what I don’t want to feel and relinquish my hope. I splash about in the shallow end and desperately request a rope. My hands flail about and my effort is choked. Back to the bottom of the waters, my view comes from a fogged over scope.
In an awkward silence my thoughts begin to escape. They string together in an unnatural fray. I begin screaming inwardly for something important to say and I’m never quite sure if the words come together the right way.
Until it comes I will sit in my wonder. Until it is impressed and permeated I will mentally and verbally flounder. Will I know when it has arrived or will I hold it in front of me and ponder? Will I keep it at arms length or even a distance further and longer?
the whispers on the wind that makes your soul sing…. the rays from the sun, warmth to your heart it does bring…. the rhythm of joy as a child’s purpose on a swing…..
I want to be your everything
the delighted witness of fresh blooms in the dew of spring…. the silent wishes into the well which coin tosses do cling…. the reverberations of nature’s song when the chimes of wind ring….
I want to be your everything
the fastened dependence of feathers in span of the birds wing…. the clash of electric surges and exposure of radiant lightning…. the lace trimmed and adorned twirl on the dress of a little darling….
I want to be your everything
the water claimed holy sprinkled about while offered blessing…. the vibration of love expressed through tribal drumming….. the endearment of grace given in darkness waiting for morning….
I want to be your everything
dangling, it has its own feet, sweeping me off into a delusionary suite. a room full of choices to which my hopes cannot compete. treading, it steps along the lines given to follow, tiptoeing softly among the path that is inevitibly hollow and hard to stand beyond the shallow end. grasping, it is losing its grounding, the directional chaos is compounding. the navigation of what direction to trust is a confounding compass.
pleasant, the satisfaction attained, when accomplishing a goal acclaimed, set out and in reach it is ascertained perhaps even easily. joyous, it is high in elation shaking hands with rejoicing conversation and communicating through proficient verbalization leaving no flaws of meaning. What is said is what is heard and the over analyzing is no longer a paralyzing part of the deciphering agony over words, I pass the test.
Dropping, a rope that hangs selflessly awaiting for the next useful demand. Swinging into the weather and pulling away from its tethered command. Offering an anchor to let away the experience of expectation with one hold in fear and the other in glorification. Gripping the idealistic approach knowing that it is just a fast paced reach of hopes reproach and slipping under the conditioning that was supposed to be a decision. Knowing that whichever way, letting go or reaching higher the result is an unwanted mess.
Playing, as if choices were really choices. Speaking as if those choices were given voices that were heard and submerged in the acts and actions of applicable life situations. Listening, yet desiring the change of station where what is absorbed through the delivery of chords doesn’t take over stimulation. Betting against the odds that it will end up in a win, fighting the urge to give away the cards that were given, and being asked to play or to pass…
I want your hands to run through my hair and pull me down on to you.. I want your grip to wrap around my hips and it becomes me that you are into. I want you to pulse inside of my body so deeply, it makes the state of the earth spin tremblingly. I want the force of our friction to create a burning fire of affection and there is not a department to call that could quench this explosion. I want to fill your eyes so full of adoration and evocation that the visions you see are only of me and I am your only destination. And when your hands become one with my back and run down the curves of my soul and fill the cracks of my heart, I’m so full of your body I can’t feel anything other than you inside me. All of me with the fullness of all of you… reverberate over and again .. deep within.
it is a time capsule and it knows pushing the limit. it is in the beginning stages and yet is approaching its finish. it bends and twists and also straightens its edges. it houses experinces that pushes minds off of ledges.
it sways and remains immobile. it reaches further into the unkown and remebers the infantile. it moves in a fashion that is foregin to some. it is disgust to others it is beauty to none.
it has housed souls beyond one and it has desire to keep growing. it is isolated sometimes by choice but yearns to be chosen. it is the infinite and everlasting and insists it is finite and not worth the effort of holding or clasping.
it is a miracle and deserves to be revered. it is immaculate to which nothing can be compared. it is often used for the purpose of superficial carnage and left aside while its spirit is picking up the wreckage.
it is strong and terminally weak. It holds big breaths of hope yet exhales the bleak. It remembers the sunshine and warmth while projecting a coldness of disposition forth.
It is bound by desire and trembles at the touch. It offers less and requests too much. It could be yours for the rest of time, yet still with or without, it is mine.