when your thoughts overflow,
like hot tea
in the kettle of your mind
and you may feel
steeped like a tea bag,
as everyone extracts
what you have to offer,
and you're s l o w l y becoming drained
but just remember
when you're put in hot water:
you have the strength to change it into something greater.
polished and blank-slate,
emotionless. you are a fool. i feel so deeply and ache
so darkly that i wonder at times if it is
a pain a human being could tolerate.
my heart isn't big. it is heavy and everywhere.
but I loved her more each time.
on the rug, her bed
and before in the summer
I drove almost two hours at four in the morning
to watch the sun rise over a bench
that empty highway
splashed in glass.
with yellow reeds all tidy in rows.
blackberries by her door.
it would be something like a pilgrimage,
if Mecca involved having sex in your car.
or terribly planned picnics
(who knew spiders loved sandwiches!)
laughing shirtless in the grass.
I find her red hair in my shower
the echoes of her sleep have sewn themselves
into the depths of my mattress.
if I don't move the blankets much
I can see the outline of her body
limp and loving and heavy with light.
Full of secrets
Behind closed doors
A cheerful smile
Empty and fake
So others won't worry
Like I can't show any
Like I don't even
They see me as
A shell without a
A mind with no
They will never see the
Lying behind my ice
Nor how much I can
Don't be like
And get to know the real
I crave something that I can't even name.
Something that I've never known before.
There's something missing in my
thirsty heart and wandering eyes.
I am a shadow in the moonlight,
a drop in the ocean,
a whisper on the wind,
a lie on those honest lips.
I want nothing and everything,
feather-light kisses and gold coins made of wishes.
Tangled minds and balanced soul and kind, but strong heart.
That starving thing still waits,
it waits as it beats and with each heartbeat it's getting colder.
A throat full of glass
Entering my lungs
While my mind
And my fragile soul
Is stolen forever
I can't love
I can't speak
I can't breathe
I can't think
Life is all that
We keep living
A little bag filled with nearly empty medicine lay near her. She rested on the step of a closed shop, right in front the national bank. She begged on a low tone. You'd guess nearly no one stopped. Everyone was suddenly too busy to glance at the old lady. Wrinkled, poor, and somewhat desperate, it probably took all her pride to sit and beg at the corner of a street.
She had a story to tell though. I don't think I've heard a more painful sigh than the one she let out when I came to a halt by her side.
Just a bit of money, she said. Not for food, not for drink, just a bit of money to refill her meds. She didn't want to give up yet.
Driven out of her home by war. No family left to speak of, her husband passed and her three sons were brought wrapped in flags.
But the forth son never came back. She buried an empty casket instead. He didn't die, he'll come find me. He's a good boy, jus