satin surrounds my fevered skin,
soft as water poised at rims.

as styled sirens sing through brass,
atmosphere clasps it in its grasp,

and quiet melodic drum
murmurs soporific hums.

she wants to go back so badly, but the immediate remembrance that he won’t be there when everyone else returns rudely wrenches her from stark anticipation, and she can’t help but feel an embedded broiling beneath her surface – (resentment at him for leaving? anger towards herself for thinking about and missing him so goddamn much) – grudgingly yet with tacit love.

she tries to be patient; fails, and she spends her days watching time tick slowly, achingly away with each twitch of the second hand of her clock.

the threat of tears never rises above my throat
but becomes chains draped across my chest and shoulders

i feel less bad about crying when i had that night (you remember),
knowing now that i feel the way i do now

incessant dread at the thought of you gone
that carries me from waking in the morning into the darker hours of the night

whence my thoughts of you turn into vague and murky dreams
which fail to make me miss you, or make me fear not seeing you again, any less

music pierces her like an arrow and sets disarrayed wildfire throughout her body, replacing all existed feeling, and turns her body to water – lost in its own amorphousness.

even she realizes the swift change of her emotions, induced by lines as simple as those from a romance novel. the incessant frustration that seems never to leave her for more than a few days – a week, at the most – inevitably returns to torment her execrable soul.

should i really be trying so hard to sabotage something that hasn’t even truly begun? why am i trying so hard to sabotage something that hasn’t even begun? and why am i doing it so well?!

wretchedly, she questions the truth in what she feels and questions the honesty in what she thinks or thought she desired. her constant and tireless inquiries claw painfully and futilely at the layers and layers of endless confusion, which never cease to confine her.

a giant conglomerate mess of emotion captures my heart in a strained frenzy; my heart searches for the answers that are only hidden behind the veil of time, yet my mind swarms impatiently in a pool of mass confusion and uncertainty.

the strings that tie a girl to any man will only ruin her and break her heart. and she becomes tired of men and tired of love, because all they bring is frustration and utterly unnecessary drama.

“goodnight. goodbye. leave.” is all she wants to say and all she wants of him.

goodnight.
goodbye.
leave.

i lie here, tired and exhausted, with the past three months of lost writings on my mind. writing too personal to share, too fresh to reveal but perhaps with time will become platonic enough to unveil if i will ever retrieve them again.

for the first time in five years, i am alone and less disturbed than i have ever been used to feeling, but i am alone, and i don’t know how long it will be until that realization dissuades me from my ultimately achieved peace.

the cold air trickles in from the cracked open window, filling the room with a chill against my skin, which seeps into the body deeper than i would have expected; a cold air that clears the mind and delicately balances the uneasy warmth from which comes exhaustion and the unintentional deprivation of sleep and clarity.

my heart dips my veins and arteries into a dark pool of stinging reminiscence,
and present reality blurs into a vision of past ambitions and passions -
long since discarded and disregarded.

pools and ponds and rivers of reverie taper at her feet and soak the tips of her fingers and hair. drowned images resurface, reflecting the turmoil hidden behind her feigned placidity

as her sullen white dress soaks up all that she wished her mind had forgotten.

traffic lights leave red angry streaks down rain-covered hillside streets

as a faded cabin hides behind a row of sunflowers -
sullen and weighed down by water -
peering curiously through the stalks and blanketing leaves

hints of autumn litter the roadside
as trees of summer-spring relinquish their first subtle layers
to playful and prying wind

.written early August

- – - – - – - – - – - – - – - – - – - – - – - – - – -

sound of starlight and distant planes embody the body of night

the moon gleams loudly down
onto streetlights and silhouettes

a voice echoes for miles
carries passions, ambitions, and thoughts
to lovers yet undiscovered

in night, endless cacophony engulf highways and sidewalks,
hidden dirt roads fawned over by trees

and no one is unaware of it and no one escapes it

all of it is everything; everything is inside it

.written late August