She was here.
But not really.
She’s in limbo.
Like between sleeping and awake.
Like between breathing and not.
An elaborate veneer of external liveliness.
Photo: Woman Sitting via Pixabay.
I can feel her beside me when I close my eyes. If I focus hard enough, I can almost smell her shampoo each time our rotary fan turns its gaze her way.
I try my best not to disturb my lucid dream of her.
She doesn’t need to leave on that commute again…the one from two months ago when her car flipped and she—the real she—was taken from me.
If I stay silent, she’ll always be asleep beside me.
Photo: Sunlight inside bed by Becca Schultz via Unsplash.
Question, why does joy
As if an intermission
A ragged, painful breath
As if being broken
Continue reading “The Joy Ticker”
Photo: Vintage Clocks by Heather Zabriskie via Unsplash.
I play a sick game with my Unconscious
I hand it my woes—
The ones that prevent me from functioning—
And plead, “Don’t let me remember this.”
But the bastard always reminds me
When it senses it did its job too well.
I use to dwell in Light
Where the angels sing.
Then you happened.
Now I stare at
Dark’s maw, predicting
What evil emerges next.
Photo by Tim Foster on Unsplash
“Sir, please,” the Prey begged
At the Hunter’s feet.
“I’m still in pain from our last encounter.”
And yet Eros
Nocked another arrow.
Eros is the Greek god of Love. He’s also known as Cupid in Roman mythology.
My days are filled with
Grief from the past
Fear of the future.
What I would give
For a day of emptiness.
To simply be present.
Picture: Person Wearing Blue Jeans by Sincerely Media via Unsplash.
I tugged a buckled thread
In my flawless tapestry
The affront frayed me
My days were dark
Pain reminded me
That I was alive
I eventually realized
I unraveled myself
But, by that time
I was a heap of thread
Crumbled on the floor
Picture: Frayed Fabric by CJ via Pixabay
This world we live in
Is full of hate, pain, and loss
But here, in your arms,
Surrounded by your warmth, I
Feel only your love. Only you.
Picture: Adult Couple via Pixabay
Was etched deep into her skin
As crisscrossing scars
Blistering when touched, but a
Marvel when placed on canvas
Picture: Drops by Jbauer-fotographie via Pixabay