love in ruins (a soft 4am song)
I write the songs, you shape the tunes
you are my sun in a galaxy of moons
you keep me at a distance
but from far away you glisten
And I burn my hands reaching out for you
And the truth is
this is love in ruins.
These arms are not much but I'll make them your home
someone to hold you when you're left on your own
draw on my hands, write me a letter
tell me you hurt, let me help you get better
my words may fall on closed ears
this shoulder might not stop your tears
But I'm here.
If I could, I'd leave directions on every road
I know how easily you get lost when you're alone
I'd leave ihops and sandwich shops
on every corner of the street
billboards with my number but
roadblocks at your feet
I'll make your leaving softer
but please just know
that from across the water
I didn't want you to go.
And the truth is
love leaves bruises
this is love in ruins.
Still I write the same old song
but as poetry now
without you here to sing along
I've forgotten how
And the flowers I buy you
I gather in vases
like ghosts I've been haunting
all your old places
and I can't begin to explain how
'i love you' feels so empty now
meteor chips against blue moons
(i hate to say
when i still feel this way)
but darling it was you
that left our love to ruins.
with all we've gone through
were they all just illusions
i want the truth without excuses
when all you leave behind are bruises
is this our love in ruins?
Some Questions about Prose
Hey. I'm just curious how the Prose challenge system actually works. For anyone that has entered the Trident Media challenges, cash prize challenges, or any challenges that included something about 'hearing back' from Prose and publishers, what has your experience been? Has anyone on here heard back from/gotten feedback on the challenge where you send in a manuscript? How does it work? Do you actually hear back from a publishing partner or no? I'm confused, because the way Prose goes about handling it is a little impersonal. I'd love to enter some of the aforementioned challenges, but want to know if it's worth having high hopes. Also, with the new Prose website, is anyone having issues? On the old Prose, there were little settings like being able to use italics or bold, that I can't find anymore on the new site (which isn't a big deal). Other than that, I haven't had any issues, but am interested in everyone else's experiences. So please do share!
Hi, I'm Nevermore, and I've been upset for the last three years after learning that pickles are just cucumbers in disguise. Very upset.
All I have to lose
the ache is back, the horrible ache in
running out of distractions and false realities
in having to face an empty truth
and realize that you dont feel the same
ive covered my eyes and mouth for too long
and with eyes wide open i want to crumple to my knees
scream (have i ever screamed before?) ive forgotten
what my voice sounds like, if it is still there
ripping my hands through my stupid hair
i want someone to hold me back from
throwing myself at you, from crushing the pride i
have left and tearing the penciled letters til not
a remnant of you is left to stand over me
and ive suddenly realized that someday
ill be nothing to you. you will forget my name
oh god, the thought makes me sick
when your name is the one i breathe in and out
in the dark in the waiting in between every second
ill mean nothing to you and youll love someone else
and yet i will exist in this shadow, do you not understand?
ill be watching the sun set every night in despair as the orange tones
dont match the color of your name just right and the
grocery store plays led zeppelin and ill think of your fingers
of the way we tipped our heads back to watch
the stars zoom by, and all i wanted was to tip my head
onto your shoulder and tell you how you were the stars
remember i traced all your freckles in blue and red
connected them into shapes and told you that
you are an art piece, you washed the ink off i am sure
i slipped the hairband off your wrist and took it
home to hold like the tiniest piece of you, its lost now
do you not understand that someday when we’re old
i will be alone and still stuck dreaming of being yours
assured that you were and are the only one
squeezing my eyes tight afraid to forget your voice
your eyes your mouth your laugh
when someone holds me it will feel hollow
while i pretend they are your arms, your lips on mine
your voice whispering the three big words
and i know my mouth was made to say your name
nothing else comes out softer or sweeter
my heart in knots from wanting yours back
i ache for the words i never said while you waited
when the timing is wrong, does it really matter?
i see your future, happy and far away from here
i see my future, empty and waiting to be part of yours
and for now, we are younger i am distant
quietly melting away from standing so close
but not reaching my hand, and i want you
i want you in a ridiculous way, the way i want all
my unrealistic dreams, but you are real and it would
crash away so i hold back the words but i really do love
you and youve moved on like real people do and im left to feel
that the ache of falling is back
yet it was the falling i was afraid of
and now i know whats left to lose
i hid from the commitment of
becoming a defined thing with you
hiding behind silly excuses to pretend
we are nothing more, dont say the words
while i learn the pitch of your voice
the tilt of your soft eyes
i steal the songs you sing under your breath
to play again when nights are lonely
brush against your arms wishing to
silently define whatever this is that we have
without fear but it follows me and i seem
to have lost my voice while you stop
searching for my eyes and waiting for
my feelings in return, its just that i never
thought youd stop waiting
and its my fault really as i was and
am so afraid of the falling but here we are
like rain to the pavement and its
violent and painful and fast and now
youve given up and moved on and i am left
knowing you are my only, though my mouth
never said it and my arms folded away from yours
but my eyes wanted and my heart reached
do you not know i have always belonged to
you? and the music is colorless now these plastic notes
and my ribs break for missing the heart that
followed after you like loyal dog to person
and im left in the aftershock of knowing someone
else will take the space i dream of living in
between your starry eyes and this worthless world
i burned so silent so long leaving you to wonder
if i felt anything back, i did, i do, i will
now i know much too late
but i know it-
i know now whats left to lose
down in my heart (where?)
the flowers in a limitless forest
scented sweet and sunshiney i
swear they smiled at me
he sent me flowers and it meant ‘i love you’
i wake up and breathe in this
beautiful taste of living and
laughing that swirls in my chest
hes the air that i breathe and it whispers ‘i love you’
its morning and the light curls
down the window’s glass it
reaches like hands soft and warm
he calls me his light and it feels like ‘i love you’
when night falls and hope is lost
i make a promise in the dark
of all that i am, i am his
i speak it, and its not just ‘i love you’
its that i would know him
without words or sound
without a touch, without sight- i
would know him blind or from a
million miles down and at the worlds
end, he is all that i know i’d give all
that i own and carry him in my fingertips
the ends of my hair and the core of my heart
high and tell the world
his name and the way he is enough, is enough, is enough
and with his hands outreaching, who
else could ever hold my heart, this
was all that home means and it means
that ill never know what it is
to go unloved because the door is open
and so are his arms and ill never be the same
since knowing that his name is Jesus and
it means ‘i love you’
grief in all stages & why we need it
i linger in musuems like a ghost, not
of the past or the present, but of some broken
time in between where dejected things go and
i look at the marbled stone statues that a
sculptor’s hands carressed and molded and
shaped with each finger so long ago, my
fingers touch the aged figure and i feel
our hands- sculptor and i- meet in between
loving one and the same thing from different eyes
he loves as creator, i love as an angel, to worship
what i could never begin to breathe life into
we touch the same and share our untranslated grief
and the painting that some manic and lonely man
stroked and curved with a dirty brush is outliving his rotted body
is hung on a bleached wall and stared at by thousands of empty eyes,
a painting that he threw anguish into, that he doubted over
that his own fingernails grew gritty with. and these people
stand around straining to connect with his mind
but how could they when he was out of it
he was out of his mind in order to create this piece,
there was no universal lesson etched into its shapes
no rule or theme to the colors he bled against canvas
but the image of a grieving man that cried without words
i curl into a warm and dark corner of the world
and open an old book, an ancient story that
millions of people have touched and read too
my mouth shaping the words over and over
and i am alone with this world on pages.
an author scribbled these words in a notebook
thinking ’are these the right ones, will they make
it into the real thing? this is a world heart of my heart’.
he was alone with this world on pages, unaware
that someday another person would enter it and
their lips would whisper the same words as his,
their heart feel the same ache as his own.
i am alone gripping the edges of an ancient book,
we- the author and i- were alone and we are alone together.
the character cries on a cliff’s edge, and we sit and watch
him jump, losing what he has lost, knowing what he grieves
my fingers trace an atlas in a history book of old
some thoughtful person’s records, their way of
telling the world how it began and how it grew
he knows the world’s stories of tragedy, success, war
does he know the people behind the numbers? the
hands that picked up guns and shot holes into each other?
are we trying to tell stories with our statues, paint, and words
and with every action of our hands, do we beg to be fully known?
a tree grows and falls among a thousand, ocean waves
form and crash without number, without keeping careful
count of the rise and fall of their ageless endless world
what are we that is any different. what we do with our hands
that find ways to love or hate or simply tell a story, is
it any different than the tree that rots in a merciless science.
or the seashells crushed under waves’ weight into grains and
grains of colorless sand. we try to reach through time and space,
to touch each other with what we leave behind of a story
and what would it matter when we are all telling the same one
to rise and fall, to crush and be crushed, to follow inevitable patterns-
we tell the story in our different ways and leave behind the invitation,
‘you understand, will you grieve with me?’
SS Meredith Victory
The sunrise’s watered-down colors sent little sparkles of grey bouncing off the dock. Gyeong watched in silence as countless hands waved goodbye from the port of Hungnam. He gripped the sides of the US cargo ship, the very last ship to escape from the bloodshed brought to their home by the Chinese army. It was Christmas Eve. He tugged the heavy cloth bag closer to his side, gripping Sunny’s hand worriedly. At the edge of the misty horizon, Gyeong imagined that he could already make out the shapes of the American planes. Surely, they would come soon. He hated to think what would happen if the American troops didn’t make it in time; there were so many refugees left on the dock, unable to cram their bodies onto the already-full merchant ship. A child cried to Gyeong’s left, its little feet were blistered and frostbitten from their escape through miles of snow. Many mothers sobbed over the children that were left behind, clinging to the edge of Hungnam’s dock, believing that their parents would return for them. Sunny pulled Gyeong’s arm against her cheek, watching his eyes fearfully.
“What will happen to them?” She seemed to watch the faces on the dock, as they grew smaller and smaller with the boat’s distance. Gyeong shook his head softly. His throat burned as he watched smoke curl from the mountains behind Hungnam; the Chinese forces were coming. The ship seemed to move inch by inch, as the waves resisted its efforts to flee from North Korea’s edge. Gyeong didn’t realize how much time had passed until his head began to spin from hunger. The heavily crammed ship held no food, water, or warmth; it had come to collect military cargo and was unprepared for so many people. Remembering the pack at his side, Gyeong scrambled to pull out the last few pieces of chicken. The edges crumbled in his hand as he split the pieces in half for Sunny. They ate silently, with their backs pressed against the surrounding bodies. There were screams from a pregnant woman on the floor of the ship; two men struggled to lift her up. Strong waves crashed against the ship’s walls, sending salty rain showering over the passengers, stealing their hopes for warmth.
“Mother, will we drown?” A small girl squeaked next to Gyeong. Her mother stretched a worn blanket between the two of them, “Perhaps, nae sarang, the ocean will turn us to sea spirits.” The girl shuddered in the sea-sprayed wind, staring fixedly at the heaving waves. “I would not mind being a sea spirit,” she whispered in a voice that seared into Gyeong’s memory, despite the other screams and anguished voices that clouded his head, “Then I would be able to swim far away from this war. I would never be afraid.” Gyeong nodded to himself, clutching Sunny closer to keep warm. The harbor had become a blur in the distance, but he could still see the crowds waiting.
A jilting cry rose up from the middle of the ship. Gyeong jerked his head, straining to hear the shouting voices. Suddenly, the floor beneath him rocked uncontrollably and a rumbling noise filled his ears. It all happened so fast, Gyeong could hardly process the moment. A great fiery explosion rose from the harbor, black smoke inked through the sky. The water surrounding the harbor glowed red, as if it had caught fire and would spread across the sea. Instinctively, Gyeong clutched Sunny’s face between his hands, pressing her into his chest. His heart sunk as the port full of refugees was destroyed, replaced by sheets of angry fire. Gyeong knew it must have been done to keep the Chinese from advancing, but he ached for the ones left behind. Sunny struggled against his hands, her body shook in horror. Her eyes filled with tears, sea salt, and smoke. Screams of shock rattled Gyeong’s eardrums, until a strange humming sound overlapped the mourning voices. He searched the smoke clouds in disbelief as silvery shapes emerged, sunlight reflecting off their steadfast wings. The Americans had come. Gyeong’s lungs would have deflated in a sigh of relief, knowing that they were finally there. But instead, he couldn’t breathe at all, knowing that they were much too late.
-Prompt: take a large, detailed story and tell it simply, while still getting across the main ideas.
-Subject: Ship of Miracles, WWII.
This was it. The last murder.
Elijah Rhodes leaned into the conference room’s plastic chair with a sigh of relief. He was almost free. The very thought of being done with it all made his chest feel lighter somehow. As the door sounded behind him, Elijah sat up, bracing himself for whatever came next.
“Congrats on the case, Rhodes,” Steele gripped the hitman’s shoulder with a heavy hand,
“You never cease to amaze me.”
Elijah Rhodes nodded, eyeing the file between Steele’s thick fingers. He wanted more than anything to just get this last job done and be finished for good. Elijah shoved his hands in and out of his coat pockets impatiently, fingering the little silver ring that inhabited his right pocket.
The over-stuffed file dropped on the conference room’s table as Steele gestured toward it, “This next one is a bit on the rough side. We’ve got a foreign case, external employers, and severe government interest involved. I know you’re on your way out, but this can be your last big case.”
Elijah couldn’t help frowning a little; external employers were a huge setback. An unsettling feeling gnawed at his stomach, “Who are we talking about?”
Steele cleared his throat loudly and tugged at the end of his striped tie, “Well, Russia Bandello.”
At the sight of Elijah’s shocked expression, he raised his hands, “But it’s nothing you can’t handle! They’re just after your everyday conman. Seems the guy was somehow able to break down Bandello’s system and cross the border with some cash.”
Flipping through the thick file, Elijah rolled his eyes, “Some cash? Steele, it says right here that we’re dealing with an estimated $ 25 million dollars. In K's. This is a highly sensitive case.”
Steele shrugged his bulky shoulders, “So what? I know you can handle this. You’ll be going out with a bang, y’know?” He stabbed the open page, pointing at the target information, “It’s all set up too. Those Bandellos really know how to make a job easy. Look, the guy’s getting married this week; all you have to do is show up in your Sunday best and take him out. Couldn’t be any easier.”
Leaning in to read the background check page, Elijah froze in shock. He tore the paper out of the file, rereading the top names desperately. ‘Target: Alec Harmon. Significant Other: Kristina Stewart.’
The room went silent. Elijah felt an icy shuder run down his spine at the sight of the two pictures attached. The page blurred before Elijah’s eyes. “I can’t do this,” his voice sounded shaky.
“What do you mean? This is your last case, you have to do it!” Steele slammed the table with his hand, demanding Elijah’s attention.
Forcing himself to breathe, Elijah looked up. “I said I can’t do it. I won’t take the case, Steele, find someone else.”
The older man grumbled, “I can’t, you’re already contracted.”
Elijah gripped the page tighter, fighting to ignore the way his heart was sinking. This was Kristie...this was no anonymous family he would be destroying.
“Dammit, Rhodes, you have to!” Steele shoved the file onto Elijah’s lap, “This is a serious mess, I don’t want to know what they’ll do if you break the contract. I’m already on eggshells with Russia himself from our last encounter. There’s no backing out now.”
In a daze, Elijah collected the pages, folded them into the file, and stood up stiffly. The empty, white office spun around him.
“I need to go,” he managed to choke out. Any words that Steele yelled after him were muffled by the fear roaring in Elijah’s ears.
It was a bad night for Elijah. It always was when he got caught up thinking about Kristie again. After so long, he was finally beginning to heal. The abrupt mention of Kristie’s name had sent him spiraling back into the familiar pain. But it was more than that this time. She was getting married; she was happy without Elijah in her life. Worse, Kristie was marrying the very man that Elijah had been ordered to kill.
A nauseating heat burned in Elijah’s stomach at the thought of it. By impulse, his hands reached for the liquor cabinet. They fell into the well-known pattern of filling and draining the glass. Elijah shot a couple back, welcoming the comforting buzz. He fell back, exhausted, onto the sofa. Painful memories swirled around in his head as he drifted in and out of sleep. The sudden too-loud ringtone of his phone jolted Elijah back to consciousness. In a haze, he picked up without checking the caller I.D. first. “Yeah?”
Static whirred in his ear, followed by a strangely low voice, “Rhodes.”
He blinked in confusion, “Yeah, who’s this?”
“This is a warning. You will complete this mission without hesitation or face the aftermath,” The voice continued in a raspy accent, “Are we understood?”
Elijah sat up quick, coming to his senses in a sudden jolt of dread. “Who is this?”
He controlled his breathing and strained to hear any background noises.
Only the low, accented voice followed. “We are watching, Elijah. We hope you are able to complete the…extermination…without any difficulties. If you cause any disruptions, there will be consequences. We are aware that you seem to have a special connection with the target’s fiancé. Perhaps, that is motivation enough for you to complete your orders, to keep her alive.” The voice let out a slithery breath. Then, the line clicked.
Elijah dropped his phone, gripping the ends of his hair tightly. Fear wrapped around his throat with chilling fingers. Kristie was in danger. Again.
Memories flashed behind his eyes of Kristie, smiling, laughing, talking. He remembered with fresh pain the way her eyes had looked when he broke their relationship off. She hadn’t known that Elijah was doing it to protect her. But it hurt, just the same. And he had thought she would be safe, out of his life, free to live her own. It seemed that the past had come back to haunt him now. There was no doubt about it; he had to go through with the mission.
Elijah failed to hold back the sob that tore at his chest. He pressed tight fists against his eyes and cried. For Kristie and her fiancé, Alec. And for himself; his own unrealistic hope for a future with Kristie, destroyed. After struggling his entire life with the guilt of his own sins, Elijah knew without a doubt in his mind: he was a terrible, horrible man.
The wedding day arrived on schedule, just like any other mission day, and Elijah treated it thusly. He dressed, packed, and left the cold apartment with the routine stiffness that masked his features before every mission. This case was the same as any other, he reminded himself, as if the terrors of the night before had never happened. It was merely a name to cross out, nothing more. Strike, leave, repeat. Tomorrow will be different.
Elijah refused to let himself think beyond repeating the phrase over and over. He kept his eyes on the road as he drove, blinking away the memories that threatened to resurface. His phone buzzed, breaking the silence. Elijah reached for it. The familiar notification that lit up his screen sent Elijah’s stomach sinking. Would he accept the mission? The ‘confirm’ button waited patiently for his decision. He reminded himself of Kristie, and of the way the voice on the phone had threatened on her life.
That was enough. There was no longer any hesitation in Elijah’s decision; he pressed the glowing button, and dropped his phone to the console. The mission’s button was replaced by a time count, slowly ticking away the milliseconds. It was time for action.
From up on a second-level balcony, Elijah took in the overwhelming sight below him. The wedding was breathtaking. Elijah smiled despite himself, knowing that this was exactly the type of wedding Kristie had always dreamed of. There were flowers and lights strung in an arch across the entire room and little candles leading down the classic aisle. People arrived in swarms, seating themselves in the beautifully ribboned chairs and waiting silently for the ceremony to begin.
Elijah scanned his own surroundings briefly, popping open the lid of the heavy case that leaned against his leg. None of the people below would be able to spot him standing between the enormously tall, columned arches. Light from stained-glass windows stretched its way across the room, towards the center, leaving Elijah in a heavy shadow. The crowds below began buzzing with conversation as more people were seated. Elijah noticed the pastor making his way to center stage, shaking hands with a tall man in black. It was the man from the file picture, Alec Harmon. Kristie’s husband-to-be and Elijah’s target. He walked with an air of importance, laughing with broad shoulders and a strangely perfect smile. Elijah wondered what parts of the man Kristie had fallen in love with, what parts made him better than Elijah. But more than that, he wondered if Kristie knew who this man really was.
An organ’s piercing notes sounded suddenly, jolting Elijah back to the present. The music swelled and every seat below went silent, anticipating the bride’s arrival. The wide doors swung open and Elijah swallowed around the sharp knot in his throat.
Oh, God. There she stood, glowing like an angel in the colorful light of the stained-glass. His heart swelled at the sight of her smile. From the upper balcony, he watched her take slow steps forward, matching the sweeping tune of the organ. She only had eyes for what was in front of her, unaware of his presence. Elijah’s heart ached at the sudden thought that it could’ve been him, standing at that altar, beginning a new future with Kristie.
The music was fading, which was his cue to begin. Elijah checked his phone, watching the minutes slip away. Shaking away all the heavy emotions weighing him down, he finished assembling the suppressed rifle and rested its end against the edge of the balcony. Breathe in, breathe out. Just like any other time. Aligning the crosshairs, Elijah took a few deep, motionless breaths. He watched the ceremony up close through the gun’s scope, taking in every detail of his target. Alec’s debonair smile spread around the edges as he held Kristie’s hand. Elijah tried to concentrate on the timing and precision. It was just a mission to complete and get over with. He adjusted the sights, keeping them even with Alec’s head. Sliding his finger onto the trigger, like he had a million times before, Elijah prepared himself to fire.
Something about the way Alec kept turning his eyes toward Kristie pierced through Elijah’s concentration, reminding him of some foggy memory. And then it hit him, like a blow to the gut. A memory of the first case that had ever left Elijah aching. The gun loosened between his grip absently. Danny.
Every detail suddenly rushed behind his eyes with a fury. It had been late evening, right before the sun went down. The man’s name was Danny Agnello. He’d been walking with his wife, holding her hand, with that same adoring look in his eyes. And Elijah had shot him dead, right there. He’d reminded himself that it was just a job, that the man was rightfully ended, that he had made the right decision. But no matter how many crimes Danny had committed, Elijah could never rid himself of the guilt that came with taking the woman’s husband away. That look, between Danny and his wife, was seared into Elijah’s memory, repeating itself over and over. Danny’s eyes, their hands clasped together, the weight of Elijah’s finger pressing the trigger, Danny’s limp body slumping to the pavement, and the screams that followed. The images swirled around in Elijah’s mind painfully until Kristie’s precious face joined the mix of memories. A searing feeling burned against his side. Elijah wasn’t sure whether he imagined it or not, but it was almost as if the burning feeling came from the silver ring in his pocket.
Elijah stumbled back dizzily, forcing the agonizing reminders away and clutching at his pocket. In the panic of the moment, the rifle slid right out of his hands, wobbling against the balcony’s railing. Blinking back to reality, Elijah hurriedly reached for his gun. It toppled back and forth before his shaking hands. He stood frozen, watching hopelessly as it tilted off the rail and dropped to the ceremony below. Elijah cringed in horror, expecting a heavy crash, whispering a smothered, “No!”.
Not a sound followed. The peaceful wedding ceremony went on without interruption.
Bending over the balcony, Elijah caught sight of the rifle, hanging by the edge of its bipod on a string of lights. Without a moment to lose, he reached carefully for it, bending himself over the banister. The gun hung just outside of his reach as Elijah inched closer and closer. Right as his fingertips brushed the edge of the gun, Elijah’s phone buzzed against his pocket abruptly, announcing the thirty second mark. The ceremony below carried on, Kristie and Alec now facing one another.
In panic, Elijah lurched for the gun and grasped it with both hands, his legs holding him against the second level’s edge. He had less than thirty seconds to pull the trigger. With the steadiness that accompanied his experience, Elijah leaned his arms against the light’s wires, and balanced his torso on the edge. He levelled himself with the rifle to aim. Forcing himself to focus with a deep breath, he zeroed in the scope, squeezed the trigger, and
The phone buzzed, signaling that time was up. It was done.
Elijah’s shoulder absorbed the little recoil that followed, and only a muffled sound followed the shot. Alec fell to the floor heavily, and screams of horror ensued. The entire room fell to chaos as people fled in all directions, toppling chairs. Elijah barely hung on to the railing by his feet and grasped the string of lights desperately. From across the room, he noticed only one person frozen in place. Kristie.
First, she stared silently at her almost-husband, unmoving on the floor. Then, her eyes swept the walls, assessing every corner. They moved up, searching the giant columns. Kristie’s eyes moved with a strange calmness, until they landed on Elijah. The recognition in her eyes was obvious. Elijah’s heart crushed against his chest in anguish. She knew.
In that terrible, sickening moment, he lost his balance between the balcony and the string of lights. The suddenly too-heavy rifle tumbled from his hands to the floor, and Elijah followed.
The impact of his body with the floor below was not the worst part. It was the falling in between, when Elijah had time to relive every shot he ever took, every body that ever dropped, and every part of him that shattered at the look in Kristie’s eyes.
nomad in my mind, there is no exit
with citrus skin against your teeth
curving in a pulpy imitation smile that
drew your lips high in vitamin c’s and d’s
to say i’m happy i’m happy well you were
once and the orangey grin attests
to the memory.
you like your money in grimey green paper pieces
so that when you throw it away on cheap band tshirts
youll feel it leave your fingertips and
remind yourself that slowly you give away what
holds you back, what would have burned
and you with it.
at eighteen and you can smoke and vote they
say congratulations although they give you things that
will eat you from the inside out, not me with
my paper thin lungs white as driven snow and a
mind that watches with narrowed eyes, what is government
but a cover word for control?
soft and sweet the music lulls you whispering
nothings gonna hurt you baby and for a moment
you see grey and silk a cloak with a dagger that reaches
and tells you what you want to hear and nothing could be better
as long as youre distracted from feeling again as
music seeps over the ugly truth that silence speaks.
and someday when the sky falls you wont be there
to watch glittery stars shatter into the dirt
because you wished on each one years ago to
give grace, to let your body rot like real things do long
before the world could end again though it has before,
you always hated endings.
there is sodium in your bones like the sea and the sand
minerals like the dust covered earth you are merely soil and
dust to dust as your body falls back. the orange peels and
the crumbling dollars, the ash from a thousand lungs yet
ive always believed the music will rise light as air to
space or above, wherever it is that truth calls home.
énouement, but unarrived
this is cherry season, ripe and pulpy in
the summer heat, it is a sigh of relief between
the toil of your everworking fingers in the dirt
this dewy sweat that falls from your brow is
a crown, a reminder of how it feels to be alive
this is a hazy blue sky fogged by the squeaking
cicada voices that call out live live as time turns
and in the dusky final hours, you will ache over
the way the sun melts so quickly, so beautifully
and between the time before the stars yawn and
blink to life, you will know. you will know what
it is to finally love yourself after so long without peace
you will trace a finger fondly on the mirrors surface
and wear light fabrics that have nothing to hide
you will pull up a chair and speak the word: eat
and your fingers will reach for anything sweet and rich
the voice that was a stranger will sing and it will sound beautiful
simply because it is yours. you will allow your heart
to feel what its waited for its whole life, this is
a beautiful body that waited long for your approval
the moon will smile in syrupy sweetness to watch you
finally finally love yourself with new eyes and
the love letters stashed somewhere in the back of your
mind will come soaring out in paper planes in
offkey notes of laughter, in cherry red summer air
when your fingers tug at the roots and watch the sun set
that heavy cloud will peel away to this blossom and oh
love, i promise you will. you will know at last.