every other word is an echo; memories burned on hollow bones

life's an endless spiral. i'm not crazy, i know; but stability hates me

& it's crushing me. i've lost over twenty pounds in months less

than your fingers can hold; my mother's screaming, saying silence

can't be your diet. rub the makeup off my face, ask me six months ago

i thought i know where'd i go. whisper my name now, i'll cry.

nothing's the same yet there's still an outlining. you cannot love

a broken girl; she doesn't want you tumbling down her unpaved roads.

plant a tree for the memories, care for it as your own; perhaps one day

she'll be there to watch it grow.

what keeps reality frigid, is knowing it was real; that the heart bleeds,

even if time dries it out. selfishly i ask for a moment, a dime to hold

in a future when she's stitched up enough to be considered as whole;

not a fantasy ending - she never quite believed in those, just a

friendly reminding, of a time you were there when she needed a hand to hold.

you've become a piece of her soul; but you need to let her go.

A blanket-

No.

An absence-

No.

Reverence-

Still not right.

Peace?

Certainly not.

A weight-

No.

Yes?

Yes:

A weight,

a shape,

a hand,

is pressing down

Twisting my throat,

Covering my lips,

Keeping all air out

My lungs bloat,

My tongue trips,

And I know without a doubt-

It is back.

That invisible thing,

That creeps and crawls and springs

Into everything around it

And forces us to submit.

Isolating.

Unwelcome.

Intruder.

And once it comes

(And it always comes

sometime,

eventually,

inevitably)

It controls us

Though we never discuss

Our ways

For holding it at bay

Just in case it may stray

And upon us set its gaze

We try to stave it off

With a cough and a scoff

And it works-

But just for a while

A much-too-short while

Before it again descends

And rends

Our ability to speak

From us limb to limb, wing to beak

I hope you never fall prey

As I was lead astray-

It is never good to be alone

When control of your voice is not your own.

You know your fires out

Spend the sunlight stuck inside

Stare longingly out the window

Wishing you could kill the doubt

.

You can’t help but be controlled

By your pained emotions

And racing thoughts

That try and haunt your soul

.

Hunched over, body aches

Working deep into the night

Nothing but a vessel

An organic machine, cannot wake

.

Wasted days, loosing time

Your lovely home

Now a lonely prison

Starved soul, muddled mind

.

You know your fires gone

A bird lands on the ledge

Their gaze meets your eye

Convinces you to fight on

.

Run free

.

Melanie Costello

Some say fall is the season of death

When decaying leaves fashion trees into skeletons

And seemingly endless summer nights

Are brought to their knees by a cool breeze

And just a little bit of twilight

But I never feel more alive than I do in autumn

Crimson and gold foliage like flames

I rise from their ash and am created anew

The crisp air caresses my fingers

Nudging them to curl around a ballpoint pen

And press against the page

Like smooth honey drizzled on bread

I hunger for it

Some say fall is the season of death

Of ghost stories and the macabre

But every spirit that roams betwixt cemetery gates

Gives hope that there is more to this world

Than flesh and bones

The leaves fall only to grow again.

My emotions dance and swim as you search my face.

My emotions dance and swim as you search my face.

Oh - oh, . . .

Your eyes seem to bathe my very soul.

The sound of your voice soothes my tired, weary mind.

I would like to be so close to you,

beside you every moment.

But you won't let me near.

(I don't blame you, Dear.)

I love you more than ever, . . .

more than ever, . . .

more than ever . . .

I love you more than ever.

(This song I wrote decades ago. There's a haunting melodic accompaniment. Some words' syllables move up and down the scale. The word 'face' at the end of the first line was a trill. These words also moved: "ve-ry"; "Ti-red, wear-y" mind; and "ev-e-ry" moment. I was proud of my song. I sang it once at an audition. The man waited a long while before telling me it was the worst song he'd ever heard. I still cherish it, but my heartache was real. Next to it, his reaction just surprised me and stung a bit, as if my skin had been cut unwittingly.)

Hope is an overused term

But nothing else

Quite describes

The feeling I get

Standing in this little home

Ive made my own

Ive stopped working

In the banal regularity

Focusing on my whole self

In the now, right here

Comfort in the chaos

Its a wondrous world

When you block the worries of late

Quit the routine, turn off the lights

Watch the summer storms instead,

The lightning cracks and thunder claps

It crescendos, a grand finale

The sun peaks through

Calmness restored

The mourning doves and

House sparrows dance around

Telephone poles and power lines

The budding pagoda trees

Drop off their children in the yard

Hope is an overused term

But nothing else

Quite describes

This

Melanie Costello

@whitewolfe32

there he was

arriving on main street

carrying a backpack

and a suitcase

both stuffed with

papers

“WELCOME TO THE TOWN

OF FORGOTTEN POETS.”

said the shadows that

watched from the

windows

of nearby buildings

He didn’t like the

sound of their

voices

but he sighed

and dragged his

tired feet along

they were almost as

tired as his soul

and just as hurt

He'll have to live on the

streets,

for the town

was overpopulated

***

INSTAGRAM: https://www.instagram.com/bogdan_1_dragos/

Everyone tells you, wait for the right one,

BUT don’t wait by the phone for anyone.

Wait, take it slow, enjoy the moments,

BUT don’t wait around wasting your time.

Wait for the one that makes you complete,

BUT don’t wait for anyone to make you whole.

Wait a certain amount of time to move in with someone,

BUT don’t wait so long they leave.

Wait to get married until you’re older,

BUT don’t wait around for someone to propose for six years.

Wait, think it through,

BUT don't overthink it.

What am I waiting for?

BUT what if I don’t?

.

always be kind when the situation calls it,

you never know what scars

others carry

underneath their brittle bones

.

Cold,

Bleak.

Definitley not an ideal place for me.

But there I am.

At the bottom of an abyss.

Crying out,

My screams rattle my bones.

My words echo off of the sides of the walls.

A puddle of my tears,

Sloshing around my feet.

The drip,

Drip,

Drip,

As my tears roll off of my face.

This is where the real me resides,

Desperate to be free.

I'd like to see it all,

I'd like to save her.

I'd like to close off that abyss,

So that I can finally breathe.