when there is just not enough air to inhale

in a single fill of the lungs

you know those days_ rigth?

*and exhale*

*and inhale again*

oxygen accumulation amongst strained things

oh, it does so much

strained with dirt under the fingertips

frozen earth

and unhealed scars

a promise of spring

far on the edge of the line

dull sharpness

of a tired state

too long nights

leaving you in shell blue

22, 43, 87

just keep counting, maybe it will tell you who you are

it’s confusing - to say the least

and guess what? I just keep counting more s p l i n t e r s

yes, m o r e - who would have thought there was more room for them

in this body - spare patches of bruised skin yet without needles

yet,

she said - you must have heard her, she was pretty loud screaming from her flesh

/ muscles memory - he answered calmly

he always answered so calmly

those piercing green eyes spoke of blades, sharp objects to center her soul

his darker moments hiding in the fading light

of a Winter’s heavy sigh,

leaves will soon fall,

spreading as if a thick blanket on the cold stone pavement

a gentle welcome for the first soft snow

you see, he was born in the days that spoke of short hours

and too long nights

the green of his glassy windows

the only sign of a longed awaited spring

it sits in me, it pulls

a threat of my own making

but I soothe it to sleep, and take care of its scars

a damaged soul with broken wings

a white dove that still wants to fly, despite it all, all that has crushed it

I will embrace it and keep it warm

hoping to heal as many wounds as I can

it sits in me, it pulls

on the days when my thoughts are too touchable,

physical by choice that was not my own

to damage my own roots, is my common ground, does not hurt that much

anymore / just steady illness

as long the hurt does not spread to you,

because then and o n l y then will it turn to real pain, that leaves nothing

but bleeding cries