And it's getting heavy now, trying to carry it all. It seems these days the writing sits, further beyond the walls. The journey never seems to end. No, not without a way. I fought my bitter inquisition just to fill my idol days. It's been awhile since my bones have rest, and even longer since they've stood still. I keep feeling that turbulence that rests from deep within my will. And I learned awhile back that it's better to keep silent. Nothing's worth the way it hurts when the world becomes so violent. Lord knows the pain lingers from within my own vibrant fault. And the shame that I confide upon, it only brings me to a halt. It could all still come together, but then how would it make any sense? All points come to an end they say, but such fiction seems immense. My freedom didn't last, so I abandoned it with youth. The years have only brought me a hesitation upon the logic claimed as truth. It was easier with ignorance, although it was never quite such bliss. I sometimes still fire at will, yet when I aim I miss. Don't tell me you don't understand, because you never even tried. I promise I'm not disappointed, for my only hope has died. 

This is a great night to die as I look up at the sky, clouds hide her beauty reminisce their far away light wind speak chapped lips dragging tears sway of the autumn foliage rustle succumb temptations of a destined past bleeding torments music amplifies hallucinogenic temper creatures dancing the laughter of the children smiles away head resting on his chest weary self can't go on with a cheap bottle of wine and a cigarette on hand taste of metal he must endure hands trembling darkens night seeming shadows clouded vision loud spark bottle bouncing translucent feelings hid away she walked slowly note in hand she took falling to her knees rain drops imitating tears were washed away.

And here I am sitting in the park. At the picnic table I wrote our names in. Why did I wrote our names here ? Remember how you used to FaceTime me and I hated when you sat at that picnic table cause I would lose connection with you. Yeah it was a good memory. But now we're at that state. In life. We have a bad connection. I can't hear you. You can't hear me. And I'm crying out in that void of poor connection begging for you to see me. To hear me cause I'm not done talking. I have lot more to say.

Her smile lit up the room as she walked in, gracefully whispering in the air taking every note of that melody, enchanted beauty conceived the evening the petals of her lips a recited symphony from her every rhythm. Succumbed to her every thought now trapped in her eyelashes. Her neck discovered lust awaken as she flirts with her glass of red wine kissing one more time the only existence of her beliefs.

You see when we stoped speaking. I stoped eating. When we stopped speaking for some odd reason i stoped sleeping. When we stoped speaking. I stoped laughing. When we stoped speaking I stoped smiling. When we stoped speaking. I stoped living. When we were speaking... it was because I love you. God do I love you. When we spoke, I saw you smile, I smiled. when we spoke you laughed and I would laugh. When we spoke you would fall asleep next to me on the phone and I would fall asleep with you. When we spoke and you told me about your day. I never felt something wrong with you. I want to fix that. I never want to let you go. Why should I start now. When we spoke you fought for me I fought for you. When we stoped speaking. I haven't stopped fighting for you. Please don't stop for me.-terraburnettt

I have so much to say, but my tongue has gone dry. My thrush chews on jagged pebbles with a dental spit vacuum suctioning sound.

And my vocal cords snapped. They are the victim of lost resin and pliability, for the chords of my dialect are nothing but a bow broken from passion.

The metamorphosis of faith is nothing now but bartered superstition.

And I am the hardpan beneath an estranged coyote's atopic and raw pads. Walking alongside its own shadow, its death gambles with the fortune teller.  

God hyperventilates through the beast's paper bag lungs. Retracting between rib bones, fate pulses beneath its unsustainable flesh. Its fur falls gypsy from its porous roots, and he watches himself in-pieces carried away by dry wind.

Consumed holistically by starvation, nature has become orphaned and speechless. And as for me, I have fallen mute to the remnants of the stones I have overturned.

Exposing snake skins and whiptails, the fight for survival is moot. For humanity digested itself, lost in its circular time ironed flat until burned.

But I know the truth.

And the truth is a gestational womb of a chrysalis still thriving and preparing for birth.

she was a wildflower,

her petals bent into uneven halves

when you forgot for a second

how to treat her right,

how to be careful because anger leads to terrible things,

and dug fingers into palm

while revisiting some pain

that she didn't know about.

like a flower

she didn't ask

but took the pain

and though she bruised

she trusted you a second time.

her stalk

you held onto

when you were trying to be a careful, patient man

as your father had taught you to,

and didn’t want to hurt her.

her scent

you filled your empty skin with

and wore like a winter coat,

hoping it hid the smell

of other women

in the grit beneath your fingernails

and in the grooves of your back

and in your unwashed hair.

her colour

you lay in bed with

and held hands with,

letting it rub onto your skin

until you, too,

were coloured with wonderful things like warmth and welcoming

and some joyous, half-hidden withering.

like a flower,

she didn't last long

and you knew better than to wish 

upon a wildflower

but you did anyway.

from the boundless fields

and from under the sun

you picked her

and, promising some better place,

put her right into 

the corner of

your flower shop.

she was a wildflower.

Then without you I mentally started to go down hill. With out you I'm fading in a dark place and space that I never thought I'd go to again , because I had you. I'm going down that wrong wrong road again because I miss you, cause I don't have you. Somebody needs to tell my story of our story, because I don't know how much longer I can make it in this life in living and dreaming with out you. -Tera

I ran across you a time or two in this life already. Never once though had I run across you, and felt quite so heavy. I guess I'd told you a thing or two about my own self. And my god, I'm sorry, because I must've forgot if you can't tell. Come to find we're so alike, both the two of us; you, and I. If i looked too deeply into it, I'd probably end up asking why. But that's the thing about this life, it shines in strange shades of light. It sparkles with the hope of wonder in the thought of wrong, and right. And I know I don't know you well, but I swear I've known you forever. Perhaps this was meant to be.. God how this world's so clever. I like the way you let go of the wheel, and how you smile while running off course. It makes me feel that shining light inside my own underestimated force. I swear that I can feel the weight of every single word you say. And I'd like to let you in I think...if that would be okay.

She sank below the stillness of the ocean. Bubbles rose to the surface as she let go of her last breath. I could still see her red hair as it followed her on her descent into the unknown. I wondered if the darkness frightened her, or if she had closed her eyes. It’s strange how comforting the darkness behind our eyelids is. It’s as if we’re the only ones in the world; it’s a shield to protect us from everything we fear. I still don’t know why I didn't stop her. She had told me that she would come back--albeit in a different body--and not to worry. Not to miss her. Rose was my love, but I could not stand seeing her this way-weak, hopeless, helpless. Yet, I could not help but hope she would change her mind and come back. But the bubbles had already stopped coming up and I knew she would not.