Stealing Summer's Breath

I just want to stop hurting everyone

but no matter what I do here I lose.

Why does this keep happening to me

I find solace

in the longing gaze

of my shadow.

The past that lags 

behind, painted on the pavement

reminds me to never

turn back, even when

the sidewalks ends. To trample

over progress and shove my foot

down the throat of success

would only precipitate 

the death that looms ahead.

If it’s better for you to live without me then who am I to say you belong back here. Move on at your own pace, live life at your pace. Don’t let my slurs and slander dictate the tempo at which your heart beats. Travel the world, count the stars, treat yourself every now and then. Reconnect, reach out to someone. Save the rainforest. Scrape the frost from your shoulders and scrub your cheeks of moss; you’ve a whole life to live ahead of this. In fact, you’ve a life to start living. 

And I refuse to take that from you. Come back at your leisure, find me when you please. I’ll be here carving letters into my heart for the moment you choose to view him as he is, subtracting the adornments and scars that litter his ensemble.

Find your truth, uncover your past, write your future. I’ve done my part to help you grow, it’s a damn shame I can’t watch any longer. I long for the days we can relax, but until then, make haste and do not despair. Solace is but a smile away. 

Sincerely,

Your mind.

We scurry under the

guise of bountiful pines,

digging our toes in the

underbrush and hiding our

faces behind the dead ends

of wilting branches in the

everlasting forest of 

incomprehensible woes.

We slither between the

shadows, running from ourselves

by diving headlong into

another, making progress with

nonsense dripping from our

fangs. We settle here, in this

inexplicably shallow cauldron

of evergreens and conifers,

the land of everlasting death.

Even as the seeds fall and

the leaves fade, we live on

through their sorrows,

revenant and plagued with

the burden of being reborn 

in the soils that know the

bones of the skeletons

we keep obscured behind

the veil of skin. We may

run from the world outside,

but we will never hide

the faults and mistakes that

drop from our scarecrow veins.

Damned be the fool

who adorns his

 soul with painters

tape and solid gold. 

One cannot escape 

their placement by 

glossing over the 

intricacies with matte 

and paste, and one

cannot support 

the weight of delicacies

on the fragile bones

of a reckless spirit.

I’ve learned to embrace my shadow, no matter how dark. For he will always lag behind, casting his ominous glare over every action I take. To run from him would be to run from myself, a task proving more and more difficult as I trek closer to the sun.

It’s about damn time she got her shit together.

Cogs and wires

comprise the insides 

of a mind aligned with

the stars. To think

alone, and apart from 

the sun is to be man.

To thatch our skin with

the stitches of the sun

is to industrialize our lives;

slaves to the virtues

of the sky.

I want to be fluent

in the fluid motion of

your eyes, fluttering.

So together we dance

to the rhythm of the war drum

rhyming our footsteps with

the clamor of bullet casings dropping

to the hard wood floor. 

In this tangle of loose words 

and tight lips

the battle rages on with each

tap of our fingers on the

walls of our bullet riddled arteries.

I’ve been thrusting 

memories deep into my pockets

in the hopes of saving 

a few extra moments to

spend with you. 

In a world of

foul gray

and devilish blues,

I find but one hue 

of sunshine bursting

from your skin.

As it separates and melts

into the brown of

the underground, the light

peers through the pores,

showering the

vague in splendor 

and burgundy as deep as

your lipstick, smeared

on my weeping

collar. 

Finally applied to college, all of them.

10 months till I’ll be trading minutes for memories.

If mistakes could be

feathers, I’d be soaring through

the horizon, my

wings whisking away the warmth

of the suns forgiving ways.

I’ve plunged my

pen into the walls of your

heart one too many

times to excuse the colorless

mess as redecorating.

And I’ve dipped my fingers

in the ink of your blood

far too often to blame

it on writers block. 

I’ve torn my plume from behind 

your back, pulling it from

the stem of your broken wings.

My mistake, dear,

I never meant to steal your praise.

But it seems I’ve perverted 

your kisses with an undying malaise;

scrawled death across your skin

as I traced my path backwards with the

sharpened tip of my poets sword,

etching my name in every tear

you’re willing to shed.

It all feels hollow,

these petty sands

I hold in burning hands.

The moments I spend away

from you leave me vacant

and shuttered, scouring

the sky for a path home.

Without a friend by my side

to pull me from darkness,

it all feels shallow, like I’ve

lost the tune of my heart strings.

I am beyond proud of you for accomplishing what I’ve tried to instill in you. I’m glad you’re finding solace and appreciation; you deserve it more than anyone I know. Trek forward, I always told you you’d succeed.

You’ll understand soon why I asked you to go. I’ve been well, and this news warms my heart. Take care.

You know who you are.