I’m tired of being Imoveably cold
But Warmth doesn’t seem to care for me.
He prefers hearts easier to reach
Over those guarded under lock and key.
Real invigoration is so infrequent
It melts me beyond the use of coherent thought.
It finds me at my most relaxed
And shocks my senses back to full alert.
A warning; If Warmth can reach you,
So can all sorts of volatile expressions.
Good intentions can’t diminish
The fragility of your intimate dimensions.
Born to grave sensitivity
I easily shudder in the light of friendship,
And comfort myself solely
In the snowy luminance of reflection.
Idealism and romance raised me to care,
But authority raised me to be compliant and indifferent.
What forces us to conform and behave
Breaks our hearts and deadens our empathetic sentiments.
When you choose to live for love,
You’re at odds with all those who will take whatever you can give.
The Ideas you cherish like equality and justice
Only matter to them as weapons to be selectively implemented.
We take an unequal share of the world’s pain.
You can carry it as your own or you can choose to inflict it.
But the totality of human suffering
Rarely moves individuals as much as all the pursuit of satisfaction.
To us, who’re ruled by those who don’t love one another,
You’re more an idea or a number than anything like what we’d call “a life.”
You can’t lie when you’re reduced to an integer,
But you can’t assert yourself as anything worth cherishing either.
Silent waves sink perpetually through my chest.
Someone like me shouldn’t think too much alone.
Graves remind us that something can be nothing.
Something about you leads me back where I’d begun.
Lying to pacify the waves,
Dying to be worthy of my allotted time.
Wind and snow flow endlessly from my foundation.
Warmth and touch are more like burning teeth.
Better than wearing a heart that’s butter-soft.
How long can I hide from thawing in your spring?
Lying to savor little stops in my misery.
Dying a little more to feel comfortable alive.
Listens to Lo-Fi on her phone,
Admiring the nighttime lights of the city
Through streets blanketed with snow
Where unknown treasures are buried.
Cigarette to her lips
Alongside that sensation around her face,
The teeth of wind,
Is all the satisfaction she can take.
To have hung on,
Lived to see another illuminated night,
Stress momentarily forgotten
Despite the punishing nature of her drive
Is worth rewarding.
She needs something, after all.
Demands a moment that’s enjoyable.
Dawn spawns the first shadows
As she reluctantly remembers herself,
Retires behind her bedroom windows,
And waits until she can escape again.
The houses rotted,
The roads cracked and slowly eroded,
Power lines toppled,
And trees retook the place of grass.
Lives had finished,
Completed, but never replaced,
Leaving everything behind
For the mildew and quiet to claim.
Everyone had gone,
And they left a fragmented remembrance,
The ruins of excess
And poverty adapted into shadow palaces.
When everyone goes
I only hope there will be ghosts,
So someone could see
The beautiful remains of our failures.
The arguments died,
All sides are eventually silenced.
Grief lost her way
Without any survivors to guide her.
Indecisions without resolve,
Like half-empty beds and unfinished poems
Revert back to objects
Removed from anxiety and desire.
Landscapes of thought
Retaining echos without sound.
When everything falls
I hope to see what happens then.
To see how unknowable
Our intentions and dreams become.
The kind that sink into you like a sickness,
That grow into hooks strung between our chests.
We understand our world
By seeing it through each other’s words,
Our gazes and movements
Imparting wisdom only we can comprehend.
Reason and purpose,
They’re ours as disciples of one another.
In peace or war
We’re formidable as fortified emotions.
Tragedy is our past.
Romance is our blissful tragic future.
With cake and tension
We unload and collapse in each other’s voids.
Our dresses complimentary,
My blue, your red, wrapped in purple sheets.
We own our faults,
Our secrets our own to whisper in confidence.
Alive and secure within our bounds.
Could I ever be loved as completely
As the honesty of your sincerest introspection?
Mortality and eternity,
Subjects so situated in time
That occupy my emptiness
The way I wish I was admired.
Could I fill your mind
And terrify your sense of being
In such a way as to change
The reality of your inner quiet?
People are like night skies,
Shifting their position and meaning,
So when you gaze at me
I hope you think of what you’re not seeing.
We are mysterious and complicated things,
Too important for casual recognition,
And if I’m ever to be loved again
It must be worth our fullest attention.