You’re The Sun In My Morning

Is there light? With the shade drawn you’d never know. And that isn’t a shot at your ability to apply the proper techniques while shading. I had to say it before you started analyzing far too deep into the trenches again. Sometimes people just dig holes, love, they dig holes not to bury anything, nothing to hide. They dig because it’s in their nature; Look how you dig.

Come to me for us,
Come to me for us,
Because if you don’t come,
Something has to let up

Wrists for a powerful stature. Weak wrists can’t hold anything. Tied up or let loose.
Your hands do all the speaking I need, and your wrists don’t let whisper slip. If I were any bit of the rage I’ve decomposed I’d have a few lashings, roared up and resulting in quivers. Sage and nothing else. You are very sage.

I’ve been really a ghost,
That’s not fair to the ghosts I’ve met
I’ve been less than present,
Ive been trying to escape,
You know me I care
But I feel the reveal,
The hidden sketches
The tightest chest
Breathing is all I can do
You’ve given me so much
I admit now I can’t hold it,
At this time I don’t have a reading

All your chalk should be smeared, what essence I’ve felt smearing chalk, washed together we are now our cleanest. And smoke, just enough smoke and ash to understand the danger of this talk. What is of greater importance; What has taken place, or the potential that still has to pour out? Rain washes it away, but we go where the rain goes and that’s a long cycle to be patient for.

Who cleans the rain? Well the Earth does, and we are in part that body of land and water.

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The Lost & Gone

It’s been so long since you’ve written. The weeks go by and no new word of you has surfaced. You’ve begun to be buried beneath the passage of life and other dust. This isn’t to say, if I disturbed all the layers, that I’d find you under there; No, I don’t believe this is that type of burial. I know there is far too much drawing you to adventure, too much to expound upon in the native tongue of flesh and touch.

I just wish every once and an exhale, that you find time to use your words. Because for those who miss out on the first hand taste of your actions deserve to know at least second hand what you felt; Like the sunsets taken in before they lived! Paint them like only you can picture.

What are you lost for? You know why we don’t talk straight; We have to keep the meaning hidden. Who wants to read something without any curious mysteries? We can only assume that the other has understood the symbols we have placed along the way. So if you’re following or not, You will read. You will ascribe to me whatever you feel, and that will be that.

At some turn you realized, that this my darling was never about completing anything. We don’t finish, we never end. It fragments, it gets drawn apart, but it’s never ending. Isn’t that most clear when we need another sip only breaths after the last?

You could sit there and let everything pass you by, and surely what you’d come up with is something that no where else exists. I wouldn’t be surprised; But I want you to get out there.

Quotes for Quenching – 30

“Love anything and your heart will be wrung and possibly broken. If you want to make sure of keeping it intact you must give it to no one, not even an animal. Wrap it carefully round with hobbies and little luxuries; avoid all entanglements. Lock it up safe in the casket or coffin of your selfishness. But in that casket, safe, dark, motionless, airless, it will change. It will not be broken; it will become unbreakable, impenetrable, irredeemable. To love is to be vulnerable.” — C.S. Lewis

 

I know the type of individual of which Lewis wrote. He turns down every invitation, he leaves only his absence once he is gone. He invests nothing in those around him because they are nothing to his soul. He shuts the world out and holds only himself in his hands. The things he does are entirely for him. People may try to come around, but he quickly shuts them down, because the most important thing is time, of which he has none for anything but his lines; Yes his drugs of choice, and the occasional self serving urge.

He smiles as he looks his prey in the eyes, not because he’s happy, but because what he wants is easy to take! Yes, it’s willingly given, but only because he lies with good taste. What should I drown the world out with tonight, he wonders, perhaps a telling of how great he is. That always feels so good. Or maybe he’ll go find someone to tell him, so he can coldly not reciprocate, once again leaving knowing nothing could be lost.

I know this man because at one point in the story I was him. I never gave a shit about anyone. I did it all for my own gain and pleasure. I wanted the world not so I could share it, but so I could give it out as my gift to those below me, or not at all. I had to have what I wanted, but what was I expecting to pay for it? No, I was owed it!
At one point I could without falter, claim that I knew no love for a single being in existence. I had to lie a lot along the way, fake it till I made it. I’d say I got pretty good at mimicking what I had observed. The words came easy. They were all so easy. And it was all to make myself feel good. I made it about me. It was about me. What selfishness I now detest! The ground could not bare to hold me. So vile was my path; Yet it was one I had to walk to know anything of what I was. As I went along I learned to dance, to feel, to bleed in different ways. I came to know it all through those who touched me. Every point along the road gave me something more to hold. I knew something had changed when I finally gave in to the animals. I no longer found them without purpose, I no longer found them worthless. It was bizarre to see what I had been, after living lies for my entire life. It was confounding to say the least. Especially at the epicenter of the mainshock, and closer to it. Imagine you woke up one morning to discover you’d been acting a role! That none of what you felt had actually been anything but a means to an end; That you had been cold and corrupt all along aiming only to serve yourself with little more than a candle to the wind held for others. Do you at that moment drop the act? Do you stand before the audience with your hands motionless at your sides and stare blankly? Some may, but I didn’t. I was determined to be authentic. I was determined to find true emotions. I went on, and on, practicing daily. Many times did I observe my coldness which sent a chill down my spine. An electrical charge was firing, and it knew of what it was seeking. I knew by this that I was making progress. Of course when you act for so long you can turn like wheels on the bus; You forget the act exists and blend into the scene. I’m not sure if this was color rubbing off on me or if it was all blurring together as I became numb to the motions. I spent a long cold winter alone after the last collision. I never had more time to twist and shake, shiver and cringe. I came out of those nights knowing a lot about what it meant to be cold. When you’re alone there is no act. It’s just you. And when you spend enough time alone without the act, you really settle into who you are. I found summer again and was determined to thaw myself for the final time. I never wanted to be frozen through to the marrow again. Of course as I began to warm, the stage got wet. I didn’t know much about standing in water, the pressure, the warm air hitting my cold frame; I did my best to weather the ensuing storms. As soon as I could shake free of the last few icicles I had to run. I ran away because it was all too much for me at once. It took time to get used to the thaw. It took time to comprehend the flow of the rivers when no ice was clogging their veins. And then I found myself so natural and free. Eager! It was no act. I was simply me; No stage, just rivers, beautiful rivers you can drown in.

I’ll have whatever I please because emptiness takes a lot to feed.

If it’s cold enough, walking on the ice is safer than you’d think

Tool Box Love; Guess Who’s Screwing

I guess I don’t know what happened.

I blinked and everything came unraveling. I think I had some sort of accident that left me numb, left me closed off from my natural rhythm. She wanted me to read my poetry at a coffee spot where a bunch of people did that kind of thing. I said of course, of course I would show up and read some wild shit they never heard before. Her eyes lit up – She was hesitant to speak on what any of mine meant – But she knew she wanted to be a part. Ironically she’d come to be bastioned within them before she had even known that she possessed the desire. I started drafting the fortifications before she was able to draw any curtains; Another odd chapter to be fleshed out of a man who was convinced he had been hollowed out.

I will carry you,
I will, carry you.

I’ve always felt blessed to be able to feel people’s tensions. I never read too many books because I was busy reading the words not on any page – I know things I shouldn’t, I know things before they come into the picture.

I lived to never put up any walls, I welcomed the truths even if the pain would have me coiled up. The vulnerability is something I wanted to know fully for when the time was right, and now it’s clear the time to act is past; The time to open the cage is here. I no longer smell what fear had lingered dear, I only smell the blood stirring, and the sweet rivers.

And it’s on our minds, question unavoidable, why have I stayed so long, when we know the cards on the table – There is no royal flush in this hand, I’ve swept the floor and I know what I’m looking at. Oh that was vicious, I’ll admit it; You shall learn to know that if our time on this earth is so little, faking love shouldn’t take much of it.

I’m missing everything you say,
It’s not important what you stay for;
The sink is overflowing,
but no one is turning off the handle.

The thing with dark haired girls is that you always find their hair in your bed, whether they ever lay in it or not.

 

Wisdom of Watkins – 1

Do you just not want to kiss some?

“Most I don’t want to kiss, If I could fuck girls and not kiss them, It’ll be great; Because I only enjoy doing it with someone I like. Me and you are talking all our sadness out this weekend – Every day is our weekend. We both need it.” – Watkins, On Me and You.

Despite our feelings, we divest ourselves. We give in reluctantly and it’s like screeching tires as the brakes are slammed, and with all the signs of danger, we just shirk a little as if it’s nails on a chalkboard-Even though we’re headed for a pileup.

 

When You Sleep, Will It Be With Me

The hardest thing I’ve got to accept in my life is that my family’s choices are not me, they speak nothing of the value I hold, or how much  meaning is within me. I know they didn’t mean it. The choices they made were not because I am less than their personal drugs of the days and nights. I know these things, and I don’t want the intimacy I share with them to tear me apart. I want to stand tall without undermining my foundation. I want to breathe the hopeful sighs – After setting the pieces to heal – Where one steps back to let time do its’ part.

You know the days; The one’s where I’m so sure. So certain that I could walk right off the edge; And if I wanted to, come right back after going over like I’ve got control over the fabric of space and time.

I shake sometimes – It’s an anxiety I uncovered myself when I discovered I had been trying to pile things into a void – An emptiness I refused to admit existed for most my life. What do we do to accept ourselves? I’ve just been piling on logs every time I wake – Every time I rise a little quicker than the fears, just by a lick to see beyond them; I want my fire to burn hot; And well you know the passion I have, you’ve had tastes of the titian red illustrations I’ve thrown all over the walls. It’s entirely truthful, raw, but composed. It is honest. The most honest existence I’ve known; And when I begin to feel it spiral away, I just hold to the corners of the room hoping I can stay. It only makes it worse. They drag me down in the flames where I suffocate in smoke and ash.

I hate smoke, but it can really dance. I am no fan of ash, but it is something I must find comfort in if I want to kiss her embers; If I want to hold my own.

I’ve seen the blessings of a family there for you. A family that made each other feel loved. A family that gave you the concept of gold, and taught you it was nothing near as valuable as your flesh and soul. It is the most dam gorgeous thing, to be kept warm simply from a smile still going from the day they brought you home. I imagine the golden glow I’ll some day feel, when I finally get my own lit up.

When she told me I only snored once, I was proud and happy. My chest was all swelled. It was an incredible discomfort to consider that my presence could keep someone I slept so soundly next to awake at night.

Sometimes I find myself waking up excited, just to see her there next to me. I laugh gently with myself, I’ve got to do that – I’m like a child, awake and eager to see her open her beautiful eyes.

I practice laying silently for hours some mornings; Floating in and out of consciousness – So when she wakes, she might say she slept better than me. She really deserves it. And I try, I try; To be as mindful as I can, do all that I can so she knows she does.

There are nights where I feel her jump. She shakes. And I can only watch. I want to dive in and grab her hand, tell her she’s got it, it’s all okay, but I can only be there; Which in the long run is all anyone can be; And I know it means something when I feel her sleepily reaching for my arm, pulling me in to hold her.

I have slept well for a long time. I had to growing up. It was the only escape, the only reset on the day before. But sleeping well, and sleeping happy are different. And sleeping happy next to you, has shown me a better light to things.

 

 

I couldn’t help it

When I’m In Her

It’s hard to tell people the truth; You know, it is so difficult when she’s smiling and looking at me – Wondering what I’m thinking about; She asks what’s on my mind; And, it’s not her – How do you admit that, how do you admit that it’s someone else? I mean is it someone else all the time? – No. But she knows my head is a dangerous place; She shouldn’t want to be in it anyways.

Yes, it’s hard, but it’s not always so; Some days, the sad days, It’s so much easier to tell her because then I know it’s something else anyways. And she can be fine with it. And I almost do, I almost come out and sing the tune.

Hey, now I don’t want to lie, so the honest truth is you’re not on my mind.

And she doesn’t deserve this, to be just another one I lie to, another one I tell how pretty she is; And she is, she is very much so – Very much another one I lie to.