llama-hugger

[llama-hugger]

Wanting

What do I want? The world,

smiling, as it does on a sunny day. Bright and full like I was

when I was young and blessed. Now, after the storms I like the rain,

gives me a chance to breathe fresh air after I’ve been clogged up for so long.

You know, they don’t tell you what it’s like to love a world that

runs away from you. Exhausting, trembling, questioning whether anything had

been there at all.

What do I want? Not what I had thought. Thoughts are like people, setting you

 up for failure.

My mind has been too optimistic to enjoy the truth,

it is unwelcomed and yet

I can’t turn it away.

What do I want. That depends, I suppose. I’d say whose asking, because

we know that they are waiting to hear what works for them, for now,

Whilst I am finding something to focus on that

is not naive, a distraction; something real that I can’t yet touch. A way to bring 

my mind back. I know that it's here, and every moment I can keep it 

is a wonder that I can’t seem to face. It’s as if a conversation is 

trying to take place that

we each can’t stand to meet each other in.

What do I want? To understand, whatever it is I need to so I can breathe full, 

sleep well and pass on to something good.

[llama-hugger]

Monologuer

I’m so done reading paragraphs of a person

who doesn’t listen to a line of me

[llama-hugger]

Scribbles

Does it always need to be finished? Perfected,

fully punctuated;

a mastered art of broken hearts completed mended

to the time-line rhythm of a montage?

What’s wrong with scribbles in the dark, messy starts and drafts?

[llama-hugger]

Grovelling

There’s a time for rough spots. The downed times, because

those are the ones which bring us back 

to earth. As they say, anger is a monster,

it can only come out at night

when we’ve forgotten the freedom

of daylight. We need that time, to remember, to relearn

how to see in the dark. To look around and see

where we’re standing: at the bottom and on our own two feet. And then

we can begin something new, almost, something known but forgotton;

a memory of flying dug up amongst the dirt. 

Of course you need to bend down, dig deep, before you take off.

[llama-hugger]

Scrap-work

It hurt, you know, the way you scrapped me

Like cheap junk, you made me tarnished copper,

rusting in a scrapyard,

uselessly.

You left more than a dent. Stomped me

so badly out of shape that now I snap at a prod

where once I could hold the weight of a world.

Stuck, it took the heat to reshape me;

bends and curves cut out, replaced with jagged edges.

Sharp enough to draw blood.

The same tarnished copper, just now without the glow.

[llama-hugger]

My dear, desperate words

Well hello words of mine;

how you trick me,

you twist around my mind,

a monologue of thoughts

and trap me.

It works,

for a while at least, until I can start to pull apart

the strands that make you. Syllables of murmured hurt and anger

clumping into something I can almost hold,

grab,

mound into a single voice to throw out.

Or try to throw out at least;

because you don’t want to go, do you, my words?

You’ll tear, choke, and slap me before you let me go.

My dear words, you leave me breathless, speechless,

strangled by the weight of you on my tongue.

You bruise my voice with letter-marks,

choking, croaking till you’re done.

And just when the time seems right,

when I need you, there you are

stuttering

unspoken.

Yet somehow, after your betrayal you’re all the louder for it,

with only me to hear you.

And here we are, alone once again.

Words of mine, you should learn to listen.

[llama-hugger]

Shameless

Words are shameless,

They show off such raw truth without

bothering to say hello first.

[llama-hugger]

Advice

If someone tells you to find peace, ignore them.

Peace has been here the whole time,

we made everything else

[llama-hugger]

The sprint

The sprint is never over

quickly- it drags, they chase, we move

on, pounding a runway out of

pavement to give  us distance. 

We turn, they follow- like dogs.

Blood pumping through

our sweat, we hunt a finish line,

the lapse of seconds capeing

behind us like burning tin foil;

gunfire treading, pulse spurting,

an endless forward

tripping inches of our heels,

bullets shooting

seconds from our backs, we move to stay

ahead, we refuel on will,

we run, they follow, adrenaline

burning like a fuse, time

shrinking to the gram,

we run, they follow,

gunning down freedom's fire line

but still drawing blanks we shoot

closer, they fire, we flee,

we drag the distance near,

the finish line within our gasp,

they stay, we leave,

we fall off our breath

and slow to lift off

and fly to escape.

The end of the sprint.

[llama-hugger]

Comfortable fit

His shadow fit him snuggly,

trusting his strong, compass steps enough to follow.

It liked the weight of him, his paperweight balance,

enough to stay grounded. It liked the shrug of his shoulders,

the light of his smile and his warmth,

the touch of him warm enough to make a shadow blush.

[llama-hugger]

Left me deaf

You’re gone. I heard you leave, or rather, I heard you

stop staying. The murmur I had lived beside suddenly

cut short.

Come back. Nightmares found their scream

without the lullaby of your breath. The echo of your heartbeat, now

battered flat.

Back. Home has lost your hum. Harmony is

out-out-  out of tune. I chased your rhythm's footprints but

quiet clattered after me; you. Boom.

Exploding. You’re gone, in a rumble, leaving only a scorch of

silence

where the noise of you used to be.