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Letting go.

My true Achille’s Heel.

Letting go.

I’ll hold on to this for a while longer, but,

This has made me a believer of providence.

Everything has fallen away.

I’m stubborn. I know it.

That’s why my lessons must be extra painful.

But this pain, it doesn’t hurt.

I don’t know if I have it in me to hurt anymore.

I’ll forget, in time, why I’ve learned this.

But not what I’ve learned, or who taught me.

You’re everything I am.

You are everything.

And someday, I’ll miss you.

I’ll miss you, because I’ll have to.

The End,

But life goes on.

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I’m awake, and my Plumber’s Lair has crumbled.

The trees, the winds, the birds, my ghost in the night,

All of them gone. From the rubble, I stumbled,

Forward, to all these lamentations, set right.

These atrophies I’ve made, fall away, and I’m humbled,

For the flames, not the salve, will clear my bleary sight.

So as this lightning ignites me, fire is a friend.

The immolating heat, will guide me to the end.

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Dipping into an empty inkwell,

The nip pulls back, wet black.

Circling, helix rings on pelt,

That sound of corners, cracked,

Into the sable fabric, felt.

Final homage to the retirement act.

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Madness again.

Pumping through me.

Madness. I shove this through my chest.

Catch my vitals, God please.

End it, end it, end it, end it.

I’m not right for this world and I know it.

I’ve known it for a long time.

And everyone knows.

I can only maintain composure for so long.

Then the house of cards falls.

This is what happiness buys me.

A debt to my death.

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My antibodies rage.

Deny the chance, the happiness.

No, no, I don’t deserve the love.

Reject it, like a virus.

Expel this cancer.

No hope, no joy, no life.

I can only allow my faithful pain.

Stab to death every kindness.

Snuff out my escape.

I reap what I’ve sewn.

Left alone to atone.

Maybe I’ll learn someday,

Slowly, to play keep away.

Im really becoming consumed by this tonight.

I can only ask that things will be as hopeful in the morning.

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Join me tonight,

My little rabbit,

The future’s bright,

But, I’m addicted to your habit.

Your fur’s my blight,

But I’ll stop to grab it.

My Lepus lullaby.

Sometimes I just need to be sad for a while.

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String the cords up that old cracked neck

I’ll know it by the strummed out sound

Play it for me please, I’m feeling sick

I don’t know how long I’ll be around

Run your fingers down the strings

I just want to hear them sing again

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Bang.

And the smoke rises.

Obscuring the view.

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I feel some catharsis imminent,

As the blow lands, I vomit,

Into both hands, I want it,

To be the bitter anticipate.

To fail again and again.

Recurring trauma to heart and head.

To stamp this name,

All over my rotting brain.

Before the ink runs dry.

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Wipe that smile off,

Tomorrow’s here,

Hope will be the death of you,

But could it be enough,

To cure the fear,

Of waking up next to you?

To stop beating myself senseless,

Or being so over selective,

The ending of my self-sentence.

Addendum from 3/17/24: I woke up next to her.

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Checking pulse, count, shock,

Hit the ledge, kick off the dock,

Dive down to the deep,

As these little bubbles leave,

Making for the air,

And under-prepared,

The swimmer slips below,

And finds his all-hallowed hollow bottle.

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I’ve been asking that they’d kill me.

Now I’m asking that you don’t.

Clear out this debris,

And fill me full of hope.

Because you look just like my dream,

And all these things I’ve wrote.

The words, and the visions,

Spilling eight letters to my sea,

Now I’ve made a decision,

The name is…

Well, it’s a beautiful name.

Isn’t it?

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“Ha! Hold my brain,

Be still my beating heart.”

- Mountfort

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Don’t hold to tight,

But don’t let it escape,

Find a balance for it all,

But choose a side,

Or you’re a coward, and you’re weak.

Where do I stand,

In this god-forsaken land?

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What used to be as natural,

As the earth dancing ‘round it’s axis,

Is now still, as I’ve found.

The weight of gravity,

With no opposition,

Throws my stomach to my lungs.

As chance has taken my resignation.

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Bluebell’s blooming ring,

The sound is softly blaring.

Yet, who walk by, hear,

Just darting hooves of the deer.

But for resting wings,

Robbed of precious sleep so near.

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I’m glad I have this place,

To confer my chaos to.

I called it my Roil.

My little space,

To hide away my real face.