the-words-spill-out-sometimes

[the-words-spill-out-sometimes]

Something New

Crushed between The vice's arms The vice of waking Entices harm The pathways pop From their duress Obliged to stop But forced to guess The gravel crunches behind the eyes It culls the fullness Till dust resides These hooks hold Through pierced flesh Upon the walls And bleed their breath Obliged to stop But forced to guess

[the-words-spill-out-sometimes]

Idk actually

Hold my insides with all the gentleness of Prometheus's eagles Smiling gets harder In the mornings While I look down at broken bricks I gather with care Forgetting about the blood and blisters After a while Where do we go from here?

[the-words-spill-out-sometimes]

Let me burn

There is an anguish, In looking up the mountain. For as majestic as is the flaming aura That crests its flying peaks, So to is the surety that you shall burn as well. Your brightness subsumed by the heat of this labor, Which will echo in your bones forever after.

There is a piercing melancholy, In gazing up this mountain. And seeing those upon its face Kinsfolk and fauna who reach sharper spires With better shaped feet Or perhaps just by chance. If only the dust kept their footsteps...

Regardless, It makes no difference. For they are there And I am here.

I feel the ache Before I even move. I know the stone between my toes is sharp And unforgiving But staying still is poison. It's cold down here So let me burn

[the-words-spill-out-sometimes]

Maybe I am Everything

I'm a girl alone on the bus reading a novel engrossed in the page

I'm a boy with headphones on Searching for purpose In the synths and the bass

I'm a man who craves respect I'm a kid who wants a friend I'm a mother with a bleeding heart I'm a performer as the performance ends

I'm a teen who's just met her first crush I'm a baby engrossed in the world it sees I'm an explorer cresting a treacherous cliff I'm an elder who's now weary of all this

I'm a spinster who never looked for a man Only for people to see who I am I'm a man who only wanted a wife But couldn't open his heart and lived a long lonely life

I'm someone estranged seeing life upside down Desperate to join in but overwhelmed by the crowd the constant cacophonous chaotic motion that's noise is unbearably loud

I'm a loud laugh, I'm a deep plight I'm a hard day, I'm a long night I'm a desperate hand holding tightly on To what still is and what's now gone I'm a lonely figure On a stormy sea At peace with the fact No one's saving me

I'm a tired soul Who wants to be held To sleep with such deepness That warm darkness envelopes

I'm a restless mind That needs to be heard So it writes and it writes Holding tight to the words

Because the words hold the stories And the stories hold humans And the humans hold hearts And the heart holds emotions And the emotions are fluid That keep the mind stirred And the mind holds the thoughts And the thoughts hold the words

[the-words-spill-out-sometimes]

Isn't it Beautiful?

I've grown to kill the frantic pace Whenever it takes it's hold. Because I know that it's borne of some missing thing And does not make good on its promised gold. And yet from it springs forth many great works As my minds comptroller dies. No longer able to make it's critiques Nor stem the nauseous tides. And so the unicorns start to appear Prancing forth as the fire sparks fly. Illuminating odd facets of these many shifting layers Creating beauty in their incongruence, In their spontaneous racing connecting of dots In simple attempts to process.

And though it was not this way before, When this vessel remained contained by simpler concepts, I've grown to take a perverse pleasure In the beauty derived of a broken processor. Even as the hard drive corrupts and the CPU overheats And every file becomes scrambled into an unreadable mass I can see the art spewing from its destruction And it is then that I begin to wonder If this eye for beauty is a true savior? Or just another salve Applied to a deep and incurable wound.

[the-words-spill-out-sometimes]

I Feel It Coming On Like A Landslide

This hollowness It used to be one I could hide from. I could retreat within my safe spaces Surround myself in warm blankets And keep it at bay.

But now it cleaves to me Like burning acid Gnawing at my skin Spewing from my insides Ruining all my little good things Leaving me a husk.

How much hope must I let spill To the asphalt? Before I must get down on my hands and knees to suck it from the ground?

Something has to change. I can feel it in my deepest recesses, In the bones within my bones. I know, Something needs to change Or I will wither To the grave.

[the-words-spill-out-sometimes]

Please Make Me Real - Part 1

Come love, Kiss me better Make me real Without words.

Show me kindness Show me passion Let yourself own me Just a little.

I want your presence I want your warmth I want to not feel Like radio static.

I want to feel Like I'm someone Who matters I suppose.

So just hold me For a moment Without thought Without pretense.

Make my lungs Stop their choking Put your breath In my soul.

[the-words-spill-out-sometimes]

Rousseau's Dilemma

I walk through pristine concrete walls Beholding countless wandering faces So many expressions, so many movements So many people, just like me, but different Why do I feel alien here?

I enter rows of identical structures. Hear words pour through a magic wand. See great green outside patterns Through a flat screen, another flat screen. Why do I feel alien here?

I leave the palace To see the true green. Surround myself by non-reflections. I watch it's movements, feel its texture. Why do I feel alien here?

I hear her words They echo through me Consume my breathing Why do I feel ALIEN here?

[the-words-spill-out-sometimes]

The Tension

I cannot be without the tension. Without barely contained convulsions, Without incessant frantic drumbeats, The rattling and rumbling, Buzzing static in my skull. Time to decide How long to stand it Choose the lesser torment Tell lies so you can keep it.

If I were not, there would be silence but dense black fog would choke my kin And the words which I forced to have some meaning No longer would flow forth again. But to be I must move forth in courage Yet here I stand, Stock still. why don't I move? why can't I move?

[the-words-spill-out-sometimes]

Love, do you feel strange?

Love Do you feel strange? Like sometimes after waking up The ceiling seems impossibly far away And the colors are off and your rhythms are off And your socks are both slipping though space?

Love Do you feel tired? Like there's rocks on your shoulders And so many heart shaped paperweights amassing on your chest that overwhelm you with their numbers That weighs you down and dries you out and steals what sleep inspires?

Love Do you hurt? That constant quavering ache that softly and sweetly tears you to pieces That jumps with piercing enraged fury upon occasion Unraveling your purposeful hoping Choking you out like a dream?

Is it so?

I was just wondering, I'm sorry I wont barrage you with more questions. I'll shut up and do what I'm meant to Use my good two fingers until I forget...

[the-words-spill-out-sometimes]

Silence leaves bruises but sincerity burns

I stare her in the face Dark circles painting my eyes and hers alike And I beg, practically scream Can't you tell me? how to be good to you? how to give and take in the right amounts? how to stand firm and yet move when it's right to? She looks at my eyes curiously As more bile spews from me My innards made putrid by all I've held onto...

I cry out One part in hope Two parts in hurt As is everything I do How do I touch you? How do I hold you? How do I show you? My human self And how do I be him? Or her or whoever how do I crawl from these deep deep trenches And give what is practically bursting from my chest?

And more such nonsense issues from me As she studies, eyes drinking my exposed frailty And after heaving coughs conclude my unwilling soliloquy She just nods and smiles sadly Am I your keeper? she asks My eyes begin to bleed. Am I meant to teach you? How to be a human person? For what? Out of the goodness of my heart? These things are not something I can give you You must learn them yourself So like a frostbitten person in the middle of winter I do my best to gather kindling with leaden fingers As silent sobs trickle down my spine

[the-words-spill-out-sometimes]

Today has been hard

Cold Lifeless Unmoving Unfeeling Quite unlike This thing inside my chest

I never knew you yet still I cried I don't know why I don't know why

[the-words-spill-out-sometimes]

this is beautiful

across the stream

imagine something with me for a moment; let us both transcend the thinker and instead, for a short while, become the dreamer. pardon the change in my writing style for a moment, it will make sense.

The eyes that you give to the ones you love are something else, no? Your full attention, your dedication, your voice reduced to a shy sibilance as you are enveloped in their unabated passion for you.

I remember a moment in particular where I felt the most as though I was dreaming with another.

It was November. A cold night, some special event going on that me and my darling were attending. We had both been dressed up, me in a suit and her in a dress; that dress flowing beautifully and amazingly on her, so much so I can still recall it. Red.

The event had concluded. Or, more accurately, we had decided to leave earlier due to neither of us being the extroverted type. When we left the building, we were met by the pavement below and a lightly speckled sky above that stretched for what seemed like forever—the moon only partially covered by grey clouds that signified one thing and one thing only: rain.

While many others that were stood outside took to umbrellas or to cover to shield their expensive wear from the downpour, she had other plans.

Her brown eyes glimmered in the dim moonlight, the rain appearing to sparkle as it landed around her. It was as if the storm calmed in her presence, if only for a moment. She took my hand and we ran off giggling to a more secluded area where it was just us and the rain.

She looked into my eyes and spoke to me.

"I've always wanted to dance in the rain."

I chuckled, joyful and in love with this woman. Without another word, I took her hand and we began to dance with no rhythm, no pattern, no anything.

The light layer of water beneath us rippled with the lightness of a feather from our footsteps; the reflection of the moon created such an overwhelming serenity that still, to this day, I have been unable to recreate or come close to recreating it.

The rain twirled with us as our lack of rhythm slowly shifted into a slow dance—the soft droplets running down our clothing like liquid gold, shining, sparkling, glinting as our faces grew closer and closer together.

The slow dance, as quickly as it began, slowed to a crawl—and then, finally, to a stop.

We stared into each other's eyes for only a few seconds, but to me? if I ever were to experience a warm eternity—it would be that. Those few moments we looked deep into each other. It was more than a simple stare, no, it was so much more. Not only did we share our gaze, we shared the deepest parts of us. Our souls touched in that very instant, a harmonious chorus of an amaranthine warmth that beckoned the gods above and below—something so strong that, despite all of the pains both of us had felt for so long, had the angels above crying in joy.

And it all surmounted to the one pinnacle:

"I love you," I said, my eyes sparkling with an overwhelming love for this lovely, lovely girl.

And then, what followed. A deep, thoughtful kiss that rattled the very earth—our lips touched, such a soft feeling yet with the power of a thousand suns all in one. A supernova of love. A love so deep, it almost lasted.

Almost.

————

agh, i apologize for all the gushiness. but we find ourselves loving those who broke us, don't we? well, i think we should not forget: there is a difference between loving the person and loving what you did together with said person. i struggle with both, but i've gotten better.

still, sometimes i think of her. it's been a year, and she was so much to me. but it's okay! it always is in the end, i believe.

i know this isn't like my usual posts but ,,, i just felt like i had to get it out

"But you're everything to me You deepen the red of my blood"

— "as deep as time allows," crywolf

don't forget to love yourself just as much as you loved them.

— avi

[the-words-spill-out-sometimes]

Every morning, Every night

Every morn I see infinity Every night I meet the void There seems no way to avoid the come down the fallout My limbs bound by the fear of getting too high By the panic that comes with looking down and seeing nothing but empty sky So blissful is flight till your wings get tired and there's no more ground to settle on So you keep on pumping till these brittle wings shake Your feathers fall out and your bones start to break And the air currents cease and the sun starts to scream And you're trapped in the motion but your limbs are contorting And your vision is blurring and the wonderment leaves and then Sleep Then wake and smile at life's simple joys Every morn I see infinity Every night I meet the void

[the-words-spill-out-sometimes]

<3

The Water Flows Differently Now

The words only come when my heart is heavy Flowing like water from a hidden wellspring It's like I'm so unfamiliar with overflowing That I only know how to describe the empty

Forever in fear of the stream running dry As water escapes from my traitorous eyes The currents freeze over to keep hold of what's left The crystals expanding pierce deep the earth's flesh Rooting to ground in hopes they'll be saved But that's not a home it's a grave

[the-words-spill-out-sometimes]

Perhaps I am sick, perhaps I'm just tired

I miss the time before the infection When my limbs moved freely And my skin fit nicely And sometimes I would bleed But when I bled it was beautiful

Now it's just a slow and sickening ooze The vibrant red replaced with tainted yellow No longer does it splash or sparkle Nor can it be transfused It's flow is slow and dull and aching And it offers no relief

And now every incision whether taken or given Slowly falls prey to the yellow's dominion Pouring out like syrup from the store I miss when I bled and it was beautiful Now the pus just trickles out from me And offers no relief

[the-words-spill-out-sometimes]

The Water Flows Differently Now

The words only come when my heart is heavy Flowing like water from a hidden wellspring It's like I'm so unfamiliar with overflowing That I only know how to describe the empty

Forever in fear of the stream running dry As water escapes from my traitorous eyes The currents freeze over to keep hold of what's left The crystals expanding pierce deep the earth's flesh Rooting to ground in hopes they'll be saved But that's not a home it's a grave