thefragmentbox - Tumblr blog

[thefragmentbox]

want me with a stabbing motion eat me up, with no quarters want me to the bone, to the marrow

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I wish you the best. All light, all light -- all that there is.

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I wish I could take back all those nights when you were still here, all those moments when all gold was flowing and flowing.

I am water, all my halves loving you -- all the halves I have lost.

Even if I don't know you personally, I just wanted you to know that I adore you.

Adoring someone that I haven't even known personally is a bit strange. But that night you gave me chills. I want to ask you something,

Why you lost interest? Months had already passed, but I am still waiting for your reply.

You are the reason why I am here.

That night was beautiful, too. The thing with beauty is that it is fleeting, like the quiet exit of sundown, the blooming of a flower, the soft breathing when you fall asleep. I am nowhere near being adorable or even remotely good, but it is nice to know that people can afford to be affectionate with broken things. I didn't lose interest. Come find me. I am still here.

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In my dreams, I loved you -- and you loved me back.

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How could I find you in a world of crowded streets and confusing signs?

Is it possible for time to wait for me?

Could you please hold on until I arrive?

To wait for you, like the way the earth waits for the sky to open up its swollen belly and for rain to fall

to fall

to fall

to fall

[thefragmentbox]

Even if I don't know you personally, I just wanted you to know that I adore you.

Adoring someone that I haven't even known personally is a bit strange. But that night you gave me chills. I want to ask you something,

Why you lost interest? Months had already passed, but I am still waiting for your reply.

You are the reason why I am here.

That night was beautiful, too. The thing with beauty is that it is fleeting, like the quiet exit of sundown, the blooming of a flower, the soft breathing when you fall asleep. I am nowhere near being adorable or even remotely good, but it is nice to know that people can afford to be affectionate with broken things. I didn't lose interest. Come find me. I am still here.

[thefragmentbox]

Found him, then lost myself

but i found what i had always thought i would never seek

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i was all of the world’s lightless dawns all of those sorrows, all of those breaking i heard you speak and the world bursts into all of the living colors

[thefragmentbox]

I still ache for you, even in the good days. This is how I know I love you -- because even when I have the entire world around me, I always search for your eyes.

You never really learn how to look away once you had laid eyes on the Sun.

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You have taken my heart out and I am unwilling to put it back in.

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In a way, I have only learned to be feel you the way the world was ending. I know we will not find ourselves in the same state of mind once more. You are a glimmerspell, the quick burst of golden light at dawn, the bright flash of green at sundown.

I only know my affections for you like I know war -- desperate, taking you out of my ribs like the whole world depended and pushing it back in. I wish I wasn't so godless, but I am, I am.

[thefragmentbox]

I only wanted you the way flesh wanted so bad to close the wounds on my skin -- only wanted what it could never be offerred.

How much do I owe you for all those dreams?

[thefragmentbox]

Once again, I carry Pandora's box close to where my hips and my thighs meet -- unclaimed starlight that have lost their home stars, languishing melancholy eyes that always searched for your messages in my inbox.

You once told me you were happy with me. Does that mean that I have made you sad these days? If so, what will it take for me to make you smile again?

These poems I have made for you are now like unguided skiffs at sea in the middle of the storm, fallen asters that have forgotten the limerence they once possessed -- like wilted rose petals falling at your altar or at the foot of your bed.

There is a closed fracture at the third and fifth rib on the left side of my chest, but all roads lead to Rome, and I've never learned to read a map, but I've always searched for you in every curve of a hill or crack on the road or the open sky above me, because I am always longing for you.

They say all roads lead to Rome, they tell me all roads lead to Rome, but I have forgotten which way is north and I have spent my eyes closed for too long that I have forgotten which sky is south.

But these ribs, though fractured, have never learned to forget what it swore to remember.

“Pandora’s Box”, from Flight Lessons From Icarus

[thefragmentbox]

This ache speaks of your name, a pull from the ocean that swallowed all the light my eyes cannot see. In the hallways of my heart, you still hold the biggest room. It’s mostly darkened now, you haven’t been here for days. The candles are a flicker light in the distance, hoping that you’d see them and you’d settle here for a little longer.

When you come back, the halls and the walls are still here. While you’re gone, the walls and the halls whisper your name. 

The pillars here hold the scent of the ocean, the same ones I used to drown in whenever I hear you speak. I haven’t heard your voice in days, and I have stopped having sleep since then. The moon reminds me of the rivets between your skin, and how your light never seemed to cease despite the darkness. 

These are words that waited their whole life to kiss the moon. These are poems that barely made past through my lips and barely made it whole. These are poems that wish to kiss the moon. 

I know one day you’ll wake up and this war will be over.

I only have words to love you, even when they’re quieter than your shallow breathing over the phone. My words have struggled to speak only of tender affections and every time someone touches them, they’ll know it's you.  

I’ve never learned how to properly hold the tenderness in my hands, but know that for you, I will always try.

"La Lune", excerpt from “Flight Lessons From Icarus”

[thefragmentbox]

I could never offer you tenderness the way I claimed I could -- my hands only know violence and bittersweet longing. There isn't a day I do not long for you, there isn't a day these hands do not tremble to reach for the next broken vein or the next scab-wound to itch with.

I know no homeland but you, but I've never learned to read a map or packed my bags properly. I've never learned to carry bags properly, only carry my crucifix on a broken back. There are a hundred ways I am longing for you, and I could have told you all of them, but never about where it hurts, or where it is the loudest.

I can only offer you tenderness the way I could -- with hands torn by clawing in the rain, lungs burning from running out of air, saltwater filled lips and cotton mouth dry with the softest whispers. I can only offer you tenderness with a broken back, all of the poems I have read and forgotten and written with fingers that longed for warmth, and with everything else that made me faulted, finite -- but human.

“Echoes” excerpted from “Flight Lessons From Icarus”

[thefragmentbox]

I cancelled all of my meetings today and went to the sea, ready to drown myself.

At night, I stared at my ceiling in the darkness, squeezing my bones into the smallest space my skin would allow me.

The end of the world could sound so important, but the world ends each day, one way or another. Sometimes it comes in the form of moonless nights, or a sunless morning, the coffee-brown dress hugging your body tightly, sometimes a sunken chest.

I brought my lungs so close to bursting this time, and it felt like the world is collapsing against my chest. How can I suffer in this silence when my yearning for you remains so loud?

I wonder if Icarus once looked at the sun and felt like an angel renounced from his state of grace. Did he ever feel like he was still flying, before he knew he was falling?

Sometimes the world can end in a corner table where you last had dinner, or a room bathed in warm white light. Sometimes, the end of the world comes in the form of a word.

On other times, it comes in the form of wingless feathers, floating amongst the waves.

"Wingless Feathers" excerpt from “Flight Lessons From Icarus”

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The little things with you are what I want the most -- the soft midnight breaths falling from your mouth, the sunshine hums you do without thinking, the same curve of your smile.

I would like to taste all the little deaths that fell from your lips, and kiss the grief behind your eyes.

"A Thousand Little Deaths", an excerpt

piece inspired by @teaspirationss