Armsandhands

We all do it, it's what our senses were meant for; association. The smell of dust, tobacco and sweat directly correlates to who I used to be. The sound of grand orchestras, tiny symphonies, and bass guitars were meant for Fridays. Cool, slick and smooth reminds me of your face before you stopped shaving. When I see the sky resembling a watercolor painting I think of hot summer and what it was supposed to be. When I taste mercury I think how sick I was when you met me.
Abandonment: to leave completely and finally; forsake utterly; desert.
-to yield (oneself) without restraint or moderation; give (oneself) over to natural impulses, usually without self-control.
To me abandonment was being left to a pack of wolves. Torn in every direction by sharp teeth I couldn't fight off. You left me slowly. For whatever self mutilating reason, I know the exact moment you checked out I can pinpoint it back to mid-May. What changed; you fell into a deeper trance to your drug. If it wasn't going to be inflicted into your body, your body had to create it. You and I know the meaning of truly living in one's head. That's where we spent all our time before we met. The year before I remember fighting for a reason to hold on at all, the year before you were too busy lying to yourself that that was all it could be. I hear your voice skip over the words I took for granted, no they are accidental, a mistake. Reality creeping at my feet, but I don't dare dive in completely. A scab I love to let bleed wide open continuously, what pain, why is unhappiness a feeling I've gotten used to? How does that happen?
Hurt: to affect adversely; harm.
-to cause mental pain to; offend or grieve
Pain and hurt used to mean scraping my skin on the sidewalk, breaking a different bone every year it's how I inherited my childhood nickname. Then pain morphed into emotions and feelings; the loss of a hero I was supposed to grow up to be. I wasn't supposed to have all of this afflict me at one time. A constant reminder of his legacy is left in my features. I feel sad for my family members who look at me and see his daughter, see little flecks of him in my eyes. He's in these hands I produce my greatest gift with. I could only hope a little piece of her will be ingrained in me. But how you deal with loss that is a constant reminder? Staking out its home in my chest which has never been so hollow.
Truth: a verified or indisputable fact, proposition, principle, or the like.
-ideal or fundamental reality apart from and transcending perceived experience.
I think truth to me is made up of little secrets and white lies. In just three long hours I expelled it all, feeling instead of hollow, heavy. Finally being able to grasp the weight of what cards I was dealt. That day I stared out into the sun I did not feel its rays or its wonderful heat, I was given my answer and as much as I denied it the inevitable would follow. My best friend's voice does not effect me in any way. There is not a hint of a smirk, there is nothing. I find myself sobbing, not even crying. My tear ducts being over used for all these years that I buried my feelings, my ideas and myself. There was so much comfort in knowing that I would be held together for the rest of my life by something greater than me. Instead I have to start all over again. It begins with shock, denial, acceptance, and possibly giving it another chance, reaching out my hand.

Love is everywhere

She's right, it's not fair that everyone just keeps on living while we mourn. It's just not, I hate the grins on people just passing by, they feel so smug even though I know they are not. Don't smile at all of us driving behind the hearse crying for what seems like the billionth set of tears. My Great Aunt Gene passed away it was strange to see her again at her wake. What gave me a sense of peace were seeing all the pictures, hearing all the stories, she lived a life full of love. When I went up to have my moment, I felt her, I knew she would want me to be there for my mom as my mom was for her, and that she loved each and every one of us there. The thunder felt symbolic as if she was trying to tell us all she would not approve of us crying or the way she was dressed. She was so vain and so beautiful. Her lip color was wrong, her face puffy from the medication she had been on, and her hair color was nowhere near as dark as it should have been. Yes, she was 80, but she wasn't old by any means. My mom would visit her after her shifts at the hospital and she would be in her room doing scissor kicks. At her wake we found out her brother, my great grandfather had passed away as well, before my grandfather could see him. He had flown out early yesterday morning, but something hadn't felt right. There I stood in a mass sea of black, drowning. I choked after being everyone's rock all night, I cried so hard. I didn't sleep last night, I just kept crying. I called Evan, after searching for someone to talk, I knew it wouldn't be best, but I did. He told me I was selfish for wanting more time. I only cried harder and cursed him for not having just one human bone in his body. Today I cried at the church while her son was giving the most amazing speech I had ever heard, I felt like acid was pouring out my eyes. Everything hurt. I looked over at my mom, I looked back at the pews behind me, everyone's expression; identical. Nest weekend I will have to go through the motions all over again.

And don't call me pretty baby anymore

My recluse has diminished, thus I am left with no where to hide
These hands I shake are not mine, my skin is bare, stripped down
Your voice is static and harsh - we lack warmth, and desire
love slowly faded, I never knew
a pang in my chest, tetanus, a rusty nail staked out
so we sit here watching everything unfold lacking all the melodramatics
take it back I said, take it all back. I took you out with the trash
verbatim I can recall
here it is the climax of it all, I'm still stuck in the spiderweb,
the more I falter the harder you bite down.
Where are we now, who were you before you were mine?

When something is right

Me and my lover; we sit adjacent on the antediluvian couch

I can only imagine being equiponderant, to everything in his mind

Lungs begin to hurt, my sides; dolorific

I delineate the indentation of his spine with my thumb over and over

My favorite place is in the crook of your neck

These hands fold into yours, my body folds into your body

Here we lay, here we stay

Mapped out in your bed, little countries, and oceans we sail to and fro.

Comme il faut

Comme il faut

In my the interstice

Lilliputian rooms you are made of millions, hundreds of rooms

Melodic tangent zephyrs encasing

I’m still cross legged, wide eyed and frivolous

It’s the hours where I am able to postpone clocks; it’s the fence I’m draped over

Little lashes, big lies, big love

Azures, Slates and the colours of the dimming day dance upon your face

I take repose on your bureau knowing I’ve filled all its drawers

I got the hours, I got the owls, but I let my paranoia show

Comme il faut; dear.