SweetieBook

The silence grows and settles like golden transparent ocean waves, shifting with high tides and we are never quite sure if we will drown or be carried on an adventure, through muddled soap waters of grey passion light and pelting droplets of acid, but perhaps none of it is quite so bad or suicidal if I could see the world with you. Sometimes I wake in the night and reach across the bed for you, soft hands not finding their place, I stare dimly at an empty space in my bed where you fit perfectly and tears of solid sadness build up, but when the dams break and water comes dripping down, fish come from up the blue sudsy river, to lay eggs and b

Somewhere in the atmosphere, rocks from distant places are igniting, Streaking pale white scars across the black skin of the sky, If you were to think, perhaps there is nothing ever quite so exciting, As such simple things gone in the simple blink of an eye. Somewhere far beyond the fields and forests of America, in which I was raised, There are other places, other countries made out of other lines drawn in beach sand, Constantly changing, waiting until their inevitable collapse, though they stand unfazed, Slowly they are gazing up into space, the last frontier of no man's land. My attention is turned away from the sky, however, and tilted

The first of winds blow from the Northern arctic circle, and I feel it burn ancient songs into my bones. It quietly reminds me I was born from the cold, I will die to enter the cold, and all the warmth in between does not exist. I took a sort of bittersweet comfort in this, the year that I grew depressed and my friends and family left me, and I found myself sitting alone yet again, while my love enjoyed another's arms, and I waited for winter. I felt a dull ache in my chest, and it felt as though a monster had come, had ripped my heart out of me, and left me here to die bleeding. It is with sharp clarity, though, that I must admit the monste

sometimes i hear them whisper when im in the dark, in their strange little language.                  Hello?        Are you there?                         Can you hear me?                 Join us please                                 Come to us                                            We're in the forest           Come join us! I try to turn on the lights but I hear them from the shadows.              I know you're there.        Please.                        Please?                                 Come on, it'll be fun.              Come to us.                             We're expecting you. Slowly, durin

I played here as a child in this field of reds and blues, where we sat with childlike wander before they sent us away, sent us to learn how the flowers grew, why the wind blew through the trees and where it came from, and I found myself wishing for the blissful awe of ignorance again. My hands brush all the tiny green stems of the meadow flowers, They are bursting with so much more beauty than I, with their little petal hands reaching all around them, like some sort of beautiful octopus spewing green ink. I wish to be a child again, To scream and yell, running through flowers that came to my tiny waist, Feeling my friends hands pus

I want to know the ways that your body fits against mine, with belly pressed to back, and hands against my chest pulling me close, as we close our eyes and finally fall asleep. I want to wake in the night, to feel the soft clouds of your breath against my warm skin, to know that you are here and feel the ataraxia from knowing you are keeping me safe. I want to remember all the positions we wake in the mornings, glancing through thick, buttery sunlight to see each other and know that we are both here. I want to feel that first morning kiss, The heavy, sleepy weight in which you press your lips against mine, as your stubb

I want to crawl into the crevices of the walls, fill the light with darkness and sleep for all eternity, away from your mindless blue. Wake me! Wake me! When the sky opens, when earth shatters with the sound of a billon stars, crying out for their cold, dead comrades. I will grace your battlefields, Plant kisses on the heads of soldiers fighting for their life. Are we not more free when we are not? Do we not see better in the dark? There is sadness in our bellies, heavy pebbles in our shoes, as we lie stationary, in the dream of comfort.

A sleepy feeling washes over all still awake in morning hours I turn in my bed and find nothing but a cracked white wall. I reach my hands out to touch it, grey fingers caressing the scratchy surface, and my thoughts shift to different hemispheres, and I find myself filled with sadness. The pains muddles my blood and turns it black, as the first buttery lights of morning fall on the clothes strewn across my bedroom. Sleepily I drift in and out of consciousness. I wonder what is left here, and I feel the first morning draft of winter urging me to fly south. I hope never to wake from my sleep.