raven0us

double lives of the many selves. | September 12, 2012


A rupture.
…a pop in my seams.
it seems a fault, someone’s.
A vault of compressed,
“It doesn’t really matters.”
a smile. a nod.
It’s code is constructed of innocent hunger for growth.
But how do you speak of dissent seeped in thankfulness and gratitude?
Frames slow and space out.
Memories fragment in stages.
We walk through each others lives like routine.
We walk through each other’s bodies.
Unspoken.
Oil painting picturesque moments flash behind eyes as we attempt to stay cordial.
Cordial conjugal visit hugs attempt to say everything.
Hugs fail in their inability to last forever.
I am not there for you.
I am away in old moments that tapped something.
So short and so forced but somehow full.
So full I choke on the leftovers.
I cut myself in peices.
Compartmentalized selves are more sustainable.
If there is no time for grief how could we possibly expect to find time to love as deep as we hunger for.
Love takes time.
The time to dig thumbs in back muscles working tension from our bones.

I am not there for you.
I am deeply sorry.

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1 Comment »

  1. Someone must’ve not had told you… That vault lay empty…

    A robbery with every feeling of a jail break; desires you would have thought never tasted that first crisp fall breath before, the way they were gasping and squinting and running.
    And there it was.
    Like it always is really, when our chests are laid bare, in the ways that those old moments continue within us.
    We remember what it feels like.

    When they cracked the code to the vault, the first one in was the only to feel the rush of stale air, a short flat note. It was barren, ransacked with dust and regret. It was his sneeze that set the marathon. Like the first explosion on the outskirts of pompeii, this too keeps us frozen, yet constantly arriving. The empty catacombs were yet the last reminder to us upon this pile of hints and whispers, and it set the world ablaze. (funny how that only happens is stories like these)
    Or maybe this is just my hope for remembering that all these things matter, because we wanted them to. Everything else was calculated and left in the vaults to rot.

    Many things have failed to last forever, dreams, promises and kitty cats are among them. So i cannot help but long for every fleeting embrace, to miss those who remember me, and never forget the fragrances.

    My years move on, but more than ever, i have all the time in the world. So thank you love. Thank you for your time…

    Comment by so long lonesome — December 27, 2012 @ 9:58 pm


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    Mother Lover. <3

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