chriscrossintertwine
The heaviness won't let me.
And I cannot alone.
I ride my habits until collapsing.
To find some strength, some home.
I feel lifted.
Shifted.
Laced and placed on this eerie landmark.
But he cannot prop me up somewhere.
Somewhere so unstable.
When he is but the vast space I can step in.
Immerse myself in.
And think that I need to stay.
To console him.
To fill these crevices on the unstable framework.
To ground him.
When I just want to feel lifted.
You say you want to be my friend.
I wish.
You contact me.
I keep wishing.
This friendship ships me. It trips me.
It keeps me afloat, confined, confused.
Comforted.
Bombarded with thoughts. Bars. And bars. And endless bars.
Dash it. Dash it. Dash it all.
Yet I keep wishing.
The brine of the sea
Could not compare to her tears
Each doused with the pains of growing older
Growing mediocre, growing irrelevant
Growing unprepared.
Pencils.
Pushing pencils.
Papers.
Stacking papers.
File, sort. File, sort.
Yet she daydreams of the sea.
Push, stack, file.
Push, stack, file.
Yet she wanders into her world.
The silk was coarse, of course.
Nothing more for a Juliet.
A night of freedom and fleeting chills.
Now the burlap, however, was smooth to the groove.
Nothing less for this Jocasta.
A night of nurture and sweet coos.
So tell me, how much, did it cost her?
A lifetime of torture.
Oh, it stays torch-ed.
It yields lies.
It opens minds.
It reaches souls.
It is a cure.
It is a truth.
It is a necessary evil.
It is your food.
Two seconds.
It takes but two seconds.
Feed the world.
The divine sunset on the banks.
Holding dreams in its image.
Wonders. Worlds.
It is whole, then halved, then none.
Missed by a second.