depth-of-misery

[depth-of-misery]

you can find me here @4zx

this account will no longer be used.

#i hope you find me

[depth-of-misery]

Requiem.

where are you, then, when my heart ventures forth, searching?

in the moss, as it is soft, in healing green; dew ridden, and in the droplet, lingering in surface tension.

whenever i believe i see a reflection, or recollection of a life cut short are lived to the fullest, i see you in the flowers.

when they button, and ache whenever another stem snaps by rain’s weight so another lover never gets to reach its full potential.

i am your person, and yet i am not.

i am the rain, rapping at a tin roofed shack, abandoned; never lulling you back to dreams because you may not hide where i will be faithfully waiting anymore.

#personal

[depth-of-misery]

i shouldnt have quit smoking

[depth-of-misery]

Better Self, Someone New.

i have to lay the cards out, one more time— one last time, until next time, when i feel okay with you looking again.

put simply, for the face on the mantle: i’m sorry.

put lengthy: i think that maybe we weren’t meant to last; paths pushing and pulling, bears and dogs, my own constitution. i’m drinking again, and you’re smoking out the hive, and this feels like the end of the world. i spent today nauseous. it’s not that i don’t love you or that i never did. i just think that maybe fate isn’t enough to heal the wounds we have, nor is the flick of a wrist. i thought, with time, i would gain more of it, and only found more of life in my way. i don’t want to hurt you. it’s not my job to worry about you, after tonight, but i will. i might always—the hurt and the worry.

i told her, your her, once, that anxiety feels like the scribble of a crayon all over. it’s like the human equivalent of that. i don’t want to do this. somewhere primal and deep, it feels right though. i think that this is where i let go of your hand at the end of the road: this is the end of the eclipse. i’m not sorry that i loved you. i’m not sorry that we kissed. i’ll miss the way you only smiled for my photos, and the smell of your detergent. i’ll miss your hands in the back of my hair. i just don’t know if it’s enough to hold the pieces together, now.

when you see this, don’t breathe, don’t even think—hate me forever and love someone new, if that’s what it takes. it’ll go down easier if you burn my poetry and singe the floor. i know you won’t, but pretend like you will, okay?

so this is the sound of the bird hitting the ground, the bird taking flight, the lights blowing out. this is the sound of a new year. this is the sound of a hound’s howl. this is the sound of apology, again, and a prayer for something kinder.

i should have been better and i know that. i should have been the kinder thing. i tried to flash this once, twice. but at the end of the story, i am drowning in the things around me, in the performance and the rain, and i can’t balance it all. i’ve tried. i’m trying. and it doesn’t make this hurt less, feel less bad, but i am. and i’m sorry. be kind, to yourself. please. i’ll see you again in another life, or in another time, older and wiser. and you can tell me i told you so all over again.

#personal

[depth-of-misery]

im 24 today.

[depth-of-misery]

i admit to being capable of an astounding level of selfishness, caprice, and cruelty. many storms i weathered were those that i summoned. but even on my worst days, did i deserve the pain you inflicted?

#personal

[depth-of-misery]

veiled rose

you, of distinct pink; veiled rose —cool, curvaceous, and enticing. flustered, flirtatiously, in red imprinted writing. on convex walls, glistening with condense, inspired by the touch of eager fingers, hot against a most frigid outer layer.

thus, conserved, your sweetness; the agent of your potential energy in me.

my saviour, i have never seen you abiding the dark in which kept you must be, as all lights up when i reach for you, and rest assured i will reach for you. evermore, daily.

you, of darling pink; the premise of better days. the holy grail  of smooth sailing seas. i see your seals in blushful crimsons and assuaging silvers, contorting under dexterous fingers that have come to know your secrets throughout the years. no longer do i fumble. you open up so easily.

my rose, might you be heaven’s cornucopia, i will be the glutton to drink you to depletion over and over again,

ad fundum;

ad infinitum.

so shall be the only way i will ever greet inner peace.

#personal

[depth-of-misery]

no longer happy

[depth-of-misery]

im so happy

[depth-of-misery]

Describe her

Everytime I write about her is an attempt to describe her beauty. No matter how many metaphors and similes I pen, I never quite get it right, but I’ll keep trying. An existence as heavenly as hers needs to be experienced.

[depth-of-misery]

im tired.

[depth-of-misery]

how I wish I could fall for another, yet it seems I am eternally trapped in your glow.

[depth-of-misery]

find the hill you want to die on and let me know when and where to meet you.

when I see you there, call out to me. i’ll drink you in one last time, cradle your cheeks in my palms, tears suspended in lashes, before we fade to black. we’ll burn in my heart’s desire and despise. my hands will sear into your skin, and yours unto mine, venom and syrup rotting through my molars as the drums begin to beat in my skull: hate, hate, love, hate, hate, love, until I go deaf with confliction and gentle malice.

a first love sours so sweetly, does it not?

#draft #personal

[depth-of-misery]

The Flood of A Paramour

Her voice is a soft hymn I faintly remember from my childhood. Sunshine filters through her hair and frames her face; her eyes are a stained glass mosaic set in mahogany skin. For a split second, I swear she is something holy. My heart knows not what to make of these thoughts. She lights a fire in me that I thought had died out, a flickering flame of hope in all this darkness. Dignity rests on her proud shoulders, and joy lingers in her dimpled cheeks. In her arms, I feel I have finally come home. They cannot scare me anymore with their stories of fire and brimstone. If love is a sin, then consider me damned. I will gladly burn for only a moment more of her time.

There aren’t words to describe you, but let this be another effort at framing the outline of your iridescent existence. I forget, sometimes, that you don’t hear how I talk about you when you aren’t there; thus, you don’t understand what you do to me. You don’t see the way your name makes my eyes light up brighter than any starry night could. You don’t see the way your voice makes me giggle and the way your words cradle my heart, even when you aren’t here to hold my hand. The world has worn you down, and I know you are tired, but you are no less breathtaking to me. Your smile melts all of my walls; your gaze makes my knees weak. No matter how exhausted we are by the world, I know we can come home and tumble sleepily into bed together. You hold onto me, and I hold onto you, and we hold onto the promise we made. At the end of the day, we have each other. At the end of the day, you are mine, and I am yours. At the end of the day, even if this world falls apart, even if every single nation goes to war, know this: I love you, I love you, I love you.

But, these tears are exhausting, and I am tired enough without adding the weight of mourning you to my shoulders. I would’ve carried the world to please you. I would’ve held anything you gave me, scars or nightmares alike, and turned it into a balancing act. My exhaustion became a secondhand focus. What mattered most to me was you being okay. Right as I was figuring out how to heal myself too, though, your overnight disappearance added nearly enough weight to make me topple. And i fell. I fell into despair not into love.

I could be good to you, if someone’d let me. I am gentle. I am kind. I am sappy and overly sweet and I am tall enough to cradle you in my embrace and to rest my chin on your head, on your paper crown of stolen stars.

Let me tell you you’re beautiful. Let me hear you say it back. Let me be yours and let yourself be mine and let us pretend that neither one of us is alone. For once, let me fall in love. Quietly. Calmly. With a girl so ethereal that she puts aphrodite to shame.

Let me be in love with a girl who will love me like I love her. Let me take care of her, let me sing softly into her downy hair and let her sing the harmony back.

Please, let me fall in love again.

[depth-of-misery]

i am small. i am alone.

the sky blinks bright white and illuminates my skin under hot water and night air. i close the window in a hurry and slowly turn the handle warmer and warmer until i can call the steam in my lungs some poor excuse for you.

i scrub under my ears and under my chin and desperately try to wash away old scars and dark in hidden pores. the sky is white again. thunder rolls overhead. i think, briefly, that this could be the end of the world. i think, briefly, that i would die imperfect, die with a comma at the end of my story.

i shut off faux heat and step out of the shower and take a last fleeting glance at the soap pouring down the drain, the remnants of someone i used to be, the dirt that still lingers under my nail beds and reminds me of you and you and you and love.

i shiver with fear of commitment and vulnerability as the sky flashes once more, and i look up in time to see the clouds split open with scars of their own, illuminating trees bending in the wind, my house an island in the midst of this summer storm. it occurs to me that i have never felt so small. i then realize i have never felt so alone.

in bed, the hallway lights up like christmas as lightning devours the sky whole. in bed, i roll over and attempt to feel skin on my own. in bed, i am wracked with withdrawls from touch, from genuine affection against my cheeks and hands and chest. this bed is solitary confinement and i am trapped in wind and rain and the sky is white again and i am struck, electric charged with all of this want to be whole again.

my ribs are conduits and my heart now a weather vane on a post and i am spinning, spinning, with yearning for another you.

[depth-of-misery]

the siren’s song

you thought you could wade through the water to me. that i would be waiting on a rock in the sun. you stepped into the waves, a fresh mermaid shimmering like a pearl. i lured you in with my song, deeper and deeper i called to you. but suddenly i am only the shadow of a cloud. in the shade of my love i have left you; strong enough to tread water but desperate enough to drink salt.

[depth-of-misery]

One day, my fingers will tread along your thighs with lines of my favourite songs, my tongue will turn every inch between them into doorknobs; one day, I’ll invade your body with my meteor shower touch, to sift you under my skin like stardust.