Resurrect

When I close my eyes
I can see inside my soul,
          like an x-ray machine,
          looking deep inside my bones.

My muscle and sinew
are bound up tight,
          and deep within,
          my strength hides from sight.
 
It's locked away
behind thick, lonely walls,
          housing carvings
          of days
          and lives
          and messed up roles.
 
And here I fear
my crutches of support,
          will crush beneath the miles
          that keep me moving forth.

And I fear my bravery
has weakened my mind,
          preventing my pen from bleeding innocence
          onto these papery lines.

Instead my paper seeps the anger
that's become my foe,
          that streams down my cheeks,
          menacing and slow.

I wish I could wring out my heart
through a wire sieve,
          saving only the savory
          to funnel back in.

My fingers twitch and scratch
at these itches that bleed,
          beckoning for some sort of reprieve,
          so that I may breathe.
 
And so I reach beyond reason over distant miles,
holding tight to steady the rattle of my bones,
          for far away smiles
          that feel like home.

If I were anything but ash and molten hopes I would worry too.

I have devil's water running through my coal-veins. Every morning, I get up and touch the mirror just so that I can fall into the reflection. Every change branded into the underside of my skin so that I can see their bitter stones sinking slowly through the uncharted rivers of my body. I am a façade. I am a lie. I have swallowed hearts and slung love at walls of destruction just to watch the plumes of smoke rise up the city atmosphere. I have watched my crumbling capillaries tie together into hangman's knots, my lips dyed red with lover and enemy alike. 

If I were anything but ash and molten hopes I would worry too.

I am a reverse phoenix who finds eternal death instead of everlasting life. You see, life is survival of the fittest and I am nothing if not a survivor. Life is survival of the fittest and I am the strongest one of all. I have fed and found nourishment in despair. My life stained with regret that even the strongest bleach cannot rid me of. With every day, this second skin stretches tighter and I can hear the monster bubbling under the surface. Behind my glazed eyes venom spreads into the gray, and from the inside I burn. It eats at my veins until I am empty. hollow. broken. But there, among the scars and the bones, I drown in my own silence as I wake in the middle of the night and run wild-eyed down the street with bloody footprints in my wake. Running from the fear that one day I will turn on myself. 

The Rhythm in the Roots, The Truth Behind the Sun

I'll warn you now: this is not romance.

These are not the words or cries of a star-crossed lover or a withered soul.
The blood in my veins is not the churning frenzy of adrenaline and obsession.
The shiver of my bones is not the quaking of mountains, or the rattle of time.

This is not a eulogy for kings or a warsong for nations. These are not the dreams of waking djinn, nor the schemes of sleeping ghouls.

My fingers do not reach the sky.
My tears do not crack the stars.

No, this is not romance.

These are the half-breaths and whisper-thoughts of groggy lips and wandering hands.
A lost memoir of twilight nothings and foggy apologies.
Mine is the sluggish ambers of memory, the quiet waters of recollection.

These are the oaths in the grass, the roots of my toes, the rhythm of my lungs.

These are the secrets buried in my skin.

This is the truth behind the sun.

The truth that a heart is no longer warm enough. That lips cannot speak the words.
That eyes cannot see the whole and all the oceans cannot hide that the gods are on bended knee and know: This is not romance.

I wish my eyes were a mirror

I wish my eyes were a mirror

so you can see you as I see
your heart was crushed by an image
built by a cruel society

I wish my eyes were a mirror
So that I may help you to believe
that what they say is lies
and show you how you are to me

I wish my Heart could speak clearer
to help you understand
that you are the only person
that can fill my empty hands

I wish I could be your saviour
Wipe away your fresh tears
I would gently say I love you
as I hold you through the years

And I wish my soul was a healer
to undo all of the pain
Make all their hostile efforts
finally end in vain

You can't choose what stays and what fades away

You are the hole in my head
You are the space in my bed
You are the silence in between what I thought
And what I said
You are the night time fear
You are the morning when it's clear
You're my head
You're my heart
And I'd do anything to make you stay
Tell me what you want me to say

========================================================
Through the crowd, I was crying out
And in your place there were a thousand other faces
I was disappearing in plain sight
Heaven help me, I need to make it right

I sang to the moon, but it just fell to the ground
and the whole world lit up, but not from the sound.
It wasn't my words or the fluctuation of my throat;

if my mouth is a capsule, then my tongue is a boat. 



The words didn't form by free will or carve out of thin air,

they rather spilled and they drained off the edge of a prayer.
That night, 
my lips didn't press against the pulse of luxurious truth,

they were rather scarred, shredded and torn by raw, fervent youth.

You see, the wind whispers ancient tales of love's true reality

promising young lovers of spring's honey and nectar sensuality,

but I've seen the claws and the beasts springing from summer's heart

and I know the demons that have crawled from winter's frigid start.



I know that love isn't a game to be played or a song to be sung,

in the end, it is a battle and a fight and a war to be won.

So when i'm singing to the silver-threaded breast of the moon,

I'm just punching battle cries straight to the heart of the typhoon.

(i sang to the moon, but it just fell to the ground
and the whole world lit up, but not from the sound.)

Nothing lasts forever except yesterday

Dance, dance your decay
All the while, unknowing you're led astray
Sleep, sleep through your woe
While your voice slowly withers and melts away

Sing, sing unto me, the pleasure and pain
Reveal to me the reasons my love's not in vain

- Ghosts are burning the edge of my vision.

I can feel the way they crowd and jumble, the way their fingers are pulling sticky fingers against my sanity and dragging me further and further into the rabbit hole of my insecurity. I can see them in the shadows at the base of my eyelids and feel their voices in the spaces between my vertebrae. They call me when I'm awake and they scream when I'm asleep and I claw at my face and I pull at my skin, but they burrow deeper and deeper still.

They quiet and stagnate, yet I can feel them in the dust that my feet unsettle as I walk forward. Their faces are persistent and their mouths gaping open with the scent of decay bound like a cord around their flapping tongues. They are silent and knowing, touching my inner demons with a violating hand. they nod, they smile; they are smug. I hate them for this. They see the way my heart quivers in my chest and they stroke the trembling bones that it clacks against. They crack the silence and whisper, tell me of sweaty nights and whispered words of passion. They tell me of possessive fingers and pleading hips, and murmured words of forever in the arch where throat kisses sloping shoulder. They tell me of how stars burned for them like midnight oil, how passion arched over arched spines and the way they made pulses thicken and slow. how desires that deep may sail where they please, but always return to where they anchored first.

They tell me that nothing lasts forever except yesterday.

And this is when I run, and scramble, and fall to scraped-up knees and yet do not stop. This is when I dive into vehicle entrenched in dust and spin rubber against asphalt. The ghosts, they pound against my windows and they scream in time with the wind. My pulse hammers and the wheel leaps in my hand. My palms are slick with fear, my back drenched with doubt. I break my mirrors, I blow my speakers, I run from them, but I am nothing but a moth in a hurricane; passing headlights look like fallen stars. I am entranced by their light. Death looks like constellations hovering above the two-lane highway. They are in my lane, I am in theirs. Ghosts are whipping around my fenders and seeping under my hood. They are screaming, but it's my throat that is raw.

[falling stars taste like metal on my tongue; passing galaxies feel like shattered shrapnel in my chest. i am laying on the asphalt next to my burning car and the chipped-paint meteorite. they are touching my cheek, my hand, the hole gaping by my sternum, they are brushing matted hair from my face. i can see their mouths moving, i can see their eyes rolling back into their heads, i can see their bones jutting through their flesh. i see the whites of their eyes and the past replayed in static. i see projections that i cannot outrun in the chapped skin of their lips. i am screaming; i can't stop screaming.]

And I'll wait.. with or without you.

See the stone set in your eyes
See the thorn twist in your side
I wait for you

Sleight of hand and twist of fate
On a bed of nails she makes me wait
And I wait without you

With or without you
With or without you 

Sometimes, it is like I am silent and I am just trying to find my voice. It's like praying in an empty room and choking on the echoes, like singing underwater and trying to untangle myself in the ripples. Most of all - oh, most of all - it is like finding a truth that I just can't understand. A truth that wakes with the first morning light, stretches with the dawn. a truth that is part of the earth and yet not of it - one of stars and constellations.

It is the truth that I don't fully understand and yet try to capture in the words that have long since left me. It is the truth that lights these dusty fingers and places a candle in this hallowed cave. The truth of beauty in a world of pain - of grace where only pain and suffering has been found. It is truth but not sense - truth but not understanding.

You see, because sometimes loving you is like running too fast or falling too hard. Sometimes, it is like being lost at night or waking up and not knowing where you are. It's like losing your balance and tumbling and yet feeling completely secure. It's a feeling of home and yet invigorating adventure. The wrong somehow feeling completely right.

I don't have a map, but I don't mind being lost. I am screaming in the tornado and marveling at the sound. I am praying against the curve of your shoulder and listening to you sleep. I am watching you laugh and carving the sound in the back of my mind. It is beautiful in it's mess - it is wonderful in it's impossibility. 



Somehow I hope you would see this and maybe just maybe one day you will understand.
And I'll wait.. 
I'll wait..
With or without you..
With, or without you. 

Mahpiohanzia

n. the disappointment of being unable to fly, unable to stretch out your arms and vault into the air, having finally shrugged off the ballast of your own weight and ignited the fuel tank of unfulfilled desires you’ve been storing up since before you were born.

It may be hard for an egg to turn into a bird: it would be a jolly sight harder for it to learn to fly while remaining an egg. We are like eggs at present. And you cannot go on indefinitely being just an ordinary, decent egg. We must be hatched or go bad.