narrative flaw

i can feel your scars under the sheets.
they expel warmth, but keep their origins deep inside.
if i caress your skin too close, will it spill blood and truths untold?
would it hurt the fabric of your soul, if i unravelled all your covered tales?

i fear they would entrap me and feed off the sorrow of my sins.
growing in strength, sadness and the marvels of my pain.
as it rips and tears me apart, and you idly sit by wondering why.
my own self destructive insecurities will hold me to a path, letting go the troubles of my past.

if there’s a light inside me, will it succumb?
do i have a chance to redeem my soul, from my damning curiosity?
i hope that sooner than later, i’ll be free from its grips of serenity.
unless you can recall the creature and keep it inside away from my prying hands.

i never did it to cause you pain, but if i told you – would it really change anything?

ordain

we slept in your living room,
the night lights from outside kept us awake.
the smell of your toxic perfume
broke into my head, this was a mistake.

yet that’s how i first loved.

my heart was beating hard,
love like this shakes inside.
then i cut my vein,
blood-shot extruding love.

but what do i deserve.

another day,
another year.
when i go away,
it wont be from fear.

call it an escape from myself.

i’ll tell you the secrets of the times i got away.
i’m sure you’ve heard it all before.
do you have the time today?
though i doubt that you truly care anymore…

november

we always ran through the snow. looking for excuses to enjoy the cold weather. casting off daily worries and lingering troubles. to let our skin raise in the cold. 

sliding on patches of ice glazed pavement. cracking icicles off of dangling tree branches. gazing off into the forested escarpment with a blinding glow. recollecting the loss of seasons past. 

the blizzard when we shared truths. the nights our frustrations were hazed by flurries in front of our eyes. your father and I shoveled out the driveway. when i left to never return in the morning. 

anguish

having hate in our hearts,
leaves little else to reside.

anger fills our thoughts,
positivity escapes us.

surrounded by negativity,
how are we supposed to be positive.

will our faith prevail,
or do we succumb to humanity.

will we ask for help,
or continue on,
aimlessly optimistic.

intimate reeve

smokestacks billowing smog,
train crossing in the distance,
yielding traffic light flashing,
wind rustling dead leaves.

you’ve lived here all your life,
you were fond of it in youth,
you cast it off in adolescence,
but you won’t miss it in old age.

it was here,
you confided,
poured out,
regretted most.

you were persuaded,
the north would set you free,
no ties to old lies,
you fled in the morning.

the days without,
made short the months through,
for the years past,
hopes you would return.

nothing ever changes,
in a town you were born,
with the people you remember,
for you to give up on.

the smog still climbs,
the trains still pass,
the traffic light blinks,
and the leaves,
are born again.