26 years old. STL.
Blue eyes turned black. My demons are trapped. Painting pictures with my blood. But I got lost in the flood. Drifted out to nothingness to confess my darkest sins. Ocean waves and praise songs try to wash me clean. But good God, they can’t reach everything unseen.
I’m depressed. And when I say that I’m depressed, what I really mean is that my fleeting thoughts of wanting to die have now extended their stay. I want to stray so far from the life that I have created but too many people insist on keeping tabs. Sometimes I want to scream in the silence that my soul was never up for grabs.
Window seat to see everything, feeling nothing, and going anywhere. It reminds me of being in love. I'm used to gazing in to your galaxy, brushing away the constellations collecting in the corners of your eyes. Maybe it's the way the moonlight kisses your face. Makes me want to do the same except I can't close in on the space. We've distanced ourselves by 1,432 miles, but gravitate around each other like we're the sun and the moon. You contact me twice a year, talk soon.
My love for you is like seasons. I could write you a love letter every day with a million more reasons. My love for you is like the summer. The gentle warm breeze reminds me of how your kisses bring me to my knees. The rushing water of the ocean on a bright summer day reminds me of your passion, intensity, and dedication. Loving you is an addiction and I'm refusing all medication. Summer nights with you sitting on Main Street; carefree. But that's when it was just you and me. Being in love with you was surely intoxicating, and I'm still here waiting. Waiting to see if we were really meant to be. Waiting to see if you still love me.
Jump… then fall. Jump… then fly. Weighted to weightless. It holds me like the clouds that shield the moon. Sun shining illuminating every scar along my body like a storybook of unmentionables. But forget I mentioned it. It’s the stillness from life where you are just existing. Drowning in the rushing waters, slit the wrists of the hands holding you down. Asking for help because that’s what you’re supposed to do, right? But it’s hard to put bandages on your own wrists. Recover. Everyone is recovering from something. But me, I can’t figure out what I’m recovering from. My own mind is my monster. But my words flow like a river that has never known boundaries. Quiet stillness to roaring waves crashing against the borders of my being. I have nothing to leave this world but my words. Perception is mere deception which turns to misconception. Opinions formed on snapshots of a life from which you were never welcomed to view. Shooting stars to beating hearts both linger for a time and fade off without a trace. Behind every passing face is a story worth hearing so listen. But it’s with every passing day that we are astray from the loudness of everyone else’s story. Who has the best life, who has the worst life. Who doesn’t know what to do with their life? Clock ticking, daily grind. Old movies and family home VHS videos to rewind. My future kids will never know. Seasons. But of all winter happenings, I love the snow. It’s the only substance that I can stick my hands into that make me feel everything and absolutely nothing. I hold it in my hand wondering if it will slip through my fingers like sand. Slip through my fingers like promotions, happiness, and love. I wrap my life in my words like a wet, snowy glove. Protected and exposed to the occasional brisk wind or snowflake. It’s the intense emotions I feel like an internal earthquake. Take cover. The only damages sustained are to me, myself, and I. Because I know how to lose myself. My writings locate me, relocate me, and sometimes just hold me hostage. Life looks good when you’re being preached freedom and finally taste it. They say the eyes can be the window to your soul which is why I like to keep mine closed. The path less traveled, the book read but not understood. Mystery is no mystery when I hold the key to the secrets. I’ve slept nearly 11 hours today but I still yawn. My soul is tired but I find beauty in the dawn. Capture my attention, the focus is strong. But I push you away because I’m a beautiful disaster. Tornado, volcano. A silent destroyer. But I put it back together, pick up the pieces. One door opens and another one closes but somehow I keep getting shut in and shut out. Can’t find my way out of this maze. Can’t see through this haze that surrounds me. Blinded and broadsided by life on the daily. But I keep pressing forward. Jump over obstacles that are nipping at my ankles. So close to goals that I never knew I even had. Fingertip goals that linger but somehow I’m still sad. When the world overwhelms me, my writings take me to a higher place where nothing defines me. Discovery, it’s beautiful and captivating. Redefining the ordinary by glance. But it is by chance that we are okay.
Gray Space Love
Lusting after you is like looking over the precipice at the bones of those who died trying to love you. Flowers growing through the gaps of their eyes, because they can only see your beauty through their own misery. Vine wrapped around the jawlines that you once caressed.