we write to make sense of the non-sense, to silence the gloom we are doomed to endure. memories are deadly, writers glue the pieces to heal, yet healing is never granted, only far-sighted glimpses scattered in moments that forever pass.
my friend found peace the night she overdosed, suicide was laughable & honesty feared to realize the weight of that word, i think i could’ve done more, no, i know i couldn’t, our souls were only companions when lighthearted air circulated her lonely room.
loneliness is a disease, this heart rests in ashes of horrors it utters in its sleep. restless sleep. my feet moves to an odd rhythm, inescapable of the ungodliness of this world. this world, an interlude that keeps stretching in repetition of echoes & phrases without a final note.
i pray the way my mother taught me, in remembrance of blessings showered & found with the quivering of birds, but my lord this continuing is suffering & suffering has made a home in each room.
forgive me for i am ungrateful.
I express to regret, & my mind is caught handling dreadful monologues. again.
the soul dies battling a lifetime of grief.
the youth is lost, in-finding a meaning; of substance to last. away.. it keeps spreading away. oh lord, forgive me. the quivering of birds no longer consumes me. & i yield instead for the impossible embrace of understanding. waiting, with an isolated phrase, honesty can not dare speak.
my friend found peace the night she overdosed, suicide was laughable & honesty feared to realize the weight of that word, i think i could’ve done more, no, i know i couldn’t, our souls were only companions when lighthearted air circulated her lonely room.
loneliness is a disease, this heart rests in ashes of horrors it utters in its sleep. restless sleep. my feet moves to an odd rhythm, inescapable of the ungodliness of this world. this world, an interlude that keeps stretching in repetition of echoes & phrases without a final note.
i pray the way my mother taught me, in remembrance of blessings showered & found with the quivering of birds, but my lord this continuing is suffering & suffering has made a home in each room.
forgive me for i am ungrateful.
I express to regret, & my mind is caught handling dreadful monologues. again.
the soul dies battling a lifetime of grief.
the youth is lost, in-finding a meaning; of substance to last. away.. it keeps spreading away. oh lord, forgive me. the quivering of birds no longer consumes me. & i yield instead for the impossible embrace of understanding. waiting, with an isolated phrase, honesty can not dare speak.
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