Glistening blues and nude hues inspired by soft pigments easily flowing on paper forge an image in the mind, one of smooth sensuality flowing through the body sweetly. Enter atoms in creative hands and pass through spaces of darkness and light unseen to the naked eye. Inhale the aromatic fumes like a distant memory of joy returning to your atmosphere—a fog swallows you whole then lifts you up.
I wanted to trust, but I have been dishonest and now I take the good and turn it bad. My friend is compassionate, checks in regularly, makes sure I am well in spirit. Perhaps that is what breeds love, but I have already destroyed love in our past. I hoped I could be larger than I am so that I would be worthy of feelings they send, but to this day I guard secrets, and tell truths disguised in jokes that are shrugged off in innocent beliefs of my stability.
Be so goddamn unattainable that they think you live on the moon. Better still, be the moon that is too large for their lassos and too far from their reach.
Close each open space that you left open and conceal that which was exposed at one time or another. May the only parts that remain permeable be small and far between. Certainly try to remember where all the places that closed have been.
Sometimes the power lies in your fingertips as they caress the darkness inside of you. Your fingers caress the darkness surrounding you and turn it into a vague light—a slight illumination of demons and angels housed inside your soul. Let the night breeze guide you into a spell that you sing like a lullaby for the flowers growing around your foundation. The silver glints in the candlelight as you let the building catch fire so that from the flames, your spirit can be reborn. Rise from candlelight as the candle burns out and smokes itself into the nothingness unrecognizable as air. Light irradiates from you and warms the frayed buildings that housed your beliefs in between the night sky. How perfect did your shell burn into and outwards throughout the night.
Everything is heightened as if this cold front brought things into perspective. There’s a sinking feeling in my stomach when in the past there would be exhilaration, perhaps it’s all the pills getting me down and interacting in some way that deviates from the norm like a statistical significance. There is the dark and there is the light and sometimes one takes over the other as if to give the other the rest it requires to return more strongly. There can’t be much like whittling away the pieces layers to leave space for the art underneath created by steady hands. At times all is not well and she will be difficult. Terse words should be enough to express the extent of the depths within. Maybe I’m less patient because I don’t feel well and I’m a bit unhealthy or maybe it’s because I’m tired of being the repetitive waves crashing against the shore to soak tiny pieces of sand created artificially. Be dark, unflinching, tense, and done if you need to be. She will be.
I wonder if you spoke to the stars in the black sky, would they listen? If I were to confess all of the things welling up inside my chest if that would make a difference—maybe I’d tell them all of my secrets. The night sky blankets your eyes and your ears, yet you still see the flickering candles way up high and can hone into the nocturnal birdsong. Crickets are like a drum line, playing their repetitive beats only to be disturbed by the loud sounds of music of people who celebrate everything that there is to celebrate in life. I say I’m as black as my shirt, as black as the outside corridors and the broken concrete fences waiting repair. I am like my house, an unfinished product, a byproduct of cortisol and dopamine. Perhaps this is what melancholy feels like. The body still tunes in to pleasure, but the brain doesn’t ignite the same ways it used to. So this brings me back to the night sky… Why tell it anything if it’s too far away to hear me? Maybe it’s better to gently place this weight on the soaked grass and perhaps it will provide my resuscitating roses with adequate nutrition.