New modes of sadness.
1. Holding on to a small flower
2. Chin placed on tired hands
3. Eyes looking through windows, hoping to see something new.
4. Chest constricting with each clumsy movement.
These new modes of sadness touch the core and come in undulating waves in the darkened sea reflecting the black sky. The stars hide, unprepared for viewing and guiding lost mariners at sea. My new modes of sadness trouble me quietly, and I am stuck beneath a continuously crashing wave.
Sometimes it’s about taking that step back when it all seems so fast and perhaps it’s about refusing to move forward when there’s ill-will on the road. Yet many times I find myself in a saddened stupor and how do I get out? And at times when all looks to be white roses it’s truly bones and snow and something must budge before the road gets trampled with escape.
You had your drink and I had my things and together it made for turmoil. I was so tired and you full of desire that there was little left to show. Some god must have known how to have thrown in the towel as we sat patiently waiting. Then life caught up and anger welled as we were fraught with tension.
There were little things to hate here and there, yet nothing could equate to the frustrating fares of this life. I only remember hating the drinks and you being done with my things until the next morning.
I guess I’ll write to see if I can evoke the thoughts within my heavy head and chest. I guess I’ll see if the world isn’t too dark to face in this tired state of mind. My love is heavy and my eyes are hot and damn it’s hard when the past is dredged up. It’s one of those moments where everything triggers and I just want to move to Portugal. But fuck I learned to love and now I’m scared of what is coming around. I don’t really pray but if I did I’d ask for another day, another dollar but only if I keep the same lover and if he’d know what it’s like to be sad that it wouldn’t be penetrating deep like it does to my core. Will tomorrow be a Brand New day that I can face as I open my windows to let in the sky and a mosquito or too? I guess I’d pray for forgiveness for all of the times that I wasn’t enough and that I decided to give up instead of move onwards into the day that tomorrow could be. It’s a pandemic, really, the way things end up with slight infection catching on and infesting the tendrils leading to the veins coming out of your heart (is that right?). It hurts me to hurt you but fuck am I sad sitting on my bathroom floor under the burning water. Maybe I’ll feel something.
It was the first day of limited conversation and prophetic longing. The first day at the bed laying in emptiness and hidden worlds of turmoil. It was the 21st day of the year that felt like the last paragraph at the end of a book’s chapter that released its reader on a sad note. It was cold in this room, an iciness in the Florida weather and my daughters of the moon kept their own company. But you see, here I lay thinking of my days and heart shrinking.
Sweetheart, I’m tired. It feels as if I can only go down under from here. So take me to these depths and lay me down to rest so that maybe soon enough I’ll grow again. I hope my soul returns in leaves and hearty stems leading into blooms. Just don’t be shocked if I leave soon.
Don’t think of me as a sad memory, but see me on the days I danced gleefully. Laugh of joy in my memory and pray to the flowers in my place. These things you can’t escape, you can only embrace.
Oh how easy it is to end…
Life is but a thread.
One action shifts existence.
The door opens into the abyss.
The flutter ceases…
To be or not to be.
Hate pours out of vessels…
Into pools enter poisons.
Hold your breath under water.
Fish swim backwards.
The dirt is like silk…
Filling up empty spaces.
Someone watches in the distance.
An outsider looks in, but can never approach and all investments made fall by the wayside as they remain outside. The outsider is left with their pain to bear in loneliness as their heart sinks with heaviness. May you never be an outsider looking in so that your light may never dim.
Sadly, it is the case that I have held on to love in all of the wrong ways. This is probably due to me never quite learning how to love healthily because no one before me taught me how. It is on these days that I wish she would just hug me and I wish she knew what truly went on inside my chest as I typed these words onto keys with the hopes of letting the floodgates open, letting them rise so that the water would pour through and stop building all of this pressure within me. I wish it were understood that I have limited control of these feelings welling up inside of me and pushing me outwards because I can no longer hold this inside. I guess we are all alone in our pain here and don’t quite know how to cross this chasm to hold on to one another anymore. It is regretful that your mother never knew what it meant to love that little girl now a mature woman that has faced the world and faces it daily with struggles and persistence, but I don’t think that I am nearly as strong as she who came before me for I tear apart at the seams too easily. It is not without repercussion to be near so much death and to wonder if my time will come too after all that is dealt with at present. It is difficult to sit in a dark room with a lump in your chest and this looming feeling of uncertainty, of the thousands of what ifs that I struggle to get to. I am a stream of light outside, but inside I am still very much full of night.
If I did not write, I would end.
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.