There's the dark nights with no land in sight, drifting in the shifting fog & the reflections on the ink black. Sleep's someone else's dream & I'm having the nightmare leftovers. They look familiar. I say, "Hi." Perfecting the personal recipe for self-reproach, doubt & "Oh, what was I thinking?" "Was I really there? Am I even here?" I think I will go on, regardless.
The Mothership.
If.
If I can love you, I will murder for you the sun & the moon. If I can ever be so close, I will look into your eyes & spit at them. If I have one belief, I will twist it into a cup for your tears. If I can forge anything, surely the spender will drive you mad. If I can sing for you the song that penetrates & suffocates. If I can make it right, no one can save you & nobody would care. If I can do all of these, would you worship me just as I feared?
Lush.
The night's air's fragrant like a Lush bath-bomb that I'm addicted to and never runs out but needed more so I splurged & ordered online then picked up at the store cause shipping's not free and there're people walking on the streets good location shopping district people needs space to feel safe & shopping is the common trait brings all people out even during pandemic I'm walking plague & yet I want the smell of blooming flowers then I cut them up & put into jars like reddit says then I got depressed again but I never run out of lush.
A bookmark.
I look for a humble bookmark to stand in a space I've been before. A promise to return sometimes after. Somehow life has become a maze bounded by the progresses & pauses, measured not by the pages but the will to keep traces.
Sometimes.
It's good to be alive sometimes especially after stormy days & nights for the moment when the sun does shine makes it worthwhile fighting for a breath.
Sleep.
A hug.
Hotstuf – the Mold.
Last poem blaming the mother.
When I smiled at her to show some affection, she asked, "how come you have more wrinkles than me?" Always with the criticism, none of the loving. You may think it's implied, but I'm waiting waiting & waiting. It's not enough, Mom, it's too late, and will never be enough. But your words are wise, cutting but wise, maybe that's why I'm so divided? You afforded no love cause you received none. A child is just a tool, a competitor, a variable that has to be evaluated. The den is lined with hidden barbs. The rule shifts with no logic only chaos. I can see now how I peeled away my flesh. You did all you can, so your counsel I will cherish. But I shall always be on guard.
