The need to write wakes me up in the night
Thoughts ricochet off of dreams, memories
Lucidity. Superego runs wild
Translucent clarity breeds vivacity.
Sharp focus without bifocal lenses
Breath trembles on cotton pillowcases
Merging the conscious with the imagined
Past tears and traumas dominate this realm
Phallic fantasies frolic in my mind
Freeing pain but concealing its power
Reminiscing during REM Cycles.
Photographs cards ticket stubs
Memories of all that once was
And all it used to be
I see you in everything around me
I see resentment every time i see you
I see potential
I see passion
I see rejection
I see all I don’t want to feel
My vision is blurred and I see nothing else
I’ve reached the point in my relationship where I’m uncomfortable enough to write again. Poetry flows out of my pens like tears from my eyes, and I’m not sure how to feel.
Does anyone else get writer’s block from being too content in life?
Is it meant to heal?
Releasing catharsis through veins like gravel poured over the roses in the concrete.
Layers of comfort and complacency piled on top of each other – sedimentary rock
A natural disconnect forms an ecosystem of comfort, care, pressure, love.
Transformation so great, it’s almost metapoetry.
Fear metastasized into strength in the soul of a new being
Bonded together with pressure, incubated in an atmosphere of trust
Love is what we breathe.
It can be heard in the song of the wind
Or seen in the dance of the raindrops
free-falling from the safety of the cloud to the callous rock
Yet landing on the tender web of a spider
Spun delicately, deliberately and at the perfect time.
Dampening our fortress –
Without sacrificing the safety of its home.
I still love you.
I never stopped and I always have.
The truth is –
I don’t know how to
stop loving you.
I can be completely happy
with someone else
but when I
hear the sound
of your voice,
it all comes rushing back.
My body tensed when I realized I’d have to go from the present to the past when I spoke about you.
Simple syntax becomes a catalyst for epiphany
The only place that you’ll live is in my mind
And they say all wounds heal with time
But this gash penetrates my core.
You’re not here with me anymore.
Everyone loves to see my smile
so big, beautiful, infectious
magnetic and genuine
but the world can only see
all that I pretend to be.
It seems we all get caught up
in appearances, distanced from reality.
The real me is always an arms-length away.
And I like it that way.
I keep it that way.
Keeping you farther and farther
from my pain before I implode
with no more warning than my trembling lips and fingertips signing for help while they push you away,
crying for comfort but begging for space.
I fret you won’t understand
this brokenness as I lie in a broken mess
of tears and bleeding wrists inflicted from a sharp tongue,
and sharper voices in my mind cutting deeper into the wells of insecurity.
My own hands dig deeper into flesh searching my veins for happiness.
via Daily Prompt: Fret