A.W.A.K.E.

Such a long lost thought that there would be someone to see my way out here, all of me and not one of the simplified faces I slap on
Such a long lost thought that standing there amongst the many who would touch a part of me deeply, each fills a whole, each reminds me of where we all originated from, each of whom I miss
There would be one to connect with this energy I've acquired the soul 
Strength to take in

Whoever the fuck you are I would love you so hard I'd turn inside out coating the hard marble ground with layers of respect securely embracing intellect tightly slightly lightly tickling that which longs for admiration
looking in your eyes carving shapes turns and enticing burns into the ice creating hallow caves - that shit would echo and bounce weaving love of massive amounts - pounce on the unaware, reach to teach, share care everywhere and which way I'll be your infinite play I'd let you in on this rhythm I'm constantly receiving from the stars
I'd shiver as you intercepted
to penetrate my numb scars

Wound up sparks
ready to fly
released they take hold of
the seconds of this tie
I'd put my baby eyes on, so old yet so young they smile, they are soft for you
They would hold you up always right where you are where you belong, where I see your perfection - I'd tremble as I let it all go for you knowing you would hold me steady in your realm
in ours
as we're in each-other - I'd always be safe

I need release.
I need you.
wherever you are.
If
there
is
a
You.
If there is a Him.

Blank

There are somethings I just can't write about anymore. Because when you write it down, it will never be a mere passing thought. It makes the fleeting permanent and the auric tangible. It's there; it's real, and you can't take it back.

If I refuse to write it down then maybe it could still pass. That feeling, that thought, it can be ignored in your mind and crowded out by other tasks. But write it down in an old brown journal, or type it in a little blog window, and you can never deny its existence, no matter how much you change, or no matter how much you want to.

It's cleaner if you just never write it down.

He, on the other hand, could only wish to make everything that much more real. He grabbed as many pieces of everyday as he could and threw them into the shapes he wished to remember for the years to come. And he cemented it right here, making sure nobody would ever forget it. This time last year, I wondered if he would ever commit me in ink to the book of his own history. Now, I am spending my remaining days on the opening pages of a new chapter. And that, of course, makes me real.