Suddenly there you were.
Sitting five feet away from me with your friends.
We didn’t arrive together, but I hoped that we’d leave together.
I could almost feel the skin of your lower back with my hand. It hummed.
You gave me your gaze and we shared it like a slice of pie.
My vulnerability gave me unplanned confidence.
I was wounded and I needed a win.
Suddenly gone like my hopes of recovery as you walked out the door and got into his car.
Another time maybe. Goodbye.
Flutter and fly by while turning blind eyes to the wolf’s cry.
You’re just howling. Not to me, but the moon.
Blockade and blot out all that we talked about
Mixed signals flash as I fly through the fog and the gloom.
Sever and separate all of my sweet safety in solitude.
The death of self confidence sends loneliness to an empty tomb.
The air trembles in relief from the drum’s agitation.
It struggles to feel whole while it’s breaking apart.
The tempo persists but the offbeat is dragging.
The ache makes me curse this longing heart.
The bow whispers a note to a string under pressure
She sings it aloud bleeding pain into art.
Her call opens doors I never knew existed.
Her song makes me curse this longing heart.
The keys wash the shore with waves of emotion.
The melody wanders off losing track of the start.
I’m lulled into dreams of love and devotion.
The alarm makes me curse this longing heart.
Call me back where I belong
And set my soul at ease.
As I stray and wander off,
lead me back upon my knees.
You know the horrors of this heart
and still you love me unendingly.
Now I pray to you to right my wrong
and call me back where I belong.
The more I stare the deeper it sinks its hooks into me.
I’m trapped but I’m not mad.
In fact, I prefer it.
I’m happy to sit and let my gaze stand on the embers without being burned.
I’m just close enough that the wind isn’t quite so chilling.
I’m just far enough away to feel the warm embrace of my creation.
Or my destruction I suppose.
These flames aren’t exactly creating anything but smoke.
But also peace inside me.
It’s a slow burn and I’m prepared to wait it out.
More than prepared.
Even the excitement of another pallet doesn’t raise me from my seat.
Easy in. Easy out.
That aroma in the air is the smell of home.
It’s a slow burn and I’m prepared to wait it out.
I close my eyes to see the setting sun.
Why do I long for things yet to come?
Can I not cherish the moment in which I stand?
Will I ever be happy with the man that I am?
I both hope not and hope so.
I’m torn between the mirror and the window.
I originally sat down to write about the wind.
But it seems that my mind cannot be blown from what speaks within.
But I can calm these thoughts with a deep breath and a hum.
As I close my eyes to see the setting sun.
Sunday you can expect cloudy skies and squinting eyes moving into heavy sighs.
Monday brings the most underwhelming of showers that will leave you slightly damp for hours.
Tuesday’s a little to far to see, but just between you and me, I don’t expect it to travel too far from normalcy.
Sometimes the moment is too short and you’re left drifting slowly in negative space.
Sometimes the moment lasts too long and that wonderful feeling of satisfaction is ruined like an overplayed song.
Sometimes there’s no moment at all and you don’t know what you’re missing, but you know you’re missing it.
I can only trust you when you say that it’s worth it.
Sing softly in my ear.
Blow gentle waves against my drums and make it mean something.
Drag a fingertip lightly against my skin and draw new lines.
Tell me that you love me and match my ever changing puzzle piece.
Let every breath be the perfect length in between keystrokes.
I want to feel something break in my hands as I tear it apart. The release might just make me forget for a moment
We like violence because it feels good and I want to feel good.
I want to feel something pulsing against my ear as I wait on each beat. The tempo might just drown this silence out for a moment.
We like the rhythm because it feels good and I want to feel good.
I want to feel something numbing my lips as I stumble through the hallway to my room. My senses might be just dull enough that I can think for a moment.
We like to get drunk because it feels good and I want to feel good.
Writings of a Sinner 