A body of mist

I ache to write the words
That tell of my heart
Being crushed like a grape
Under your thumb.
(It won't even make good wine.)
Just
some sad story
I'll come to forget in time.

Why and the wheretofores
Shall be forgotten;
But never how you made me feel.
There won't be a need later,
You see,
To save your reputation
And put up a show of platitudes
That betray truth to conceal.

So I ache to write
How I feel –
I am pulled into two…
Love makes me want to dissolve
Into your arms:
My body a mist,
Under a warm blanket.
Pain reminds me of past mistakes
And regrets
And makes me shrink away –
So far –
To the edge of the bed
That I am about to fall
Into a chasm of nothingness.

It's sad to know
All love is the same.
All the lovers are, too.
Because perhaps what you desire
Isn't what they can give you.
Truth remains the same.
So you pull back –
And die a little –
And cover this desire,
Under a blanket of mist
That is now hopeless
And wet.

Breathless

I can't breathe.
I try hard,
But I fail.
I follow
All the rules;
I still lose.
I am free;
But in life.
In all love,
I am caught.
Wrestling hard,
Against pain
And sorrow.
People see
Just the smile
And the love;
But the tears
The tears, tears,
Are all lost,
In silence.
No one sees
(Or chooses
To see) them.
I shudder
To wonder:
If all life
Is this way…
Or maybe,
Some morning
Will bring peace
With the love,
And all life
Will quiet.
But I think
That then is
Death.

Broken

I’m broken.
People come,
Stick me back,
I help with the glue.
But the glue has no strength.
A tiny wisp of wind
Is all it takes.
It brushes past
And all of me breaks.
I’m tired of breaking.
I wish I was a fortress
Lasting millennia.
Or a wall
That keeps people in place.
Or sand that knows
No great weather.
But I’m not.
I depend.
Ironic.
It breaks me.
The pieces get difficult
To find.
It hurts to break.
But
Even when broken
No one
Casts me away.
No one
Wants me gone.
Maybe they like
The challenge
Of putting me back
Together.
Maybe they like
Seeing me
… broken.
Maybe I’m words
Meant to be
Spoken
Into
Breeze.
Maybe they wish
To see how much
I can take.
How far I last
How small I can break.
But, you see,
No matter how much
I am glued back,
I am broken.
Swaying in the breeze,
Counting on words
Not yet spoken.