#an excerpt from a book ill never write

“I told him I was too me to be a part of his world. He smiled and caressed my cheek, his lips hovering over mine as he whispered, “and that’s why I love you so much baby, you’re everything I’ve ever dreamed of.””

- g.d (love me for me)

strangers dancing on tongue

twirling with delight

beating to devilish drums

sweet to bitter back to sweet, one two one

no in between — no other routine

here, then there, then here

swift, trodding by air

begging for touch to not

burn this time but to

intertwine and find me at

the bottom of the glass or

your throat

i last cut my hair when you were awake,

when hair hung below my ears but above my shoulders

ive had it grow long for years you have been gone

kept it around for the sake of our fate

an act of self-preservation i thought

or for what now seems as delusion.

ends split,

dead weight remained from the mess i became

i cut it off, like a noose to life

defying the odds

i restore my truth.

a dream is a spiders web

entangling, but a home

each thread a bed for rest

each rest an ungraceful wed, 

reminders of sacred times

where reality is on lucks side.

light breaks, such illusions dissipate,

within seconds of awakening the dream is dead

the grasp loosened, the home gone

— and the web is weak filament, almost false,

leaving purpose stranded

with no patience to hold

and its spider noiseless within calamity

the sun danced on Ector street

warming each home and those who roamed

I was only a visitor at the time,

life had wings and flowed with each breeze,

every hope and dream breathed from the concrete — the roots of your home

sun rays gleamed from and at you all at once

we couldn’t see past each beam

blinded by light or love

and we shared it unequally.

we rise and fall like each passing day,

we failed to last our eternity

or perhaps we have just begun—

the sun still dances on Ector street

maybe that is us.

follow the shadows of the leafless trees

each route a different one

where a new life has sprung.

even in conditions of weariness

the shadows lead to

a place for you

to confide or to lose

everything you ever knew 

before stepping foot

in a path never took

“As soon as I said it aloud, my chest caved in and all that was in my heart spilled and created my passage of suffering.”

- c.c // when i said you are gone

you wander through the waves

but your body lays buried

and your philosophy decays

each day you attempt to salvage our moments

where our lips met or cursed

where our hands gripped or stayed loose

and though the past is over and done with

you’ve created waves to crash through my brain

where these moments leak to my mind

giving your philosophy new life

and you remain through the salvaged kisses and moments

until i join you for what is left of our voyage

day breaks into new

for some to fly or fall;

you watch them scatter around trying to find their place in

fields of eight foot sunflowers or treacherous minefields

with their teeth out for the world to see they are happy

or expressionless to keep trespassers away;

you witness the madness in a new day

watching hope play mind games of her own

where sunrise is an imposter for change, and merely a chance for all

either to fly or to fall.

i store sunshine in a jar

pour her out when i am alone

run her through my hair

drizzle her on clouds for all to see

from a far away place unknown.

i use her to dilute all infiltrations of you,

making what all was once dark blue

shine bright as if brand new

conjure up from my mind,

fall onto the paper

spill out of my mouth,

be the mess that was left behind.

i’ll clean it up

fix you up

into the pristine, undented figurine

that watches loose ends unravel further

creating endless spells of tragedy

for all to feel

and for you to see silently.

got a grip

took some hits

had some doubt

spit that out

was in a daze

but it’s a fade

in my head

you are dead.

punched a wall

took a fall

down a drain

forever stained

caught my wrist

on the words i miss

that you took down

in the ground.

i won’t bloom

until i admit that i am okay

without you.

libraries are suppose to be silent

but that’s where my eyes met you

where your smile was at center stage

and your eyes had more to say

they listened to the rules,

stood quiet with little moves

remaining as so as you put on the show

noiseless —

until they grazed passed mine

and suddenly everything screamed inside

do you see me?

let me hold on, let me follow.

into a universe unknown

one never to fully unfold

eternal gaze

stuck in my brain

is beginning to fade

because you’re away

in another space

trying to cement yourself

even when your soul,

will never be erased

soulisticwrites:

“The world tricks you into thinking there’s a limit to your existence, when in reality the world has no idea of the universes’ entirety.”

- c.c

“Look down the bottles neck and you’ll see what your life has been.”

- c.c

“Madness swarmed my soul then turned it into gold.”

- c.c

maybe in another dimension you’re in love with me too

at least one version of me would be happy

You walk across that dirt road, and make your way towards the lake, our lake. And you’ll sit on the hill, under the tree and you’ll light one of those Marlboro cigarettes you always used to smoke. And you begin to remember. It’s been nearly two years, but you still remember. You remember it all perfectly. You’ll remember the songs we listened to, and argued over. You’ll remember the first time we sat there at sundown and how we spoke endlessly for hours. About everything, I learned about your fears and you learned about my dreams.

And you’ll remember the first time you kissed me, and you’ll remember the last. Then the sun will eventually fade into the horizon and the dark will creep it’s way in, and you’ll realise that it’s over. We don’t get second chances in this life, and we can hold on and hold out but nothing will change it. All we have is the memories, those bittersweet memories that are far too precious to let go of. Without them, it would have all been just a dream. A picture perfect dream. But you’ll be there in our spot, and you’ll remember everything as if it were yesterday - and you’ll wonder where it all went wrong, and you’ll think about the timing, and what it could have been, what we could have been.

A diary excerpt

America - summer, circa 2015

You did it again,

You did it again.

Poison ivy twisting around your neck, just like last time.

“Why are you crying?” “you don’t have any reason to be fucking crying” “what’s the matter with you now?”

You’re mid panic attack, he can’t see that. He never sees that. He just assumes you’re pissed off at him, that’s always the case. You’re not allowed to be quiet, you’re not allowed to sit in silence with your thoughts without being rude and pissing him off. You’re not allowed to be annoyed or upset - you’re feelings aren’t valid, you’re manipulating him, you’re crying to make him feel bad. You’re mid panic attack, and he’s lashing out at you, making you feel worse than you already do.

You’re shrinking,

you’re shrinking.

Disappearing, diminishing, soon you’ll be nothing. You think that’s want he wants. You’re hurting, worse than before. And he can’t help you, you’re not even sure if he wants to help you. You feel like he leaves and goes out to get relief from you, to get away from the emotional baggage and grief you cause him.

You’re crumbling onto the hardwood floor, you wish the floor would just swallow you up. You think about leaving, maybe one day you will.

This road is treacherous.

I like the cold side of the pillows, the cool coloured covers of my bitter wooded bed, not marred by the heat of another presence. I like the clean floors of my water-smelling bedroom, dusted only by my footsteps and no one else’s. I like the whole tubs of ice creams that I eat by myself, without the digging marks of a second steel spoon. The perspiration of my once icy water bottle that slips onto my study table and seeps onto the fluttering, unhurried notes. I like the detergent washed clothes that become crisp in the sun and still smell like dew. The chill of things untouched by someone else.

In my own space of one, it’s often cold but never lonely. It’s the cold that solitude brings with itself, a wise sort of scent that wafts of lessons and slow realisations.

She lights the pictures and letters on fire and holds them watching the words burn but the feelings in her heart burn and make their position known. The words dissolve with her tears and the fire.