late night poetry therapy

Last night I couldn't sleep, because my mind wouldn't shut up.... so I got some writing done. It's amazing how therapeutic writing can be, when I just let it flow and quit stressing about every syllable or alliteration.



Your idle lingering
Had left me enticed by
The dark side of the horizon;
I built myself a cave
Beneath the moon,
And iridescent stars,
Where in razor blade blood
I could always trace back the trail
To where you are;
Always too far.

Stoplights were all shades of gray,
And the sun that rose
Never shined or stayed.
Flowers wilted in my tender hands,
And home became a word with no
Meaning, the deeper I traveled
In my foreign land.

Your eyes were like vacant shop windows,
Ebony, with gray prison bars running through.
Eventually you fled, like birds in February,
And my heart began to grow askew.
And for the two years that followed,
My face fell each time I saw a woman with reckless curls,
For none of them were you.

I watched my soul divide,
As my bruises began to multiply.
I blackened the mirrors, to avoid my reflection,
And begged for you, my maker, to show me affection.
In the perilous silence, your voice
Ruptured the walls of my mind.
I numbed my sanity, and blamed myself
For being young and blind.

Still bounded by your memories,
My scars still burn when they hear your name.
But the spool of time isn’t one we can rewind,
So instead, I’m barefoot, shooting dandelion seeds
Up, into the porcelain painted sky.