Dark Matter in an Empty Space

I feel the empty space next to me. Where there should be another heart, beating, another body, breathing, there is just me. A pillow in the middle, instead of choosing sides. There is only my smell on the blankets, on my sheets.

I am covered by my own space.

I want to turn around in the middle of the night, and find you there… my finger tips slowly discovering your arm, the dip in your waist, your soft breast, as if it’s exploring you for the first time. I want to come to rest, turning onto my side, and bury my nose in your soft hair. I can barely breathe, but I welcome the suffocation. To know that there is someone by my side… it’s enough.

My heart is essentially clenched, threatening to burst as it tries to hang onto its love. I tell myself: “don’t waste it. You have only so much love to give, spare some for yourself.” But, my god, it’s addicting. To find a new fixation, to chase that sensation – the excitement.

How much it then hurts, when I lay here and I lie to myself, late at night. I shut my eyes tightly and tell myself that this is the way, and things will go the way they go. But at the end of the day, I still lay here on my own. 

Shovels beat the sun

The shovels beat the sun,
And the enemy falls upon us
To try and bury us six feet under.
For King and country we find ourselves
In the mines of Golgotha,
Digging up false prophets
And prophecies of end times –
Scrolls and revelations from a god
That has left us in the mud.
The colour of our cap only matters
To those that wish to beat us
To the holy grail that’s as sought after
As an act of revenge against the man
That would betray the saviour with a kiss
Of love, death, and deceit.
But here we lie, here we lay,
Six feet under with the dead,
All to keep the dead at bay.

Inspired by a line from Peaky Blinders

I’m okay with pretending, I’ve always had a love for drama

I’ve still got the scar you gave me last week.
Perhaps it wasn’t our intended intensity
When we broke our friendly sanctity,
But I do look back on it, fondly.

I thought that after we left our marks
On each other’s bodies, and lost our minds
In each other’s glory that I wouldn’t have to worry
Or care about a thing.

Honestly, I wanted to reach out two days later
To you – my new addiction, my hyper focus
For my brain that has longed for a fix
For so long, but I know that love, sex or a kiss
Won’t mend what’s been broken.

It’s now been a couple of days since we’ve last spoken,
And even though my door is wide open
I may not always be home.

With your mark on my shoulder
I wander alone between the trees in the park
And I wonder if you also still carry a piece of me,
Or if I should simply let you be.

I am rather happy, however, to notice
I’m at least at peace, finally.
That doesn’t mean that I want you to leave –
Believe me, I would love to see you again
And pretend for one more night
That it’s just you and me.

Hopeful Inspiration

Let go of the fear and sorrow,
For a tomorrow you haven’t seen.
Today isn’t even guaranteed.

Take it easy.
Breathe.

You don’t have to use every minute,
Or feel like you’re not in it
If you take your time for a moment.
You don’t have to be your own worst opponent,
You can make it work.
After all, you are you,
And you are not the worst.

You are a beautiful mess
And this is just another test.
You’ve got this.

Every Time

I die on the inside every time I decide to leave someone behind.
Or when I lay to rest the plans we never had,
Or the memories we never made
In a future that we will never see
Together.

Together was all we had,
And I find myself here at the end
Of it all, struggling to stand tall
And raise my head high.
Because every goodbye kills me,
And I die every day, afraid
Of the next one to go away.

I’m so fine with it, sometimes,
Somehow, but then there are times
When I’m drowning in the deep depths
Of despair, where the air
Escapes my lungs
And leaves me behind.

Painful Peace

I wonder if you’ll listen
When I rip out my hair.
Or if I jump off a chair
In a peculiar fit of despair –
Or a fit of frustration
(A most horrible sensation),
That would normally be repressed,
And left unsaid in the depths
Of the River Lethe,
Where no one could see me
Drowning in the misery.

Should I then keep it a mystery?
Or should I break our reality
Into pieces, so that we’ll find ourselves
In the painful peace of the present.
But, oh, it’s been my role for an eternity:
The “keeper of peace” –
Why should it be me?
Why should I not feel angry?
Should I not learn from my history?
Even if I can’t see what is ahead of me?

I never asked for my past.
But if I do not learn from my history,
This life will be the death of me.

Sisyphus and I

Sometimes you try,
Try,
And try,
To climb,
Climb,
And climb,
Up, up,
And up
The hill

Just to reach the summit
And plummet,
Down the other side
And cry,
Cry,
Cry and die.

Maybe you learn something from it
For the next time
You feel alive.

Hey friend

There you are, smiling brightly in the dark sky –
Looking down on me with a million uncaring eyes.
Your brother might be blindly blinding,
But at least he gives me life.
When he’s up there, all your eyes are closed
Since you need your rest too, I suppose.

If I died while you were gone, would you still be smiling?
You probably wouldn’t even notice,
Even though I greeted you a thousand times.