Tag: personal

The Fall – A Short Serie of Poems

Echoes of a damaged soul

She’s sitting on the bed,
Singing her song.
I just can’t help it,
But my heart moves along
And my feet find the beat.

I see your every breath,
Every strum of your fingers
Along the strings, but it’s not the guitar
That I hear, in my heart.
It’s your voice
Echoing in my soul,
As the intricate patterns unravel
And my thoughts travel, to past patterns –
Webs of anxiety, where I am wrapped
In love and soft promises,
That branded my mind –
Marked my heart and left me.

Anxiety

Attraction makes me anxious
Getting pulled in against my will
And I don’t really know how to feel
Is it real, is it real
Or is it the same old spiel
Where I fall for someone and I can’t believe
They would be into me or believe
Our heart beats, the string instruments
Of a living symphony
It’s no Flight of the Bumblebee
Or a composition by Debussy,
No, it is just one exciting anxiety

A funny thing

Two avoidants walk into a room.
Neither one speaks,
Neither one makes a move.

Instead, they embrace each other, and their nature, with feigned yawns,
Strategic stutters, and self-explanatory mutters.

Somehow, somewhat, in some way
One explains in a particular way,
What he wanted to say –
As if it was a birth of words,
With all its contractions,
Contradictions, and a sincere lack of diction and sounds.

At last, he got the words out,
Which is when it became her turn
To try to explain in some way –
A particularly elaborate way –
Far away from each other’s gaze,
What exactly she wanted to say.

Look at them, they’ve come such a long way.
I wonder what someone with a different perspective might say.

“Two avoidants walked into a room.
Neither one speaks.
Neither one leaves,
As they both have a crippling fear of abandonment.”

Us, the looking glass

Crystallise the love to keep it intact.
It’s a frightful transparancy,
To breathe life into a feeling
By giving it a voice,
In your presence.

We’re made of glass, the melted sands
Of all our past failures, victories,
Sins, and the lovers we have been.

Crystallise our love, my dear.
Our hearts are so clear in their desire,
As they burn and shake themselves apart
In an anticipation for past pessimism.

But, oh, the sands of the hourglass keep falling,
Day in, day out,
And I find myself in their midst,
Falling for you.

I want you to know

I kissed you in the snow,
And I didn’t want to go home
To an empty bed.

Hours earlier, we watched the sun set
As I told you stories,
While you rested your head on my chest.

I wonder if you could hear my heart beat,
Mere centimeters from your ear.
I wonder if you could hear it skip a beat
Whenever you laughed, squeezed my arm,
Or poked me in the side.
I wonder if you could hear my stomach
Digest the fact that there seems to be an increase in the amount of butterflies spotted, this week.

What a strange natural phenomenon –
To act on and subsequently reflect on,
Days later when

I kissed you in the snow,
Because I wanted you to know
That these feelings are real
And that this is the way that I feel.

I don’t want anything else,
Or someone new.
When we kissed,
You found me,
And I found you.

A Tension

She loves the attention –
The tension with my heart.
She shares it with everyone,
Till it tears me apart.

She loves the attention,
The way she plays with my mind,
Till all the pretend confessions
Have played their essential part,
And I respond in kind.

She loves the attention –
An insult to myself,
And I won’t even mention
How the clock has struck twelve.

She loves the attention,
And why do I care?
She’s the most beautiful thing,
For all the world to share.

Morning Routine

Take my breath
With your hand around my neck,
And cold fingers running down my spine.

I live and die
At your command,
At your hand.

Every morning I try
To walk away
But you always chase

Me endlessly, relentlessly
Till I can’t see
The light ahead of me.

Forgotten Baggage

With tears in his eyes
He stared out of the train window
At a world that passed him by
Ever so quickly.

He looked, and saw
The trees falling,
The grasses wither,
And the birds falling

So deeply in love
As they fly in pairs
Through the trees
And build their nests

So they may settle
In a home in the shade,
High in the green trees,
Away from all harm

Before they too, leave
For a better place
Where they will find their warmth
And final resting place.

The sun dried his tears
And a smile slowly spread across his face
As he turned into a bird
And flew to the horizon.

Buckets and Toast

I threw up a few times this morning. I stared blankly at the chunks of my peanut butter toast that floated in the blue bucket I was given by my mum, alongside the palpable disappointment.
Briefly I remembered the events from the night before: the sound of laughter, a full glass, an empty glass, dry heaving, my friend’s dinner in a black bucket next to his bed. After we put him to bed, I was walked to the station by two people I barely knew a few hours before, but after bonding over buckets it felt as natural as toast.
These sort of nights are not what I imagined when I was younger, and thought about how it would be to be all ‘grown up.’ I wanted to be a firefighter – but not just any firefighter, I wanted to be a firefighter with a hat.
Now, however, it seems as if the only thing I am capable of effectively extinguishing are my hopes and dreams. Every glass of that tempting, pain-killing poison, every night awake till 3am to escape responsibility, or to feel like I am for a brief moment in control of my life and I can do what I want. It all adds to the increasingly extinguished dream life I once wished for.
All this may sound rather bleak, but it is in those worst moments that there is usually a sliver of motivation again. Motivation that is resuscitated by feeling so close to death. Gone are the days of firefighter dreams, but at least there is hope.
Though I must say, the hope comes at the strangest moments. In this case, I was staring at my measly breakfast floating in my bile, in a blue bucket. I took a deep breath, and stood up. It was a bit too much to ask, but after one more heave I was ready to not just let my life be buckets and toast.

On the Wrong Track

I’m listening to sad songs
Because there’s something wrong
In my head and I’m sad
All the time and not fine
When I want to end my bloodline with me
And can’t see how I can be free.

It’s a constant continuation
Of frustration
But I’m not hiding –
Fighting it as I just sit
And take it but I don’t fake it
Even though I wish I could

Get off at the next station
And leave this train of thought
But the ticket I bought was misunderstood
And now I don’t know what to do.

Attempt 67

I don’t care
About what you’re constantly sharing,
Or how you’re faring.
Like – damn – just live your lives for a second.

You’re updating everyone
About your wine –
And you whine
That the sun won’t shine,
But it’s an absolute crime
How much you’re wasting my time.

You’re muted –
Attention refuted,
I’ll see you tomorrow

To do this all again.