you know nothing.

i keep picking
at the edges
of this scab;
the wound that cannot heal
until i let hope go.
discard the idea of you.
refuse to chase the mirage.

you are unreal;
there is no connection
no truth.
this is self-immolation
a pristine ode to masochism
and you care nothing
for me
my heart
my self.

you know nothing
of me. you know nothing
but your projections.
i become a human
silver screen on which
you find only yourself.

because that’s all you have ever looked for.

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remember.

the ocean remembers the shore
when the waves pull back
leaving soft white sands exposed.
she remembers each whirlpool
each eddy
each time the earth shifted underneath her
exhaling heat and light.

she remembers the things the world has forgotten
time wheeling overhead
stars tracing constellations
all of heaven
reflected in the deep green
she is real.
she remembers.

she waits.

but not for you.
not one more moment wasted on you.
your time has come and gone
while you stand
mute and blinded
onshore
lost in your construct
world within world.

this is your reality:
she slips through your fingers
like sand and light.

move inland.

every time she retreats into the deep
the wind moves and pulls
her back to shore.
she is helpless
slave to the moon
slave to the earth
slave to the air
unstoppable
and
bound
by the things she loves
the things she can never leave.

you slip the shore
borne by the undertow
moving deeper
buried in the light
the salt taste of her:

depth

pressure

release.

you could have been at home here,
everything and nothing
in sync
these secret rhythms
becoming yours.

you did not want this.

move inland.

temple of heaven.

breathe my name like smoke
across the desert.
an evocation of fire
in the grey chill before dawn
the time between time
when all possibilities are realized.

this place
blood-soaked sand and clouds torn to shreds
this is where i come
to open the door
into the rose garden
to unlook the flowers.
to find the children in the trees.
this path runs parallel
and touches in so many places
the ribbon of this life
that has become
mine.

i hear words
in the night calls
names i’ll never know
lives i’ll never live
in this
the time between time
i wake unwoken
and die unborn.
between june and september
each summer of my transit
across the face of a dying sun
i taste sin unforgiven
and savor it.

who will know me when i die?
not you, myth.
not you, mirage.
not you, possessor.
in death i will remain unknown
each atom winking out of existence
like silent stars
in torn galaxies.
the temple of heaven,
nothing more than
regret and untouched
skin.
unspent sighs.

we are never one.

tonight is not the night.

tonight is not the night
another beginning of another end
it is not that dismal presentiment
of every earthly sorrow
imaginable.
not like before
when she left us
with torn souls
and bitter thoughts
with empty hands
and murdered desires.
this is not a night like that one
though in the end
that night will come
and we will find ourselves
alone in the darkness
numb and impotent
in the face of a distant
dispassionate god.

balance.

this wildness
is in me
my destruction
is my creation
i fight the gravity of strange stars
and rogue planets
collecting reluctant satellites
in colliding galaxies.
i need the chaos
feed the chaos
balanced on the knife’s edge
between inspired
and free.

here.

the end of all things
is the beginning of new things
and finding the sun
in the darkness is like
coming home to you.
i’ve been away for so long
chasing emptiness
chasing anything but love
i have fought the waves
only to find myself back on the shore.

feet in the warm sand
wind in my pale hair
sun on my face
this is life
and i have been reckless.
this defeat tastes bitter
on my tongue
raw wounds
(self-inflicted)
bleed out into the daylight
but i am here
and i am whole
and i am nearly content.

for now.

creation.

i will burn
this reckless wild heart
on the altar of my chaos
and i will make the sacrifice
becoming ash in your lungs
the ache in your bones
the fever heat of your skin
the salt sweat on your tongue
the fear that swallows you whole.
destroying myself
so that you can create me again.

this new thing.

here is a new outpouring of grief:

i've given up so much
to become
this new thing
this lie.
and all i've asked is that
someone sit here
in the dark with me
hold my hand as the lights go out.
be close enough that i can
hear your breath
because i'm afraid.

time is time.

the crystalline structures of dimensional
existence
settle over me
like a veil
time is time
and the futility of significance is overwhelming in the grip of it
i am tired of a lifetime
spent in the airless void of our insufficiently divided lives
dualistic in mind only
there is so much to be learned in such a paltry
span of years.
i only become as i am dying.
we only become as we are coming apart.
there is nothing here but forever and i have lost
the thread
as we come undone.

time is time
who we were then is not who we are now
and i have forgotten who i am as life
continues on its irreversible trajectory.
i want
significance
i want nothing but
and yet i am so empty.

why do you reject my heart?
there is so little time.