Write for yourself.

I sat inside an empty room
and I began to write;
as the words came out
I stacked them in neat piles
until they reached from the floor
and pressed against the ceiling.
Column by column was erected-
towers of ideas I needed to express
and when I ran out of space
I began to fill my body as well
until all the previously hollow
seemingly cavernous spaces
where before there had only been
an ache that required something more
were now a home to all my lost words
and never again would I feel
incomplete or disassembled  because
I truly existed in my words
and my words truly existed in me.

I wrote the words I had always needed
and said the words I had always wanted
until finally I was whole, I was free.

BB

 

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Nightmares

You and I are facing each other on a deserted street. It must be a little after two in the morning and the sky is a starless monochrome. The streetlights cast halos of soft light that drape gently down our faces and extend shadows on the asphalt backwards from our feet. We are close enough to run and reach out and touch each other but far enough that there is no doubt we are separate. Behind you I can see a thick fog rolling in, blanketing the buildings and the road in an opaque sheet, enveloping the world. As the fog nears your turned back, I call to you to come closer to me, away from the fog. I can hear voices all around and I turn to see people I know, or people you have mentioned, standing beside me and behind me. We are shouting out to you, in a cacophony that hurts my ears and makes my throat raw, but I can tell by your face that you cannot hear us. The fog is swirling so close to you, I can no longer see your shoes or the definite lines of your body; I can see your face as you try to hear what it is we are yelling. We are screaming now, a mob of outstretched hands, begging for you to link just a finger with one of ours, to let us anchor you and keep you safe from the dense unknown threatening to overtake you. The last thing I see as you sink into the fog, is a sad little smile, as if you do not believe that we could support the weight that is on your shoulders, that we would be brought down too.

“We are here,” we call in unison, the air has grown thick enough to touch. “We are not leaving.”

But you cannot hear us through the distance, and you cannot see us through the fog.

BB

Treachery In The Evening

We are the ones who
fall asleep with our pens
still in our hands and
papers all around us
trying to scribble
a few worthy words
(a meagre offering to
the late-night gods of prose)
before sleep consumes us
and our transcendent ideas
become lost like pennies
tossed into the well
of unfulfilled wishes.

BB

Moon Child

We fell in and out of love
while the dying sun
burned complacent in
the violet summer sky.

We held our breath
as it began to set-
elegant and tragic in
its final waning breath.

The world was dark but new
and we were not afraid
instead of mourning we
became children of the moon.

BB

Warning: Fragile.

I put my hand on my chest
and I knew without looking
that my heart was broken.

I could feel the shards
rattling against my ribs
and piercing my lungs.

I coughed up your last words
bloody and shining diamonds
into the palm of my hand.

How could something that had
seemed so beautiful be
wreaking havoc on my soul?

I guess you could argue that
having a heart made of glass
was not a good idea after all.

BB

The Choices Of Our Youth

We said it was carpe diem
but really we were just
your average warmongers;
we took what we wanted
when it suited us and
did not think twice about
the bridges we incinerated
along the way.
The cost of every victory
from the battles of our youth
lie in the faces of people
we no longer know
in the ways we were certain
we always would.

BB