I want to be a singing ghost inside your whispered dream,
unremembered and unrepentant in the bright light of morning.
I want to be a sighing monster in your darkened closet,
rustling through old clothes and old memories you’ve packed silent.
I want to be a reflection in your fogging bathroom mirror,
where you write a message in the water and wait for a response,
I want to be the closing statement to your last eulogy,
the final sentiment imparted upon the world you’ve loved.
I want to be the opening to your always, always closing,
I don’t want to be the thing you left behind.
Tag: sad
divergence.
in almost perfect stillness,
your sleeping breast rises and falls,
so slightly, so secretly.
those breaths you share
only with the sheets and me.
I wonder, as you sleep so sound,
and I lie restless in our bed,
what dreams are yours?
is it me that you see,
the lights in my eyes,
the sound of my breath?
or is it the bright of the city,
the call of something bigger?
I fear I am too small,
too insubstantial to know.
and so I wonder,
and so you sleep…
delicate.
you love me because I am “strong”,
but what if I am not?
what if I am weak and fragile,
in need of tender hands,
and precisely comforting words?
what if I am already falling apart,
struggling to remain upright,
desperate for an ounce of stability?
what if I am destined to fail,
regardless of eager “trying” and
countless tears of exhaustion?
will you love me, still,
even as I crumble in your hands
like yesterdays past,
or will you desert me?
will you leave me in dismay,
a broken pillar of strength,
a forgotten bastion of hope long past?
I have stood alone all this time,
and I want to believe you are better than most,
but this darkness has it’s hold and I am
no better, no stronger or sturdier
than the roses of winter.
monster.
I have fallen, faithless, at the feet of a stranger,
sought solitude in open arms and found the sound of home
in beating veins, and thrumming heart.
we dance, and the sound is thunder,
we sing, and the world becomes a stranger.
what fate is love, but bittersweet?
what horror, what ecstasy, what dream?
echoes.
I am thankful for the broken hearts which came before mine.
for bleeding romantics who wrote sonnets, reminiscent of lost love and dire yearning;
for young lovers departed and never returning, for dreams which died upon waking and poison roses in the courtyard.
I am thankful for the ones who lost, before I ever knew what there was to be found.
for the silhouette of a drowning lady, asphyxiating in a room of only air and empty shells;
for the sounds of footsteps carrying across the last road we’ll walk together.
iamwhatshewrote 