Wednesday, 30 March 2016

Teach me of rest, of stillness, of silence and acceptance. You’ve burdened me with too many memories, the soft hues of autumn leaves and the moist winter mornings, dim translucent rain drops against the windowpane, even when the sun shined with a frown, we found home and we found love, we didn’t know any other way, neither did we want to.

Lately I’ve been searching for home in cold nights and dead streets. I find you everywhere and I lose you over and over and the butterflies in my stomach turn into daggers twisting my insides until all that is left is the treacherous aftermath of hope and faith.

Nights are made to delude the heart, she whispers “His face bears the look of ancient books, secrets woven with delicate threads across his brow bones and of a heart which could contain oceans.” But the words never find life.

My soul can’t screech so my hands bleed instead, they write of loss and pain and rage but they are never clearly defined.

Slurred melodies and screwed sentences, I’m trying to find my way back home

{You can’t make homes out of people}

I see you with her

Your arms brushing her shoulder blades

And I walk away with lumps of stones straddled in my throat of the house we burnt to the ground.

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