A language I vaguely know. The mind translating my mother tongue to my new one. My words as they stumble upon themselves.
The scathing feeling. A remembrance, a disgusted and archaic ache. Hunger to be the one who rectifies the ache.
Fingertips on virgin skin. The taste of salt beyond my eyes. Pressing to be undone. Three pairs or more meet in silence. Each needing to be seen. The broken stare. The ghosts we leave to die.
Torture in being watched. To live within.
I do not remember you. You sound like smoke and distance. I am so far gone. I reminisce those forty-eight days as if they have forgotten me.
To recall the desert like land and undominated winds. Tragic selves who sit on empty stages. We take everything for ourselves. For love, for a family. When they fall, I come apart.
I dance like broken wings who forget themselves in the night. It is my only curse that I despise you.
To say too much. To crumble. Is it a line I cannot blur? Soft and broken things we haul around. Reminding me of somebody I knew. It rests inside your voice.
I hate to love my golden cloak. An unending hatred of love. This love of self. Of sapphire and caramel. A mirror and eyes whisper.
We forgot our language. It speaks in dreams. The body detaches from itself. I shudder in dusk. I forgot how to speak. This verse. This tongue.
Inside the heart I find wounds. Wounds I am unable to heal. With this loss of self.
Fall in Love Fall hard with shattered wings and feel it pulse through your body
I may hurt now but not forever Feel her now and then release her
We fall in lust. We die here. Love is the dream. One self remains.
How short this existence is. I deceive myself. I became human. We all did. From innocence to sin. I yearn to be unpolluted again. We watch each other. Their souls in their eyes.
It is labeled an obsession. I do not wish to live inside myself. Instead, my soul might wander like a ghost, untethered with grace. Translucent and empty. Who is to say who is the ghost? I wear the cloak. I drown. I smile. I pretend.
To love. For a love that simmers into dormancy. A deep slumber and mechanical lifestyle. Everything forgets itself at the door. Left in puddles for dreamlike ideas within unattainable nostalgia. Nothing comes to the door anymore. We forget ourselves.
I sometimes wonder if I will face myself. To look in the eyes. I miss how it was. Not the beginning moments but in the progression of self. How we diminished ourselves to become one. How every stranger was my soulmate. How now writing this, I understand I came here to escape but all remains…
How I fantasize about empty golden sunsets and eyes. I see the eyes of each person I yearn for as they dance along the ancient walls. Like little prayers or little pupils slipped between cracks. Always watching us. Always watching the lips. As they ask for forgiveness.
Superiority of possession To compensate for beauty. Danger in lying Dangerous beauty Beauty who lies