his words fall on me, so heavily, i cracked my bones on the pavement
and now there’s worry and little pieces of flesh lying dimensional to his regret

if i put up a sign “all is well” he will leave graffiti in places my heart should be

i sometimes awaken and wonder if my dreams were tucked away in his journal hidden, locked behind a key of code, with my image used as his anti-phishing security measure, as even i seem locked out of my own reality, at times

i am lost and he is the great gatekeeper of my maps and journeys

sometimes my voice bounces off his walls and forms new hells

i watch people gather in his mirrors conducting praise, they don’t see his ghostly shadow stalking

i wonder if they can see the moon? harvesting the cold fury solitude?

perhaps we all have sins to account for

the way i tiptoe over life, looking back at the god awful mistakes i have made

packing up accountability, until it collapses in on itself, forming a blackhole

and there in the center, you will find us.

that’s the only goTdamn place we can meet in the whole galaxy.

it’s no wonder i’ve grown accustomed to jumping into the deepest, darkest holes

i can remember his face there

if i claw, his flesh will bleed

there i can feel something

it’s almost like i’m alive

Copyright © 2024 Delia Ross /@poeeternal. All rights reserved.

you weigh a ton in my heart

11 thoughts on “heavy (freestyle)”

  4. oh no! 😞 i am sorry you are having so much trouble with interactions!

    i struggle so much here. i have pages published but cannot get them to show despite changing ‘parent’ or any of that other crap.

    i am just tired of chasing my tail.

    i wanted to get a tablet but anything 2 years or older won’t get updates in another 2 or 3 years.

    and i am just ready to throw my hands up.

    is there anything analog anymore?

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  6. because i would spend a hundred hours or more for no one to buy or care

    i am not popular

    i don’t know what they will do with my works once i am gone

    we can’t take anything to heaven

    imposter syndrome

    i want to disappear forever

    it’s embarrassing i cannot fix my blog

    i am dying (prob no better time huh) (i am hoping for remission)

    i am exhausted

    i don’t want to do it alone

    “i tried before”

    i don’t want to fail again

    my things aren’t organized physically or digitally

    the cost of production doesnt outweigh the one or two who would buy and the ten who would want it for free (or the 20 who say they will buy but dont)

    been there, done that

    and i think i threw the remaining few copies of my own book in the trash

    *sadface*

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  8. i am glad you think my poems are good and that you visit my blog, that’s good enough for me to keep going. ❤️

    but it would help if the blog worked…

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