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.
PoeEternal 