slightly relevant

(I wrote this a couple of years ago and I just found it again. I think I like it.)

in there i feel so many things,
but when i open my mouth,
only one thing escapes.

nothing.
breath?
air. in the silence.
whispers. in the darkness.

i feel nothing. and everything. crumbled together.
i want to write it all down. with a leaky pen. so globs of metallic, sticky black ink soak through the page of my heart and show like bruises on my bare back.

i want to prick those bruises with needles. i need to feel the sting.
i need to draw my mind from this whirl.

i need air. i need liquid. i need security.
to fall asleep, deep deep, and rest. …. rest.
knowing that when i wake,
there will be nothing but this.

air. liquid. warmth. comfort. and his hands.

I’ve figured it out. You are my muse. I have felt more alive since I’ve known you. I have felt more since I’ve known you. You are my catalyst. You are my fix. You are my muse.

That is a very dangerous thing.

I took that photo back when I was trying to get a good shot of my tattoos. The reason I didn’t like it before is because it didn’t catch my bracelets, which I think complete my wrists (which is weird, but whatever). I looked at this photo again and realized how much it resonates with me at the moment. In hiding.

I haven’t slept in my bed in over a month, I think. I’m not really sure anymore. I don’t really like going upstairs in my townhouse, but I’m not exactly sure why. All I know is that every time I am bothered to go up there, I hurry to get back down.

I am completely entrenched in fingerstyle acoustic guitar music and it seems to be all I want to listen to. I find myself immersed in it. Floating in it. Dreaming in it. Sleeping in it. Peaking in it. Why does it speak to my soul so wholly? Why does it seem to be able to find the very pinpoint of my emotions? Why does it offer me clarity when nothing else does? It holds me rapt, like nothing else.

Sparks. They fly. They are the catalyst. They are the reaction. They are the attraction. They are the source. They are the result. They are plenty. They are never enough. They make me giggle. They make me weep. They melt me. They burn me. They feed me. They bleed me dry. Sparks.