Maple

The bottom of the maple tree 

suited my purposes, so I 

dug down with my bare hands 

until I uncovered the roots. 

I took the tin box filled to the

brim with you, and stuck it 

between those mighty veins. 

The dried blushing roses, 

the letters and the poems, 

and even your marbled heart

arranged between the tissues

that dried all the tears you 

gave me, buried in the ground. 

And there my love can grow, 

warped in the roots of that big 

maple tree, rather than inside of 

a heart that can no longer 

sustain life. The only evidence 

left behind is the black dirt 

on my hands from covering 

it up. 

You no longer deserve

the cries of my heart. 

Crux

Today I wear blue
like the sun wears it's light,
unable to be hidden,
and all over my face.
I'm tired
of pretending to be
any other colour
but pacific ocean,
night sky,
his eyes-- blue.
I'm tired, of giving yellow smiles
to people with their eyes closed,
and understating my heart
to ease the guilt you get
from breaking it.
I'm indigo,
with little stars in me,
that explode into super novas,
with galaxies in my chest,
and meteors in my mouth.
I'm the fifth colour
of the rainbow
painted in your skies;
the borderline,
between the warm and the cold.
I'm on the line.

I'm always right on the line.

Thanatos

Tortured sleep, and the clock drives forward, 
wind howls past an open window, 
shivers leave lips that were once so warm. 
The sun will never light this face, 
so darkened by the looming past,
so weathered by the pain. 
Rolling closer to the edge, 
restless, and out of touch, 
hands grip the covers, 
wishing to hold on to this temporary safety.
The deepest truths of the heart, 
rise to the forefront in this vulnerable moment. 

Death fills the blanks of this mind, 
as irrational temptations threaten to reign, 
roll over again, eyes flickering with each scene, 
replayed in sequence, like a movie on a silver screen, 
waiting to devour sanity, with the power to control. 
Manipulated by a power known to none, 
experiences used as weapons, like some cruel joke, 
torture, rather than peaceful acceptance, 
and nothing but surrender and submission are left. 
One clear voice speaks for one small second, like a whisper: 
"I think insomnia was easier", 
and yes, maybe it was. 

How hard it is to forget. 
Harder still is remembering.

To Distract a Weary Mind...

I seem to have this immediate need to throw my energy into anything but thinking. 
I was watching The Golden Girls with my grandmother last night, and laughed so hard I cried. In a "eureka!" moment, I realized this show would do just the trick in distracting my exhausted heart and aching mind. Currently Watching: Episode 13 of Season One. 


Favourite Character: Sophia. She reminds me of my grandmother, but Italian.
Second Favourite Character: Rose. Dumb as a stump, but so kind and tender-hearted.