the other side

whether it be one day,
or two days,
or three,
or four, i have an egregiously difficult time moving forward.

the candescent radiance with which your body exhibited has permanently left an impression on my consciousness.
only war torn bricks encompass the remains that i once called memories.
shattered are the stain glass images depicting the best moments.
shackled are my feet to the own grave i have dug.

too often do i find myself in the company of strangers,
too afraid to bleed the emotion that allows me to purge a cathartic heart.

just like each line lacks coherence,
the foreseen path before me also lacks.

too often do i find myself in no company at all,
too afraid to take a step that would tear down the reality I've come to realize,
too afraid to speak into the silence,

in case anyone was truly there.

-

i wish to believe that i am just merely passing through

-

my hands are weary.
stained by weeks of anxiety,
lifeless and cold,
they work only upon brass strings and dirty keys.

upon occasion my hands find seclusion in the grasp of another set of weary shells,
once proclaimed to be strong.

for a moment the radiance returns,
and characters wander back to vivid recantation.
each limping with the weight of exacerbated existence.

just as quickly the warmth fades,
and the characters are again succumb to the numbness occupying the white noise.

-

i wish to believe that you are just merely passing through

-

too often do i find myself in no company at all,
too afraid to reach into the darkness oppressing my judgement,
too afraid to speak into the silence.