the naivety to think that i can escape myself — even just for a little while — results in a fall with more than just skin peeled and bruised.

it starts with the little things. a song, a flower, a shirt. it seeps slowly into the stream of blood until it becomes a dream, a life, a goal. it rips out the cord of my spine and hammers my flesh into something more palatable, and breaks a bone so i can fit in its mold. it demands i give it attention and affection - to use my plasma once i run out of water, to serve my organs once there's no more soil. it cries at a certain time of day and has to be fed well into the night. a carcass can only provide so much once the kill is over. vultures have long gone onto the next body, even hyenas sniff and trot along once the pungent smell grasps onto a hair in their nostrils. the sun will burn and purge until it hits bone, for the moon to show a sliver of mercy, a pity she doesn't have hands nor fingers to dig deep into the earth to find a place of rest. it leaves me cold, bare, with nothing to hide the truth i fear from. then it will come back with a new vessel for my soul, ready to nurture and brush and feed lush grass to. until my insides have fattened and the numbers of days have passed perfectly enough for me to offer myself again and again and

i don’t know what is stronger: my fear of being my undoing, or my longing to be fully with you.

the weight of nothing lives in the tons and tons of fluid filling a blue whale. it lives in the air that gives the world life. it lives in this pressure on my chest that i can’t name, only live the rest of my life trying to untangle what mystery could something so heavy hold. what forbidden fruit will be there to bite? what answer was i looking for? what question was i even asking in the first place?

where is the first place, in the first place?

thoughts swirl and twirl through lush greenery and barren land. there is something amiss. the heat rises into nothingness. there are letters to scribble but no words to spit out. legs are for walking yet a true destination has not been yet found.

one would think that gallivanting through 3 days and 3 nights would fill up a stomach so full, the acids hit the esophagus. but a bucket calls and kicks, until we're back running laps around a track. in ovals, in circles all the same.

tell me, tell me. is there a trail of smoke worth a follow? a fine red thread worth snipping and cutting for it to grow thicker? a fine staircase to keep stepping under and over?

what is really needed is a compass. with its own indents and poles. with its own ends to throw. a skinny pebble to skip to. it might not make much sense, but so does the world.

a hand is to be held with every blink and breath inward. a song is sung when a guitar is strum and dance to the pit and pat of rain it is. a puddle of red, a splash of pink, muddy streaks of green, and still a pretty sunset and clouds loaded await the melancholy mind. the bright canvas is soaked in for remembrance and nostalgia. the brush strokes messy and rippled with the nervousness and excitement of what a tomorrow as white as a heavenly light could be when i touch my heart with yours in a warm embrace. a plague of warmth has overcome my entire state of being. i look forward, past the lonely theatre in the depths of my memories, past the numerous trails i‘ve sled off to in fervent rushes and escapes, past the pitfalls and sinkholes of the mistakes i‘ve made to simply put one foot in front and the next and the next until pride is the only honourable thing i hold to my chest. still, i‘m scared. scared of the plates rippling up from under me eventually, of the floods destroying gates, of the disasters that comes with my nature. i‘m scared of being. and i‘m happy just being with you. one day, it‘s enough.

i cannot pull a thread, spin a wheel, and strum a loom. i cannot whip up words and wisdom to speak in turn of the nothingness that is mundane. there‘s no way to turn; there is only a never ending bend to intersect from. the dullness of how i frame neverending blinks, the stale taste of air i puff out in wait, the vibration of silence eating up my conscience. i let it. i let the day take me. i let the night woe me to sleep. i let the count go on and on until there is more movement than none. it is only a matter of when i will to seek such a thing, and that seems like never in the case of now.

a field is so vastly empty — a canvas waiting to be filled with flowers of colour. there is so much sky to cover yet no cloud to pull.

i can only stare aimlessly into the pits of meadows, never a step too close or a reach too far.

how could a life so joyous suit a miasma of sorrow?

a sick body does not always mean a sick mind; but a sick mind will always mean a sick body. with a faint heart and sound spirit, what makes faith so strong in a sense of no purity?

i fervently wish to be cured of my thoughts. to be able to finish a race without starting it. to climb a mountain without burrowing a few heads in scorching sand. to swim in an ocean without fearing too deeply of a trench that causes quakes and breaks waves. to be a star without lightyears ahead of me, when in reality the light has long diminished. i am seeing the past, but i am still connected to a presenter and future. make no mistake. this is just a prayer.

to crave and yearn is a feeling so empty - my heart is a cave. icicles dripping blood into deep, deep pools. the cavern is hollowed out. there is no sight of warmth. only fasting. to purge is a riveting experience of anger and lust for more and more and more until there is none to covet.

before i take flight,

a goodbye seems to last forever when it is so fleeting. cherishing the moments, basking in the feeling, relishing in textures of skin and skin of you. It doesn’t make much sense now, and maybe it never will, but at least i tried. a futile attempt at happiness through pure Love alone. is that even enough to run marathons and climb to the peaks? enough to drought the ocean of all 70 percent of its water? enough to chisel a bathroom into a mountain? i’ll never truly know unless i reach for a comet instead of a star.