exul-nsis
when it's all done
Skalds og galdrs
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𓅇Narrative of Stupor
Our lives have been spent
moving, and then resting. And when the rest
becomes too restless we scream and start to move.
Sometimes crawling, sometimes chasing -
frantically - something just too deep in the shadows.
One way or another we again become weary, and collapse, or halt.
We acquire some cuts along the way. Some we just
see, some we just feel, from branches. Some we feel
when they happen, you don’t need to look down
as you’re tearing wildly through the dark and you know
there’s now some mark upon your body. Some we need
to stand and stare at, wonder at, if we perhaps don’t realize
it’s where the hurt is coming from. Some deepen - settling, some relieve - falling
off. We might lose parts of ourselves throughout. (Strife.)
I can’t name every part of myself that I’ve lost. Where they used
to be and where they went and what now takes their places.
Surely some were rotting anyways, deserved to be left behind. So
this can be good. But a mark can leave a mark, or stay a mark.
Your skin is still beauty if it has changes. Yet, everything
is losing time anyways. Passing, moving on, roaming for more,
washing itself, clearing. No? In which of your scars do you not have faith
to fade? It’s quite relieving to understand I am nothing
more than myself. Nothing more than a body, as everything is.
There is nothing I must do so I might as well do what I dream.
Everyone is forgotten. Everyone has to understand that. (Relief.)
Breaking mornings as we might break bread, mornings breaking
as we might end our mourn from breaking. And if we mean to do it
as the sun rises, it works. And even though the sun
doesn’t come round too often, after some amount of patience
it still sure enough comes. And even though we don’t have any way to tell time,
and the uncertainty is a thing that has settled, we still have our hands
to count with. I’m sorry I don’t understand the days.
And when the day comes I forget how to say your name,
put our record on, our version of the notebook, long
lost from preservation in the memory.
I never wanted an image of you, but I want the image
these sounds evoked from you, as its own record.
Reminder that your laugh is a memory time isn’t
allowed to dilute, with respect. It is a record now.
A song I keep playing, on and on, again and again… (Peace.)
How many times did we miss a touch because we were running
for our lives? What was left lingering in the air because
we were grappling for devotion without eyes? When was
the untouched being suddenly the thing that felt smothered, and no
longer prospered? Why did we aim to break, in any form, when
we could have cried into each others hands? We may dance,
sway slowly for the rest of our lives.
I don’t want to stir when
our lives have been spent.
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Bloat
All I’ll ever need is to be devoted;
and peace. Riven by the arm
of persistence and reverie - his arm;
my love forever and from the past.
Riven as a pruning, our arms,
my love from forever past.
He keeps my arms down, to stop me
from scratching my skin open daily.
Maimed and named a beautiful figure.
Each day we brave the pale bases, find
something to kneel to. Heal to.
I will kneel to him but he must
make me kneel. I’ve always been unsteady.
But through us we get an annihilation
of ones self, for the sake of bodied sanity. To
get my body back. And so
sanity holds no leniency. Our hearts hold
a mutilation of sweetest remorse.
ᚨ
In truth: how disgusting it is to feel liberated.
Mutilation is mutilation. Meaning,
the blood doesn’t stop flowing because
you took the veins out. No matter how long
of time you take, sometimes he is
the only home that won’t ache.
I’ve got my humanity back,
he’s got more too;
A warring of sweetest remorse
and he still feels so Blue.
It’s the same man I know
he’ll always be, laughing
til the ribs beat out, hinges
wearing down. Keep on pulling them,
Like buttons, like buttons,
playing with my bones,
til we’re no longer gluttons.
If we had been some villains, then maybe I’d take my time,
but we break ourselves upon belief,
and I’ll be writhing before they call this a crime.
ᚺ
And with every breath we’ll recover,
as I always do, while
kissing the hands of my lover.
See it’s a rebirth, a full body change,
it’s only because of us that we’re not
still the same. So rather you’d consume me,
than me wither peacefully.
I’ll hold your heart with me
to ensure we’re resurrected in the right bodies.
ᚨ
No grief could keeps my arms down.
Lo, he is to mountains
as this grave is to me;
I’ll always dig my way to him,
disregard the cold and the dark.
I hear his voice and the ground gasps in wake.
I was almost skin and bones
but I’m so full of worship,
I’m almost something he owns
and I’m bloating with the sight.
His face between my hands:
beauty despite daylight.
And from a force
if the consummations anytime soon cease -
that is to say -
if he can’t consume me in the least,
how will I rest in peace?
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Iron and Will
Forward, out of the foretold
Seeing the light, feeling no warmth, I’ve settled
for imitation. The thawing persists.
My feelings barefoot, my thoughts wandering
through filtered rays; O too bright.
I want to hold what you would say, wondering
in my arms.
Sentimentality for what’s within reach is blinding me.
Strike yourself and tear your garments,
there is much still to do, I cannot fathom idleness
towards something as elusive as it is blue.
To let loose all the wrongs done and undone before
needs some thrashing ‘round, something bedlams bore.
Go, I tell myself, so we may see the lady of bright-handling eyes,
open or clasped hands, forgiveness.
Go, so we may rejoice.
*
Some consonants haven’t sat right in my mouth
and some of this weight won’t sit right in your hands -
Can I truthfully imagine what I cannot find?
I’ve longed now and sought never,
not in the way we’ll show in time.
I looked at my hands and my fingers were not as long;
how the scariest thing is to learn.
I hope you haven’t been just like me.
A shadow is there. I need to find it,
among other things that come with.
And, oh, I am so old
Never in my nights have I ever felt so very old.
Worn, flesh kneaded and pummeled.
I still don’t want to wait forever.
Sometimes it is not enough to hail arms high towards the sun,
even not to immerse my hands through the waves.
Everyone who has reached out for me
has been held by isolation. Believe I’m
writhing to break free from wordlessness.
I’ve tried to have faith before, with no form to worship,
or of a form unworthy; one of these days, I’ll make it
up to you.
I don’t want to sleep in the dark.
You do not see me for with what eyes?
Who of you have no wisdom in dark like this?
*
Be it possible for I to become Dawn?
My body will not outlive my soul but
these days I am trying to stay whole.
I’ve been forlorn but I’m trying to be alright.
Recently, I’ve been remembering
I’m going to get through this night.
I feel the nearing of summer, I think.
If not, then spring.
Being cold never did me any good,
still wading in sacrifices.
I’ll fall to my knees at a lovers sigh
Determined to find myself a better end,
damning fate as long as it meant my knees could bend.
Make your new love a home for me,
hold me through the rise.
I will not stay the same and my love,
each step just feels so high.
Walking out the flood,
I would be willing to be carried.
As long as I am here, in me,
all this is for you.
Held in the wake,
we’d move lightly.
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Until the Ceiling Breaks
ᚾ Where were you when the sky turned black?
As I found myself alone in a cut open scene
of dark masses and red lands
finding you was my purpose.
Where we may have just been was lost -
Reminiscing, an act of folly.
Alone in the landscape with a city far off
lightning smote through sky without a voice
though heads still rung with a horn of higher kind.
I began to run, fueled of trepidation
heading to a place where those left alive remained,
They all tearing ‘round and screaming;
ᚾ How is it that I know you’re here?
With the moon devoured and
the land slipping into the sea unseen,
we can feel it; they’re near, they’re all here.
A bit of Ragnarok settling in the cracks of our being.
No way up and the long way down,
no way back so the trail leads down
through Vigridr, one among the many
tragic faces, you could have seen me,
saw you emerge from behind hollowed wall, far, so far,
panicked so sweetly, fear ablaze through every pore,
ᚾ Were you, too, looking for me?
Shove through false carbonic criers
one mirage of a man between you and I, thrown
eastward and you were gone…
Along Wyrd, which sets hesitance in the name of belief, and truth,
I turned the corner, met not with reunion
lo male depiction of sorrow in defeat. And trickery.
Spasming lights and twisting fingers he turned
Skulls tattoos slinking against shadow
He is not the man you know
Stunned in horror, belief shredded by Godly presence,
Yet I stand beside calling for you, bellowing,
What has he done, what has become
of you?
Thunder-clash or ceiling crash, his smile full knowing,
Screaming and hollering, bangs from inside the rooms sky
ᚾ Are you what’s making the lights go out?
We’d have begged, I tell him now,
to feast to hearts content, satisfaction for
the Querent, as later foretold to change the ending.
ᚾ Did I ever find you?
Later, in lighted dream I thought he was you.
Kissing another to put it on record, gaiety from things that have
vanished; and remembrance hit me, never stop grieving you.
Losing my place.
This was no form of epilogue without you
still stuck in the ceiling.
Could never escape your face.
ᚾ Have I ever found you?
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Some Idols
Kissing slow while the devils sing
Bath water defies their callings, burns us more
Legs dance while they writhe in their circle
(It’s a symphony)
Skin steaming weighed down by their smothering
As even toned as The Veil
He holds her down in place
Submerge her still
No physical floating today.
Face scorched by what? By thee? By he?
Whisper breathily;
Every layer enraged,
rival intimacy for some
idol that lurks in the profit of pain.
Lust for sacrilege in a time like this
sends us laughing, throwing
our heads back and screaming.
Kissing to our faith -
Dancing to our testimony -
Screaming is your name,
So this is about what each person
worships in the silence and shadows.
This idol of suffocating vanity
sends our Idols of impiety and futile faith
into a frenzy, the purpose was abhorrent to us all.
Foul indications of worship; harmonious, sulking.
(Unto thy name give glory)
A hospitable attempt at mercy.
This cleansing water they’ve led us to -
that she let him into
alas does nothing for cleansing our souls in their eyes.
Elegance spent on some form of body
that will not praise the songs they tell her to.
She’ll shriek and sigh in reparation,
still laughing and calling out for our Idols
as they slink away in disgust.
Songs that foretell wrathful harmony, aye,
it’s delicate work.
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No Night
The amount of mornings wasted
in idleness, in forlorn bide,
compelling skies to ignore worse than they tried.
Alas, some beautifully scarce distraction.
Dare the sky to renounce some worship harsher than this.
Nights spent parading in streets
and stumbling down city roads,
chasing down the old love with missing grasp,
the push that last arose.
Hypnotic squealing lay fingers restless,
beloved by sheets of temporary glitter.
Exultant in the power she breathe safe, scorched by inexperience.
Bending their own necks back for the ability to accept some last love.
Breaking their necks for the chance to breathe.
Aware, daunted by the heart of the night;
the last good night together,
aware, refusing responsibility.
The motionless rattle of their emotional fumbling
will be what is remembered.
No longer marvelous bursts of adoration and blue rebellion,
but of hushed admittance.
The pleasure in broken judgement;
They love and must test judgement in kiss
taken for triumphant resolution.
Judgement in the denouement of this night
Judgement from the time they know taken.
Sever the rush of abiding taste,
he should not be remembered on lips anymore.
His hands no longer stained with her memory.
Her skin, faded. There’s nothing left to scratch away.
Losing mornings to testy rests, sheets burning their legs begging
to breathe. Confine her restlessly agreeable body
and let it cave in.
A dwelling peril, ardor thrown and halted,
mused by remembrance of hopefulness,
before driving back in agony.
Questioning worth through lack of amusement.
They silence memorized whispers with closed eyes.
In any attempt, seeing what they had heard.
Seeking the others declaration they’re each others
ill-fated one. She will idolize his declarations over
her weariness. He drains her of any resemblance,
who has allowed every bit of him
to overrule her. They see each other in slow motion,
his hasty movements barely passing by.
Rising, he condemns her without looking,
brazen with his own language and she
lays herself at his feet, arms raising.
In brief he lost to her, twining though him.
They met halfway, hands touching
expressions more delicate than any before.
Morning would still decide to disregard,
and they will not beseech upon understanding.
Feel like a holy night!
Lo, just hallow of torment
hanging in suspension
for which these nights known not
to prevail, merely allowing
the drawing of breath.
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Reap Cultured
I - Sex, Gelato, and Suicide
I haven’t seen my shadow for ages
but the last thing, in all honesty,
that I want is something else to haunt me.
O all the tales we tell.
We’ll do it for so long without noticing.
Without realizing they’ve done this to you.
Three years ago I met a boy who told lies.
I blocked a friendship with a coworker because I trusted what he said.
Convinced me he was a victim.
We are leaving nothing to shadow anymore.
You made yourself out to be a victim, so how could I have been yours?
This took me months to understand.
Of course we all believed, some still do.
I bet you’re lying to others about me the same way you lied about K.
Because of you I do not feel like a person anymore.
Crooked exploits tested chance,
the alarms not more than an afterthought.
II - Black Friday
You told me you loved to give me bruises,
Flattening wasteful veins and ensuring it’s a treatment.
You said my hands were too cold to touch you
when three glasses tasted numerous lewd kisses,
keenly aware of tasted obedience.
Praise the mutilated determination, I suppose, with
permission taken in unrecognizable stride;
I haven’t found any guide towards warming words.
I see some agonizing memories of you,
raking me for daring to leave,
an abusive stamp in the face of moaning.
And I didn’t wanna cry cause I can’t stand the sound.
Little does he say, he assures me it’s love, though I won’t let him say it. Why?
How could you love someone and not realize you’re traumatizing them?
You didn’t notice when I stopped smiling.
You looked down with eyes that have no reflection.
That is a reflection of your unaccountability.
Understood in this way,
my eyes could still not have been any heavier than his hands.
And if she had just taken a good look in my eyes I promise they reflected what I’d seen.
You and B cut through those who perished quietly.
I wonder how many there are;
Testimonies beholding the damned who’ve lived
without perception, and died without resolution.
III - Reaping
Dying until now,
The bones only mourn richly once
so tell me why I let you reap your wealth from mine.
My body is so weak, movement without muscles
the skin strapped to my chest is still just a pile of bones given one last night to live.
It’s taken me a moment to realize I was still breathing.
To feel my hearts still beating.
After, I indulged myself in needless wonder of foreign bedroom impositions.
But they’re his indulgences still and all. Still.
One day I looked down at my body and most of it wasn’t there.
I knew pieces were missing, but you
turned me into some lump of a body
who’s skin I can still hear breaking.
I need to stop my skin from breaking.
You fucked me with the words you wouldn’t say.
You fucked me over with the words you made me forget how to say.
You’re not always in the corner now,
but mostly just shove me down in the scar of morning
and stares disgustingly at me in the glare of night.
Tell me, what more could you have gotten?
Do you still want more?
Have you been reaping another now?
The bones already warned you once.
So do you feel real yet?
Does it feel real yet?
I asked: does this fucking feel real yet?
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Wandrers Nachtlied
In condemnation they spend together
The last of the light in the room,
A golden wash of vast triumph
To peer through ’til their doom.
Her figure of benevolence
Splayed under silk of sun
Hand driving up the centered body of him
Gentle confirmations set and done.
Chest bare in glory
wears the scars of change past,
his wishful hand caresses
her face he wished would last.
Lo, Youth corners due comforts
in a familiar, fretful sigh,
They should already hear the drumming
behind the sinking sky.
Something said it wouldn’t hurt at all;
Told them not to grieve,
Choosing consecration as a lullaby,
over chance that one might leave.
ᚺ
In reluctance small flames bore on
composing the shape of her for him,
through her frantic hymns and holdings
pushing through thought of the evenings dim.
The matter of a finite past so unannounced;
For what then is left of a hymn…
Sit up.
There’s a quiet that hung.
Sweeping on the skin behind his heart
Laying its cheek betwixt the shoulders among
hands seamlessly grinding to coalesce round;
He works against the churning
To hold her tendered face,
She too feels, what is lain for yearning.
There’s a silence swelling grasp round him;
this measure of grip on the flesh of her dreams
is a mercy holding a resemblance unknown and grim.
Her own hand scraping round his back to dull his fear,
able to contend with this sacrificial stoning;
Forsooth a vacuous tremble admitting
participation in the softest of destructions.
In last, her other laid fronted to hearts last rise, hitting;
A grey suppressing stun.
Dreams bore only the uttered beats of what’s being done
and the beast of all being knows
that the minds not half won.
Try and suffer the sight of thy recompensed fun,
No future in fury, time sets with the sun.
One most purified but sickened by silence;
They’ll never hear the howl reaching in the dark.
ᚾ
And she hummed
Spare this sorrow for us now,
We’ll be gone but just too long;
’Til the shrouds of old rhythm
Settle and again scrape along.
Cry not, whisper, for we won’t have the sense,
For this savoring is grander than beats of a day we’ve left alone.
For it is only one dear exhalation of soul,
For all life we can rejoice this union,
So final it does seem.
And for I’ll see thee in the morning
Through the hard, beating light
I’ll see thee as we now are
Without a caring burdens might.
And he cried
Falter, lo, thou canst whisper!
A day spent begone nor a night spent undone
May be rejoiced, for the price we must pay
To settle in this stone of longing.
An eternal tryst shaped in silence may provoke
A sunlit tragedy wandering
deep through the long night of resurrection.
Wottest thou not, no peace may be thine!
I know this be the toll to sanctify,
though can thou not question when?
The grey set in their mouths, scarcely felt.
His once mighty protest ossified and let fall,
for no longer could he bend.
Of grey which left them cold, dusty underfoot.
ᚢ
They’ve known each other for centuries
and choose what they had long ago.
In last passing of movement
they’re confined by hands and lips pressed
together in this stolen desire.
Where they wish to be
for the end of all life.
After the mountain-tops fall
and there are no breaths left of wind
in the silent exit of stone.
And so all of the humans
Couldn’t carry the weight;
And all of the humans
Couldn’t know what to say.
And he’ll cry out again.
But she’ll hum again.
Though not today;
Lured harmony in stone, is theirs.
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Candlelight
You are a ghost I cannot mourn
stowed unforgivably
in the temple of set time;
daily haunting spaces never crept in by you.
A violating pardon shadowed only in fear
for lack of another dalliance
for chance at this helpless dream;
Home held gently in your hand.
And I cannot sleep next to a body
So harmless and so harmlessly
So forgive me for venturing to with you.
Am I assuming you dare to be
the only exception
to every edict, for
how could I know it is you?
Please be you.
During the night before the travel
I’ve tortured myself for that I see you do.
The memory lives on in my body and
I can always recall the heat, moments
before considering myself unable to call for you,
over and over and over
nights again.
A deliberation worth something.
These forced out shadows
become my lover in the doorway.
/
I wake as I am not awake,
and sometimes he never does appear,
unknowing is the both of us
- what I’ll lament for in the morn.
But as I close my eyes and
the shadows are all there are
I call softly, feeling the air and mist sent
by the trees that don’t exist, he comes,
and holds me so dear.
You see;
To me
He whispered hallelujah
Not daring enough to speak
Touching feebly at the windowsill
Damp curtains and sprayed cheeks.
In this time of new divinity
I worry not for the sake of sanity but
of the ache the shine will bring to the room.
When sun startles us out of harmony
and memory can’t be trusted,
grieved be the feeling which sits still under
my skin, the shadow that stays wrapped round
my frame like an impromptu regression,
settling dips on my body so I cannot forget
where the ghost you’ve become has been.
A trembling justification that
need not be spoken to any. Only
we must understand the wyte of dim lighting.
And so again I brand my eyes to let the vacancy sulk down to see
The only time in which you’re allowed to live,
The only space in which you’re allowed to sneak
A longing, stronger than receiving
Torments the rewards I praised
Hips blue for redemption
In a love that lay uncontrollable;
For now.
/
Warmer pastures between skies
behind eyes before sunrise
sigh as I forget who we are.
A gentle pull on his silhouette
sets our time on a run.
Never quite missed as we
don’t linger on the daytime,
though it’s rarely ever night here, either.
But we will not question, not today, for awhile.
If this is what to become of eyes closed
then I shall never know again of sun.
And in one forsaken forgotten scene
of blurred senselessness, he is
solely shadow burned out by the blind.
Dear, what was your name?
Learnt over precious wasted mornings:
The absence of his shadow
haunts me more than the shadow itself.
I didn’t wake up in mine own body today
Alas, again, in only my body I rose.
Chained to the howl of reason
I sleep until another sun goes down
and I am in need of dim light.
So Love in the passageway,
Deliver me my mind
you underlit menace,
set in a laconic pass-over;
Hand me my mind.
Give me control to understand in time.
In today’s wasted day I ask you to:
live another life for someone
and then live some other life
for me.
These are the candles that never get to finish burning;
It’s the doorway that doesn’t belong to you and me.
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𓅇LOUDON
For some time we wondered
Did we take your will when we left for sky’s harbor?
I try not to believe your love hung so much
you’re all the way at worlds border.
So careless it must’ve been
But we did it with a sense
One day again I’d see my kin,
Wasn’t aware of henceforth expense.
I’d tell you I adore,
Though I couldn’t stay with you on the floor.
You didn’t like me ground level anyways.
The son on nights watch,
the brother scarce afraid.
Ask for me in the water
From the boat passing through the worlds,
I promise I’ll be waiting for you there.
The fishing boat of your dreams.
With matching skins and sweaters
we were destined for a rise,
lamentations scarce kept memory strong
when someone strong still dies.
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"We never found the answer but we knew one thing...”
I am 19! I’ve decided to love life and only include things worth loving!
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