Skip to main content

Under My Tears

Under my tears
I lay in wait again
To be torn apart
From illusionary friends.

The heaviness of this
Has dropped me on scuffed knees
The rawness burns.

I'd lift my head to see a way
But the blows have left me shrinking.

The pain drips constantly
But not enough to drown
Just enough to push the salt deeper.

Under my tears
I want to scream to extinguish the noises
Why so many unfamiliar voices.

Oh the sea of torment
Is on me now
Pulling me further from tranquility.

Servility has manacled my ankles
No utterance away from this absolution
Close my breath
Then close my eyes.

               --Tristan, February, 2013

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

The Morning After

                              Eyes out my back window             Lost in thought             Ankle fog             Low rumbling tide             Shifting sand Precarious anchored sea grass   Winds whistle on salted weather             Vacant deck             Adirondack chairs             Gray scabbed             Two empty glasses         ...
Post a Comment
Read more

Falling

Teasing flame to glass, spinning the stem between dirty tips of fingers. Selfish again, to those with expectations. Barely above the skin, as cold bones etch their structure through the surface. Alone in preference. Exhausted by stepping on hearts stepping through hearts. Yesterday, I saw my reflection in a glass bowl, the distortion studied me. Today, I saw a reflection in the mirror, a figure with hollow eyes. Who is this? Fear briefly appeared. Without permission, the wind bullied its way through a crack in the window. The intrusion carelessly blew a post-it note to the floor. Have a nice day! A sweet yet bitter reminder of someone I once cared about. I let it where it settled, understanding it would be too heavy to lift. A photo of my father and I posing with a couple Chinook salmon, remained magneted to the face of the refrigerator.  My eyes burned in sadness in shame. The pain was aggressive. I did not want to e attached to any of it. I retreated t...
Post a Comment
Read more

Unchaining Myself From Prison Scars

                                                                            By Tristan   Prison does not suit me but I wear a prison suit that fits me. The neck-tie tightening each day, asphyxiation attempting to determine me.   My heart’s shattering desires attention, yet is appropriated by moments of vulnerability guarded in fleeting shadows.   I am alone here but never alone. The proximity of bodies that are confined with me, tide like a dense fog moving in on me.    Traveling on a stranger’s eyes flowing like lava through blackened skies, I wait for an hour where I am not so alone. I am always waitin...
Post a Comment
Read more