Down the Rabbit Hole

[Sensar]

breath
flowing
in
and out
in
and out
One two three four
i have time
i have time
for breath.

[Sensar]

I am currently preparing my submission for the AWR anthology, and have been re-reading and revising some of these old poems I'd like to submit, as well as preparing a few new ones. I thought, in the spirit of what this thread once was, and how meaningful it was to have your guys' praise (though it seems I was surprisingly silent about it at the time), I thought I would share them here first.

home

if home is
where the heart is
then i am living six feet under
with you and you

stars

bless this day-ridden night
star-woven bright
moon-laden light
simple delight

curse a night-dark day
though soon it wears away
beating thickly
weaving sickly thoughts

i pray
for release from myself
where ive dwelt deep within
a self-afflicted mind
sometimes free
but always me
pretentious and unkind

trembling fingers

nnngh
verrinnnaah
aaaaaaaaaahh
ieemmm
nnn!

enfolding

nothing so cold
as remembered heat

[James]

One of the things I love most about poetry is its brevity. I mean, I love epic poems and beautiful, long, descriptive poems, but those poems that can say so much with so little are what thrilled me the most.

I really loved 'enfolding'. Those two lines are great.

[Inkdrinker]

You bastard. You've said more in six words than I could say in a thousand. That's some Hemingway-level shit right there.

[Sensar]

the wind outside

He twists and turns and groans. I settle next to him, lightly brushing aside the strands of hair resting on his forehead. I can feel an ache welling in my cheeks, in the corner of my eyes. My jaw is tensing with it.

“I am so unhappy,” he cries. “Why am I so unhappy?”

“Sweet,” I say, “I’m unhappy. I’m unhappy too. I’m unhappy too. I’m unhappy too. Everyone is unhappy.”

“Why,” he asks, “why can you say that to me? Why is everyone so unhappy? Why am I so unhappy?”

“Sweet,” I say, and I brush his strands of hair and the ache trickles down my cheeks and drips salt on my lips and presses them together and scrunches my eyes. “Happiness just doesn’t stay. You can’t always be happy. You can’t always be happy. You can’t always be happy.”

He sobs, and clutches his arms around me. His fingers dig against my spine, clutching. I wrap my arms around him, and my palms press against his bones, grasping. I want to grasp him so tight our flesh merges and I can take all that unhappiness inside of me and help him truly but I can’t just break him and take him like that. It’s not fair, and the ache is starting to dribble from my nose.

Outside a branch knocks against the glass and I notice. I don’t look up from this bundle of pain but I notice anyway and I feel like I’ve betrayed him. I’ve betrayed him by noticing something else. I hug him even tighter and my wish to enfold and to merge becomes stronger but because I noticed something else it’s over now. Because I frowned at him yesterday it’s over now, I betrayed him and I can’t possibly ever have my wish to make him happy.

His sobs are guttural now, not voiced, just stupid, undignified sounds. My tears are ugly now, not streaming, just messy, unrefined, mixing with snot that I can’t clean because I can’t let go. We look at each other for a moment.

“I’m so unhappy,” he cries. “What is this? What is this? Who am I to be so unhappy? Who am I to deserve happiness? Why can’t I even be happy about being unhappy?”

Outside a breeze knocks a branch against the window and I can’t respond.

I hug him tighter.

Outside the tree knocks in the wind.