It’s as if nothing makes sense until you’re sad.
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Every day the world gets a little bit longer. The days feel a little bit somber. Nostalgia builds to understand my emotions as a child. It’s not a type of sadness. It’s bittersweet moments I cling to. It’s feelings I used to understand. I realize the moment is far from here, yet feels so close. It’s what gets you in the end. It’s what makes you feel far but near.
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I wind into to wind outward. We broke each other to build forward. Some say true love hurts while some say it doesn’t. I believe everything hurts and to hurt is to gain. You build from memories, you build from past mistakes. Some errors aren’t quite detrimental as you gain the knowledge to learn past them. It’s up to you how you use that understanding and it’s up to you how you accept to take forth. You dive into the personal to realize the varying layers of yourself with intention to battle the previous which has been built.
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The older I get the more I realize things I miss. Eyes, vibrations, touch, scent of memories. We take things for granted because they don’t mean anything in that specific moment. Yet moments build and meanings form, memories create and a soft sadness underlies. However, it’s not sadness, it’s bittersweet and as you grow, you realize to be instead of to take.
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i’m slipping on lies of your mind
your tongue tastes like cheap wine on a cold night
and i’m tangoing in thought
in a dark room with cold pictures
twirling your fingers like your spine against mine
it takes to breathe
it creeps to see
your eyes turn to ease
my knees seem to buckle for thee
and i hate to tell you
how much i cold sin for you
the shadows play in tongues at night
your neck breaks like midnight
and i’m swaying in the background
in a dark twisted picture
this mirrors seem to frost
this is what hell feels like
and i take to breathe
i became to be
i sin for thee
i bask to be under seemingly
my mood twists in night
i wish this was in hindsight
the colors changing
the lines are moving
is this even real
am i even here -
i’m lying on ends of night
twisting turns on beds that once felt nice
i kissed the hands of many like wet malachite
and i twirl in and out
taking photos with my mind
i’m lying in a coma and it seems all but right
making lefts to take edges
words and rhythm, wealth seems to be nothing
to tango in the thought of everything
it’s so tempting to be on flight
i twirl in power, but feel no emotion
i talk in tongues because they can’t feel the feeling of this
to understand what this is
and i take no thoughts to bed
it feels like a coma, it’s so dark in here
and i bare the thought to speak
i rhyme in pure poetry
to die like this would be my heaven
to take the feeling of flying
to touch the air would be something
the clock ticks and the corners keep pulling
have you ever fallen asleep in pure hostility?
that’s what this feels like
to break in edges
to break beds
to smash plates at walls
the power to feel it all
but say nothing
i dance in my emotions
a drug to feel something
hidden sentences in paragraphs i said
the humming is all but haunting
words i said did come crushing
yet it was far too long, far too fast
a million miles too stretched
the oceans once spoke
and i listened to everything -
I used to feel you in night. How the clouds touched the waves and the way you said alright. I still feel your hair, I still see you there. In corners of doorways, wandering to wander. It was never about you. It was never about I. It was about we. The stimulation of brains to pulse towards. Some things seem of importance to some while importance lies in the eyes of the beholder. Neither are wrong, but time is only enough for some.
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Nostalgia hits because it was real. It was pure innocence of a moment. It wasn’t trying, it wasn’t based on ego. Nostalgic moments are times of existence when nothing truly mattered. It was you, your thoughts and yourself in a second. It’s a feeling of purity in a moment so truthful to your own being. That’s why it mattered enough to make an impact.
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Depth runs as far as you allow it. You have the movement to control it. You have the ability to consume to it. I still remember how you spoke. I still feel the vibrations of how you held the door. It’s how you take it. It’s how you allow it. It’s how you consume moments. It’s what you want to do with them and where you want to take them.
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i twist in oasis
to turn pages in certain angles
i begin to be, just to find time to–
burn men in edges of sin
lick the tips of their necks
to taste the pain i play in dangers at night
spinning in emotion of darkened masochism
i break windows to see holograms
different angles in deepened motions
you were a gold mine and i danced on your fault lines
drinking white wine, making the fault all mine
i dance in havoc like that time in venice
when your fingers stroke my spine
felt like we were intertwined in damp power lines
i touched your mind
the rhyme was ill timed
like your tongue on my neck
i felt it again
twists in bits in sins i play with
the back of your head in shadows at night
looking to follow forth but too dark to see it
you left a mark
yet i played it
you felt too much
i barely felt it
you cried at night
i’d lie if i said i didn’t
yet you dance in moments
to remember them
your face is engraved in the darkest of sin
i’ll always remember how you said it
a dire moment stolen before it was spoken
