Scribbled Thoughts

Take me to a river

and let grief consume,

screaming into a rushing waterfall

and choking with the dead,

while my body

curls into a ball

of pain

and anger

and all engulfing loss

at what they deserved

but what I couldn’t deliver.

Collide with anger

then feel it steam out,

wondering where it

hissed from

to begin with.

Harbour the dead,

shelter them from the world

who never even knew

they were meant to exist.

Cling to the corpse

a little longer

and pretend

miracles

can revive the gone.

Advertising his gaze

to any potential matches,

selling himself

with lingering looks

and flicking interest

with a tilt

that rolls

prospectives closer.

Your own body

lies to you,

convincing you of one thing

while the world says another.

Common sense and self-preservation

screams to brace for the harsh truth,

but your body

is still confused

and you are left

with painful hope.

The other side

of the promise

to escape loneliness,

the fear of mortality

forgotten

as death claims each,

but bonds are reborn,

tears remembered

to form chains

and imprison

those seeking change.

Black sack

filled with teeth,

did they eat

the heart

or was it dead

before it could

ever beat.

Scan the insides

to see what remains,

did you leave

with an old-brown mark

or are you still nestled,

ready to grow

and thrive

and burst free.

Bleeding out an olive

or just a moment

to reflect on

what could be lost.

Mourning and optimism

has a very

thin line.