before I destroy myself,
maybe I will turn to the stars &
maybe their prescribed remedy
will be simple as a quiet night
& graceful as an ancient pillar
holding its counterpart of a structure
with full confidence & empty resentment.
or, perhaps it will be destruction after all—
but should I not turn to the stars
that have lived & died lives insurmountable
in comparison to my own,
is to fail to face the purpose of my life
& to accomplish to cower the right to my death.
When you look at a rainbow and the colors do not illuminate your soul that is when imagination has died—but unlike humans, imagination is subject to resurrection. Beware—should you bring back the dead just to neglect it again—the haunting will never end.
when we come marching with steps unnumbered then cross to the broken land measured by a crooked crown we will fight onward
when you and i should find heaven in the middle of
a hundred dark nights
it will be our togetherness that hails the true kingdom.
should you prefer it caved in,
I will support your destruction.
should you deny it as shelter,
I will understand your neglect.
should you hurt then bury me under the rubble,
I will always follow your command.
to shield me from life’s storm
is not a job for such a mortal structure—
but for the abusive hand of love to demand.
gemnah maley bray
the passengers sang and the man placed himself inside the song he couldn't remember the words to. inside the melody & entwined with the harmony, the song kept him feel a safety long estranged—a heart beat he’d forgotten sounded once more. suddenly, the words came back like they'd never left—for now, he knew them by heart.
The thought of all things unknown
brings us mortals to our knees,
While nature, oceans, and skies above
smirk knowing the secrets that they keep.
z e r o
The invisible weight of self-hate
is exactly the number I’d kill to see
on the scale.
A world with you spins on an axis even Hercules is too weak to stop. It’s a world constantly forgiving the moon for gazing into those seas for eyes but too bashful to say hello. Its a world of its own with a core more pure than all of the oxygen exhaled by angels in heaven and more potent than all of the blood spilled by superstitious humans always crossing their heart and hoping to die. A world with you—it is all that life could ever promise me to be.
my love for you made wishes uneasy and shooting stars freeze in place. my yearning for you had superstitions throwing in the towel and dreams begging nightmares to wake them. you were my impossible to believe and more impossible to leave. best of all it was i that was yours, too.
The deep gashes were scabbed over and the healing caused an itch I was more ashamed of than irritated with. I was healing. But, that would make it all over. That would make it possible to move on. I didn't want that. Despite what I may have claimed or even will continue to. And so—frightened of the idea of being forgotten by you and the idea of forgetting us—I sat on the edge of the bed you no longer sleep in inside the bedroom you no longer come home to each night built inside the building that I haven't been able to call home since you were here last and I slowly peeled the scabs off of my heart. I must reopen the wounds, I said to myself. I must let the blood breathe the air. I must resurf...
There’s a foolish bravery in stepping toward something so unpredictable and dangerous like Love. It’s for fools, they say. Fools like us because we listen to one organ filled with feelings that beat as loud as it’s whines. We always listen. Even though we’re afraid of heights, we agree to walking on stilts atop motes of fiery seas filled with heart crushing goblins and mesmerizing faeries with glistening smiles stocked with a venomous poison labeled Love. We take the chance all because that damn Heart says he’s thinking it just might be worth the fall.
I don’t have to wonder about all the things you never said,
for your diary comes to me each night to read bedtime stories found inside itself instead.
we never consider what it is
that stars get to wish upon—
and where it might live
and if it might be shooting
and if it is bright & galactic
and if that ever hears them.
we never consider that
maybe it is
Because the plain truth is that
Sticks and stones can break your bones
Words will slaughter you.
Words will tear you apart long after they’ve been read and ripped up. Long after the ashes of the pages of the book they were written in blows away with the passing of the late November wind. Words will haunt you on even your sunniest days. Words? They will etch themselves into your brain and carve themselves into the walls of your heart, decorating the caves of the ventricles like hieroglyphics.
Words? No, no they don’t hurt. They kill.
Sticks and stones,
Bones will break.
They’ll fucking rip your heart out with bare hands and eat it whole.
You didn’t lose me, no no.
You knew right where I was and you knew right where you pushed and you pulled and you placed me.
You didn’t lose me, no no.
You threw me in the lost & found and pretended you’d never heard of such a box.
They pretend until they forget why they were pretending in the first place. They simply forgot what it was like to want you because to have you wasn’t nearly as enticing.
I write shitty poetry after I read pretty poetry and I hope my dead poet friends forgive me
Memory, forgotten and bare,
broke the innermost organ
placed amongst the body of the soul,
Sturdy like plastered marble
covering mystic floors of Zeus’
Heaven. A reign mistaken for
hunger pushed aside and forced
to be blinded when the art of
reminiscence found its place in
present time. Days and lifetimes,
lost — all those fair and tumultuous.
Some of life cannot fathom to face
what it once was—some cannot
allow their Past to be framed on the
shelves of their future.
Some sands of times must be swept
away with the wind without any
evidence of their visit—
without any proof of their existence.
skipping medication for days
& writing letters to myself
calculate angles of the heart
& dimensions of the soul
gemnah maley bray
To want to remember? Do you have any idea what that means—what remembering comes with? Memories. Memories—that sadistic word—romanticized and nurtured by the ones that have no idea what a shattered heart beats like or what suffocating because you’re forced to breathe feels like. Memories are mean. Memories are cold. Memories are memos of a time that is gone and cannot come back—they are reminders: bull shit reminders and alarm clocks ringing off the hook that try to tell my heart over and over again how you’re not coming back. Memories are fucked up phone calls from clones of the people that have forgotten me. They are constant rings on a doorbell of a home I can’t sleep in because it’s bare...
Thoughts of your existence
place a lump in my throat and
I’ll admit it, my sweet angel,
it’s hard to swallow.
What’s your name
And what’s your angle?
Whos to blame
for the the hearts you strangle?
The trees sneezed and the grass dried
The air coughed and the clouds cried
Nature was sick and her mother was gone
Abandoned somewhere between dusk & dawn.
standing at my tombstone,
i watch the ghost of me clutching
a jar filled with tears of crocodiles;
of those that wish they cared
before my name was engraved
with a death date to read
because their conscience screams
and their grudge bleeds.
i decide not to haunt them—
their regret will do that for me.
I think I’d like to sleep
I know I’d love to die
I ask my soul to keep
the dangers deep inside.
what did you want me to say? what—that you reminded me of heaven? that you were all I ever hoped for? that my heart skipped at the thought of you? that being without you wouldn’t be bearable? that I wouldn’t dare jeopardize making you mine? that time has come to a halt with you gone?
well, guess what? I’ve never been to heaven and I gave up on hope long before you ever showed up. my heart is too focused on living to give a fuck about what my mind’s skipping around about. life never has been bearable and game shows never were my cup of tea. above all, there’s no thing I trust more than the one ticking consistently each and everyday so don’t you try to tell me you’d ever have the power to chan...