Dark Waters

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I’ve been spending time, trying to stay afloat

Refusing to drown in the murky waters you have left me in.

You filled the water to my chin,

watched me fight for my breath.

You let the paranoia of my own defeat set in,

pushed me to suffocate, rather than help me swim.

I continued to tread water, on and on

Too afraid to give up and too exhausted to move forward.

Without feeling, you watched

As I exerted all my energy into rising waters

You allowed me to drain myself completely of life,

determined to find solid ground.

Frantically, my arms flailed.

I never give up a fight.

I knew you got us here,

I knew you were the reason I was drowning.

Yet in one last desperate attempt to restore us to sanity,

in one last fleeting moment,

I gave you a final chance to redeem yourself –

To pull me up from the depths.

Ignoring my instincts,

I reached for you.

You took my hand, as my legs began to give out

and I felt hope once again.

Then you let the water rise, while looking in my eyes.

You watched me inhale,

before I sank slowly

Surrounded by the weight of your betrayal.

Only then, as the water filled my lungs, did I finally feel peace.

Only then, did I let go.


Looking for a Muse

Every artist has a feed of inspiration… I do my best creating when I am inspired. Usually my losses inspire me, but I have met a new kind of loss. I have met the loss of my muse.

A few things made me buzz in the months prior. I had met something in my life that led me to create out of happiness, out of confusion and out of love. For once I was creating while I felt alive. I had become so familiar with creating after I had lost that life. I was buzzing, here and there, to and from different emotions, reveling in each one of them. I was embracing my muse, and I was running with it.

Before this series of events I had not held any inspiration in my hands and analyzed it so freely. It was always after the fact, I would never create about what inspired me. I had learned to create in the midst of a loss of inspiration. This time it was different.

I did not let all feelings fly free range, run amuck within my mind. This time, I reigned them in, looked at my inspiration and fed off of it. Now, I am meeting the part in the story where that muse leaves me. And in turn, the things that I have created within this half of a year, they leave me as well.

These things, this art, this capturing of a heart and it’s musings, have all submissively turned to dust. Turned to dust within my grasping hands.

And the same as before, I squeeze harder and harder to hold on to any bit of energy I may have conserved. I squeeze the life out of my creativity, the hope out of my soul, and the sparkle that has been the only captivating factor of these brown and pained eyes.

I squeeze so hard trying to hold onto what makes me imaginative, what keeps me afloat, that I have crushed these things into pieces that are just too unsubstantial to be able to put back together.

I have met the part of my story where my muse leaves me, and I turn from amused to reclusive. From fire, burning so dangerously hot that I had peaked at a blue state, able to melt the things closest to me. Then with falling flames and flailing arms, I retreated, to a place where there is no fuel left for me to burn from, where there is nothing for me to ignite, and it is as if, I’ve cycled back into an earthly oblivion. As if I have finally, inevitably and despairingly, turned to a grey and purposeless pile of ash.


One Missed Call

Ten digits appeared without a name

the backlight switched on before i turned my head

I counted the numbers, 

and then counted the sounds

so many times I had heard it from the other end of the line

anxiously awaiting relief from your voice

the tone of it, soft around the edges 

at the beginning and end of syllables

that is where I could hear your vulnerability.

my name danced around your tongue, 

caught between shallow breaths.

ten different numbers created a familiar sequence

placed next to each other at random, 

engraved into the back of my thoughts.

I wasn’t sure I would ever see them again, 

and by the time I had they didn’t make sense.

there is an image behind the digits, 

as the screen of my phone turns from black I can see it.

A reminder of the life I live now, 

and the things I have created.

All of those things came before ten digits appeared without a name.

All of them came after I convinced myself that familiarity was safe, 

but it wasn’t always worth it.

Then your number left my view again,

and was quickly disregarded

Put on a back burner that was never to be warmed

with ideas of what could have been 

A message left me with the sweet serenade

of someone that you used to know, 

trying to know who you had been.


We come into this world, in spurts of agony and fits of tears
Our eyes open to light, and we are awake
We are conceived in passionate love, in moments of weakness
In subtle hints of vulnerability and grasping hands
We are aware of what is always occurring with new eyes
Our bones receive energy through the nurture of those around us
Growth becomes the only way to survive,
as our brains pick up on what is right and wrong
Morals are shaped as we see them,
knowledge booms through the observation of nature
We come to know how to think, and what to make of things
We come to know great loss and abandon,
to live through infinite laughter and wide smiles
Our hands feel the skin of someone we admire,
our hearts begin to race when we fear darkness.
Fingers trace photos of years we don’t remember,
looking at those who have been a part of us.
For better or for worse, we share secrets with the ones we trust
acknowledge a faith that is far bigger than ourselves.
We try to know the greatness within our hearts, and running through our bodies
Even if it was invalidated by unkind words,
or degraded by our own self-esteem.
We come into this world, and all too soon it is taken from us.
Sometimes it is the thoughts you couldn’t put into words,
or the words that you couldn’t find the time for.
For others it is the instant that we wish we could have changed,
or the strength that we wish we could have given.
So unknowing and hopeful, we wake up in this world.
Then how conflicted and fearful we go out.
One thing stays the same,
even after years of unlearning our initial purity.
We come into this world, and then as we leave it,
Our eyes open to light, and we are awake.


the music never sounded so good
than it did when i heard it with you
we’re high above the clouds,
floating over white peaks
the stars shine still the same
but they seem so dull tonight
as my chest tries to escape
the weight of all your implications
i tried not to assume,
but that’s all i had left to do
when the words were gone
and guessing became less of a game
and more of a way of life
im back here again
where i was that day when we left it all
up to interpretation and up to ourselves
where are you now?
when the music is playing and im on the sidelines
standing in the shadow
of what was then, and what is now.
what was it to you
other than what it seemed to me
where are you now?
when all i ever needed to know
was that you would be there
im here, at the baggage claim
and there you were, half sitting on a ledge
looking at me like you could never bear
to look at anyone elses smile
im here, at the baggage claim,
and there you were, asking me why
i never looked back,
telling me you watched me fly away
then there you were,
and i was a stranger to you,
sitting at the baggage claim
wondering when i would take a flight
and find a place
where i couldnt find you,
around every corner in my memory.

Sent from my iPad