Monday, September 10, 2018

this is not a poem this is stupid


Last night I did a spell to find the words to say to you
To fix this liminality, not the thrilling kind, the kind of slow death
Even as I watched the candles burn down, I felt the answer was silence
That the words I needed were empty air

And this morning I understand

I see how I cannot wake with him and walk with you
I see how you have frozen me out in the dying heat of August because it’s what I asked of you
I see how incapable I am of choosing what fades
Sometimes things just die
Sometimes they will return in new shapes
Sometimes the fight for survival is merely a beating

Tonight I will cast another spell

I will burn thread and whisper a prayer I penned myself
I will let me go in the wavering light of the first sliver of fresh moon
I will let you go too late, as always
I hope you can forgive me
I hope you find a place of peace that spares you much more suffering
I hope somewhere there is one for me

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