silent sonnet

this is a silent sonnet for a moment that never came to pass
for a person i've never met, i love you, but i'm glad i never asked.
this is about a struggle i've never faced, a pain i need not embrace.
for a memory that doesn't exist, floating like a leaf that never fell
on a lake that never swelled. this is a story that need not come to an end.
this is everything i'm glad to be, this is for all of you i've kept away from me.
this is patience, patiently walking. forward, alongside you, to meet in some other season.
for a fruit that will ripen, from something slowly sprouting, from within two people
who may not have met yet, who may never meet again, who may meet some day,
who may stay away, who may remain, who may, who may, who may today.

the arms of comfort are binding you

Starchild

You're an egg waiting to hatch. Lit ablaze at the strike of my match, born again when I've taken you apart, shown you reality and given you a place to start. You are nothing new, you are the tears of a galaxy, you are everything inside of me. You are where I want to be.

the story of the city that lost you

Darling deserter

I know you said you'd never hurt us
But what you're doing feels like murder
Please don't ever sleep
'Cause you'll dream of a better life
And I just want to be be at your side
 for one more night

Into This Box

You are yesterday

A self, exhumed

Shackled by wild doubts

Inside the tomb

Into this box, I place my statue,

Just meters tall, survives the Fall

Cracks climbing your sides, you won’t live for long.

So I set you down, close this chest

Put my cold to rest

This describes me almost exactly.

Autumn Deluge

Autumn Deluge, how could I Fall for you
never in my wildest doubts did i think
something so grey could become so blue

flooding out the summer tunes, i only hear the haze of you
sinking in the sea of leaves, a bright red blue coursing through
filling up my lungs, the sharp grey ash from a summer passed
reminding me of what i had, and what could contain the vast

like a tree without a past, or a dusk that doesn't last
you left too late and you came too fast



i can't say i know what inspired this.

Redding

 Jake Redding

I wake violently; it is the Sunday following a night of lewd fun and binge drinking. An artist needs his vices. Outside, all I can hear is the sound of people stepping on fresh snow. Marching along, they all make the same noise, even with such differently sized feet.

I slip into my own comfortable footwear and freshen up for the day. Mundane moments follow as I decide if today’s a red day or a blue day. I decide on red. I put on a red lumberjack outfit, complete with a disheveled and bearded wild man. I stare myself down with vicious confidence, eat a small breakfast and leave. It’s time to work.

The work day is predictably difficult. I’ve been working with the local lumber company, Dorian Lumber Co., to help prepare for the coming cold season – it doesn’t pay well, but it finds other ways to be rewarding – and besides, my tastes aren’t too expensive. It allows me to practice my small-talk, and keeps me centered on what it means to be social. Miserable though it may be, I live for those moments among other men – not because I care for them, but because these men, with their empty eyes and sleepless nights, remind me of myself. An artist always has a mirror handy. We are the metronome.

After work we head to the bar and trade stories about our recent successes with women, and try to recollect last night’s events. I vaguely recall threatening to burn down an outhouse, which unfortunately never happened. We laugh it over, we work through our shame, we drink some more. We glance at the small TV mounted at the corner of the bar, and we watch in horror.

an example of why i should just write a story instead.

perched atop my desk, you rest
it's late in the evening, and i'm in search of
a sweet thing- you aren't so flawless,
but the day is ending and i've cut all my losses

you're there when i need you, you're vast and
unrelenting- your love is unending.
but you're cruel when you misspeak, you're
the issuance of death and the formality of ends

sweet thing, you're faceless
and last i heard, you're sour to the tasteless
it comes from deep down, in the sine of
your intestines - you brag of good intentions

silence bound to a button, you can be
twisted to a whisper - only a whimper.
you are a voice in the dark, moving bodies
swimming around, you are resonating sound

Words Unspoken, Silent Devotion

/they say home is where is where the heart is/so i keep my heart inside me/





It's one of those odd feelings I have to(night?)day, I can't quite describe. I guess I could call it "forward". I'm moving towards something.
I dream so much more now. Peculiar things, stuff that doesn't make sense. I dream of being in love, which is the most out-of-the-ordinary of all (that's never happening again). She's a shapeless thing in my dreams - I keep coming back to her and she's got a different face each time. But I love her dearly, and passionately, and it's in my best interest to please her. She causes euphoria, nostalgia, and excitement. I don't believe in dream interpretation, really, but I do believe in the power of the human mind. I am definitely in love something, and I think it might be music.

exsanguinating fury

I was a bluebird once,
but you clipped me nightly
(because I gripped too tightly).

my feathers earned, but later burned
I've grown into a monster now,
no longer blue, and older too.

i've grown my teeth, gritting and grinding
so i can bare them, snapping and smiling.

it's summer still, and now i'm freezing.
slighted them, her bones now twisting

among him and many, flayed and furious
skin grows back, and i'm very curious.

this anger is tidal, crashing over you;
but the moon is too, and leaving soon.