30 Dec 2015

Storms (The Fey at Dusk)

-Drafted in September 2015

The bed is empty without her in it.
I feel like even I am not in that bed, that I don't belong there. I don't belong in myself and I don't belong to these tears.

Wind caresses the shatter.
The stillness murders the skies. And the bonds of the vessels sailing my mind are drifting.

They call out, the sailors and captains of those murky seas. They say "Listen to Dark, blazing metal, and free yourself of your codependency." They say leave the cups and dishes wherever the fuck you want, and don't ever feel guilty about wanting to play X-Box.

And then I see something of hers lying on the floor. Still - like I need a physical reminder of her only-yesterday-presence when the drapes over my mind are saturated in her essence.

And I have no idea if I'm even on this earth let alone in some kind of phase of working it out with the woman I love. I have no idea if I should betray my unreasonable need to post this to the whole world, or keep it drastically private out of fear.

Who's voice? Who's voice commands my soul, and tells me what I'm allowed to feel, what I'm allowed to express.

The Darkness is growing in the storm of my eyes, and I have begun to hurt others and her with my stained soul.

An End would be welcome. An end would be welcome. An end, would be the end of nothing. And the beginning of nothing else.

Instead, begin again.

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