the price i pay

friends concerned naturally but it's not like i am asking anyone to carry my burdens or pay the price i have to pay for the choices i make

there is a muddy swamp and im sinking deeper into it. i wriggle, i try different things but the hold is strong big blue has come back with a force. 

he asks and of course he notices he always does

but there is no time

i can't put words to this in broad daylight

i need to lie down and whisper into the darkness of his embrace

my heart hurts and strangely it is in my right chest. everything is upside down.

it's not like i didn't know.

Gold

 You teach me silence. 

My words stumble and dissolve.

Only because 

It's safe

In your arms

They turn into liquid gold. 

Ghost Malls

 

Prompt:

It was a charity shop

Malls are scary they are just full of possibilities

And hopes

And lights.

Story: I imagine everytime how they will ghost the towns one day. Perhaps the possibilities seeped through the polished glas door fronts and meandered into second use kinda things. Like the charity shop. Then turned into a practice room for DJane workshops. Later perhaps, on the roof there will be a skate park and then, finally, the shadows will eat through the hopes and the lights and leave the bare bones, the skeletons of this errant civilization behind. Maybe a dancer will slide down the broken escalators and write with blood on the broken marble floors. Perhaps a poet will shudder slightly and write about the woes of something, long ago, called capitalism. How everything seemed so lost, how people ran from one shop to the other and couldn’t find a way out. Exits in different languages, signage gone wrong. How charities tried to wash consumer’s souls but no matter how long they scrubbed, less and less money came off their pale and ashy skins and tattered fragile minds. The way hopes were sold in plastic bottles. The way lighting misled people to buy more and breathe less deeply. The way how green plants meandered through the cracks and found hold and brought oxygen back to the grey. The way people fled the cities and wept in the remaining forests.

in the wait

the voice whispered to step back, create space, but I declined, couldn't hold it, wrote anyway. i write and you respond in drops, but you say you felt it was coming and that maybe that's why you had a good energy today. we seek cause and effect in each other's embrace. but there is nothing like that. 

the voice whispers again. okay I say but I write once more, I want to wear your voice like a coat, here I am begging at your door but the door has closed, I can feel it energetically: I need to give you space.

but how much space should I give? is it to follow my fears or my wisdom?

so I do what I thought I wouldn't do, with you. i delete the message.

still

after you left, there was a deep exhaustion, not the bad kind, settling in. i felt like sinking to the ground, held by water but distinctly heavier than it. 

like a leaf slowly swirling through thick autumn air. leisurely, but tinted with light blue melancholy. 

the next day's journey is rough. grumples. a feeling of struggle, with what, remains unknown. the fall comes after, early morning search run after an alarming message, finally finding you and your demons convening in a bar.

the awakening, slowly, hidden in a cave, soft mumbles and secret sharings. you have finally arrived, it took so long you whisper. i feel shy but also expansive. whatever the future brings, at least we are treading a path of courageous truths.