why these moods?
my life is too heavy.
my brain is too grey.
my voice is too far removed.
my hope is too hardened.
my flame has been snuffed by my own devious fingers.

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the nymph is a figment of your imagination

who you love and how you love is what makes your spirit shine so brightly that the end feels like the beginning.
flitting from base to base, grazing roots carelessly in your hurry. theres a drizzle falling from the sky and a mist hanging in the air. a glint in the distance catches your eye and you freeze. for a moment. and then take off, in pursuit of the flash you’ve seen.
it’s the most stunning shade of blue, like crystal and quartz melded to form a soft brilliance. could it be from a gem, a body, the fluidity and playful sustenance of life itself? you leap over logs and stones, your feet barely registering the prongs and jabs as you continue with blinded determination. the longer you go, the less you care. like with most things, the initial draw was much brighter than it REALLY could be right? you rationalize your disinterest in an all-too familiar cycle. your quick pace loses its vigor and your head wanders. there’ll be another light again some day, and this one’s far too elusive. you slow to a walk, looking around. trying to take in the beauty of your surroundings, but simply looking with glazed over eyes and a distracted consciousness. you turn back, disillusioned. you look now. you look at yourself. you look at the shine of the chain that hangs around your neck. the light was just a reflection, as is your world. you stand still for a moment. finally. and you see. finally. a house of mirrors, with a plastic tree surrounded by fallen debris from the crumbling warehouse it’s stationed inside of. the hills were support beams and the rain is powder and you begin to cough. you look around blankly as the mirrors begin to crack and crack and shatter and fall, slicing through the suffocation in the most violent fashion. you wish you were back exploring the fields of your fantasies, but reality has struck you. in the head. metal, cylindrical? it’s muted now, and slowly you can see the beauty again. the particles in the air are falling slowly, breathtakingly beautiful. the cacophony of crashing becomes orchestral, swelling and then light. the illuminated ugliness darkens, and you want to picture a gorgeous scene, but cannot. you’re fine with the way the light is playing across the flat color your eyes allow. you sink to the ground and melt, wanting the ability to imagine again.

happy

my happy is curled up on a towel on the bathroom floor listening to the twinkling patter of water falling from the shower head intertwined in a helix with the twinkling patter of the piano keys coming from the speakers. the safety and solace from the suffocating weight of existence.
it’s the grace of a weeping willow caught in a breeze and the flutter of a bird’s wings taking flight, mimicked in my stomach as i watch in awe.
it’s the pure elation in my baby cousin’s eyes as she pierces through the air on a swing and the undying devotion in my dog’s eyes as i stroke his head mindlessly. it’s the forcefulness behind my best friend’s voice when she’s talking about her passions and the hesitation of naivety when the most articulate people i know can’t touch and understand their emotions.
it’s losing myself in another spiral of inspiration, creating another world of either reality or fantasy in a moment and then abandoning it the next for a new one. indulging my imagination, a beautiful journey i refused to abandon with age.
it’s acceptance. knowing the incredible fluidity, mutability of being and working to give it the appreciation it deserves.
goodbye tucson, you contain almost everything i hold dear. your safety bored me, but as i leave i am inarticulably grateful for it.

the stars fix for our favor
only divided do we fall
earth’s energy encapsulates us as we struggle to free ourselves from its suffocating love and safety. seeking strife to manifest our vacuum physically, denying that impossibility.
you can’t hear me
listen to me listen to me SEE ME
you will die before you accept death

when the sun goes dark we are lost when the moon shines bright we see little but believe illusions with no light we sink into suffocating emptiness

i feel extraordinarily flat. paper thin and brittle. don’t look at me don’t touch me don’t touch me don’t touch me dont

fucking touch me. i will disintegrate instantly into infantilized thoughtlessness and flimsy bones

maybe you’re uncomfortable with the knowledge that i don’t need your validation anymore. that i found it within myself.
maybe, because that’s how you show your love, you’re unsure of your love for me now. how it works, how it is, how it will be.
i’d like to believe it’s still alive. i’d like to believe that you’ve worked to keep it so.
is it like the fruit, protected yet permeable? susceptible to the rot of time?
is it like the pit, hard and then hard and then cracked and empty?
i still hold it, ripe and full, enclosed in my palms. my bones form a steel structure to keep the organ that keeps me.