mariam

The morning of the 29th you've still got three more rounds A single pair of shoeprints trailing off and you're on your own pining after a dream nowhere around

You'll find nothing, but all you know. It's just you, your shadows, your incurable dreams, and that growing urge gnawing on you.

Do you still call your loneliness while wandering the overcrowded streets? Leaning on doorways of a life never had Ignoring the melted snow leaking in your haunted home, It all comes down to this A pipe dream to utter out what you've been starving for what's been torn off of you.

Trying to find the right words for this revolting, hideous of a feeling Harboring inside caught between either filling the void or digging deeper in the hollow of the heart, but I reckon there aren't any in the languages I speak.

That’s how it all end up turning into; your feelings are only a foreign language your native tongue can’t utter out comprehensively.

I tried imagining a different life Both saved from crumbled edges and lost fragments– We’d wouldn’t learn the art of pretending the light above of our desire in living is never in a constant state of flickering.

We’d be so unknown to one another you and I; not a mere speck in the far distance but a hazy desire of something so unattainable.

But tonight in a spot you chose we’re bathed in moonlight, behind us are shadows casted of two frayed souls bending towards one another crumbled edges matching and meeting till they’re shaping a coherent mended whole Something better than any unattainable desire our ideal selves couldn’t even imagine.

Tonight in a spot you chose the moon seems brighter, but so do you.

Love, are you still holding on to the delicate hope a frail sheer desire will be enough confronting the abundant anguish?

Love, please, would you not lose sight of it all and recall the soaked idealism settled upon your chest will leave you winded, breathless struggling for air till you drown and crumble?

Love do know there's a time and place for everything optimism can be your downfall if you're forcing it and you're refusing to learn when to let it go.

Going through another day sitting by the doorsteps of your heart The sky above is turning grey and though this longing of yours is pulled apart it’s still in some way holding on by the feeble threads of your desperation.

Only loved by the manmade sun its’ loving matchless on these frail bones of ours

but you’ll meet the sun outside one day a glance enough to have warmth seeping within you and you’ll learn the resilience of your bones.

Only a body nourished in the sun dissolves all it was deceived in believing rewriting this feigned reality to a life chosen.

Once you find a window within reach/ how I hope/ a glance outside will be enough/ to see there is more for you/ than those fluorescent lights.

A radio crackling at midnight a bed still unmade for another day the leftover sentiments stacked tight let me unwrap them when there ain’t a chance to sway

Questioning this dreadful existence is

Who’d know to spill Prokofiev here and now Who’d bled but tended to themselves asking to be spared of “the best is yet to be found” even so, still they try to make it of sense in that to bear both dejection and adoration for this dreadful existence is but the way to persist in it.

“Yet tell me not, for I have heard it all. Here’s much to do with hate, but more with love.”

Nature, you’re so divine what a misery it’s been bestowed upon you for centuries to have us mere mortals destroy you. The sordid dreadful rationale flourishing with each turn of the century

And you hear them cheering:

“Rejoice and celebrate praise and honor to our culture and traditions, but shatter and destroy the home to all– the ground our ways were born and rose on.”

It’s the all-inclusive universal culture and tradition– the ever famished's great craving for breaking of all capable of giving life.

Burrowed in you with the weight of an anvil and the looks of a feather A brilliant travesty in the works make it seem it’s an ease you can handle mornings for the frail clear sunny weather crumbling each sunset at the cries of the nocturnal animal as it awakens and crawls out presenting you a wretchedness downpour and until morning with its familiar guise comes, it nestles against you.

It’ll rise eventually even if you choose to be believe it to be hushed. You can bury it under, hope it’ll wind up crushed, to run out of air and suffocate but love, misery clings to you and won’t accommodate for the joy belonging to you awaiting from afar. So carry it while you are all so gloriously clueless why you’re trying and still here but each sunrise is one closer to the clear– the sun will melt the prideful misery away and you’ll learn to know why you’re still here.

Despising these notions as they turn into a detestable reality of the coming of the parting times wondering how to be kept alive til we’re together again.

But the boughs of each tree keep the branches steady even when they tremble at what came to be harsh and heady winds knocking

and all the memories of you sheltered deep, snug in my heart warm and joyous, forbid this soul to be torn apart; holding it sane and conscious beyond all I could ever do.

Why do we restrain ourselves from uttering kind wishes and resolutions to occasions and celebrations?

Isn't love enough of a reason to say all the kindest wishes to everyone I hold dear?

I hope the world is kinder to you. I hope the world is kind to me.

As days go by this world persists on weighing us down and we'll only be lifted, gradually, by each other tearing away all of life’s atrocity as if it wasn’t capable of making any sane person flinch And what’s been sane about any of this But the way it feels as if we're connected by some indefinable tenderness we only got to learn by meeting each other.

What it all ever was disposable what difference does it make? Love, you're immovable used it all and wrung it dry for your sake got nothing left for you nowadays still I offer you the empty shell withering pieces all coming my way.

Wither away, may it be gone the torment weaved through your days, like a wind howling echoing around constant through the stormy nights, yet hereafter, constant may it be not.

Whether you like it or not you’re here again this year breathtaking, wondrous, divine, and above all alive; so gloriously alive.

Whether you like it or not, may it never be the latter but evermore the first; may you always lean on the gratefulness of being alive.

Miles away from you could only take one step when you needed it ever so close to you. A flightless bird watching them all flap their wings and soar The feeble leap it took does more harm than good though it tried, over and over, still wasn’t able to leap far enough to reach you Flightless and all

Should have been there When you needed But these feet can only take one so far when you needed a pair of wings. It was never enough for you It was never going to be enough.

Questioned it everyday with the sun's rising til the night cast its shadows a mere curiosity born with a hesitancy wrecking shivers through trembling like the feeble branches of a lone tree under the pouring rain in a middle of a thunderstorm and it rose to be a certainty once there.

Like the way optimism first drew closer dear with all its glory but now it ain't nowhere near:

Why am I here? Why am I here?