#aureumaze

some heart shaped pendant, chains 'round my throat.

also the house without windows by the shore.

across the lighthouse that's been standing tall,

guiding all the passing ships sailing afar.

for all the sailors who thought they could be a savior,

yet he would borrow those treasure chests

he thought she had hid six feet under.

but there wasn't any guiding map or any light.

just the known constellation holding out its arms,

asking to craddle these worn out hearts.

but the salt in the air is always rubbing my wounds.

and i knew that my mother would love to

pass down a good family heirloom.

on the edge of my lips,

the sin tasted bitterly sweet.

the drunken taste of secrecy,

dopamine, stimulant, and chemistry.

bought every trick, just in case.

perhaps we could outdo the warmth

of the other side of our beds.

but you scratched deeper than

what was given to my heart,

yet i couldn't promise you mine.

and the wiser put on their belief,

that it takes one to know one.

baby, we would have forever

to sit, sip some wine, and burn

the house to the ground.

holding out hopes on my fingertips,

in whispers and in screams,

but I've been quiet.

maybe at midnight, maybe at dawn,

but time has dripped down the walls.

the ghost passed down like a curse,

could this ache get you back home safe?

who thought this place was so lovely in the summer.

a small paradise for those with afternoons to waste,

sipping some sweet iced tea fighting hard the heat.

and i'd like to believe that it had made us feel tiny,

that the big performing stage always passed as a need.

with the stage lighting bleaching these faces,

blinding, burning, flying with familiarity underneath.

we'd forget how tree shade had been hiding names.

so it would come as postcards from the old peers;

a picture-perfect family, a white picket fence by the creek.

the flashes of life we had traded for the taste of rain.

because the sun had always refused to shine,

where we were standing with our souls intertwined.

but i know for sure, i'd keep looking into people's windows.

and i would be nothing more than just another pretender.

April waltzed back in,

and I wore the wind.

the stars bloomed

in my bedroom,

wrapped in velvet ribbons,

cradled the old wounds.

gentle, soften the silence.

in chords, off-key lullabies,

beautifully mine, this time

the sound stays;

old habits joy-stitched.

forgiveness came quiet,

in my sunday lights.

I do not grieve,

I celebrate,

with tea, silence, bloom wrists.

I am the God in my cathedral.

I am the feast, not the offering.

no, not anymore.

and whispers of ghosts.

the air bites like an old promise,

heavy with yesterdays.

it's lingering in the quiet.

december settles like an old wound,

aching beneath the snow.

it's a thief, stealing warmth.

what language have you spoken in?

has the mother earth stopped us

from talking to one another?

but, love, i have watched you

dancing off your leaves,

every time the wind kisses

your lips with ease.

and surely, you too have

witnessed me, weeping quietly

underneath your canopy.

so, please lend me a few decades

of your life, and speak to me.

you have grown roots beneath

my own planet, between my teeth.

i do not want to grieve,

seeing you bear your fruits,

while my husband tends

some other plant.

i do not want to grieve,

what could've been you and me,

my dearest, most beloved ivy.

i walked into the kitchen.

as if there was something alive

behind the walls, under the counter.

maybe it was just being honest,

about the heat it could handle.

so i sat cross-legged on top,

wearing the suit, second-hand,

just to wrap around my plastic part.

pretending these seams could bite.

and it never crossed my mind that

those ghosts could be polite.

so i kept a chair out by the window

and they could sit down waiting

while the tea's aggressively brewing.

then they could just walk out,

finding another bed to wait in.

as i cleaned off the stained cups

with my ceramic heart.

and i might slowly crawl back

into the ruin in my mattress

with its dipped center,

until i could hear the kettle

hissing again as i walked back

into the kitchen.

and no ghost got to stay till...