tracing the firmament of a memory

fire burning, i breathe within you #22 4/06/25
when all is done and said,
the embers leave the forest
fire-bitten and crisp, you
lay your heart on your sleeve.

i forewarn you that -- i (noncommitally)
create and destroy passively,
with no real grappling of how
to quell a storm or mend a gash.

you say that when it all comes
collapsing down on me you'll
allay my blazing torrents and come
running back.

i know you won't. but you say so anyway.

springterlude iii #23 4/07/25
when all the crocuses blossom,
where do all the petals go next?
after growth (life) and decay (death)
what lies next for a flower?

i touch daffodils with gentle hands,
you choke dandelions until they wilt.
i just avert my eyes. i cannot fathom
such a blatant display of disregard.

you + i #24 4/07/25

i.
you breathe in, your
hoarse throat vibrating like
a dusty whistling
pipe alongside the
arid rusting tracks
in a subway station.

ii.
the coating of snow
melts away and the cracks
alongside ourselves
gash into tremors and
i-- make no mistake in
internalizing the memories.

iii.
faint dust particles
arrange themelves in the
pale, sickened, basement light.
i blow off your footprints as
i rearrange myself a new
identity.

poetic ramble #25 4/07/25

i find myself (restless) in my bed. i stare at the now blank wall and burn my eyes with the memory of what the clock used to look like. red. blazing. shining the remenants of the present onto the mundane blue walls. i swear i hear them talking, something about how everything comes back to where it began and how a carved life is not any life at all. something something the maw of the drywall consumes pasts. i digress. it cannot be anything major-- all my friends say the walls don't speak to them, so neither do mine.

poetic ramble ii #26 4/07/25

sometimes when i look into the mirror (imbalanced proportion) all i see is the coalition of half-fragmented personalities. i don't really think about it too long. it hurts to know that this coalition of mine surmounts to be not being someone, let alone something. because to be someone, you have to at least have some composition of a defined (non-rigid) personality. all i am is the clippings of one. because in the end, all i think about is what people say. "oh, him? you mean the one that..." was too ambitious lazy/boring/bored/mean/kind/poetic/mundane/self-absorbed/selfless/unrealistic/idealogical/rigid/fluid-- i just resolve myself and let myself shatter the glass.

triage #27 4/08/25

when the alarm sounds and the
tornado sweeps through-- i stand
above it all, assessing the
cloud line and the muddled
watercolor of the dirtied water as it
washes through the
streets. you say that all storms
can be quelled and i say that
mine can't, so i push you away
and go down through the water
to save what i can.

i grab the sentimental artefacts
of what is\isn't and i purvey myself
across two worlds, two streams,
two bitter waters, i splay myself in the water
and let it fill my lungs.
i allow myself release.

it is nighttime the moment i resurface,
and you are there. i ignore you like
always and you have that stupid
teary-eyed face that makes my
stomach retch and my mind race.

i cannot stand a pitiful person.

bend of wind-will #28 4/08/25

some days i feel like i'll have to
secede to the push\pull of the
blustering winds as the bitter
cold eminates from the outer
husk into the writhing core.

it reverberates from the earlobe
down the shaft of my spine
and into my stomach where it
lays dormant for me to retch
on. it shuts down my vocal
cords and my body, i feel
the warmth of blood(life) veer
away from me(decay).

one day i will muster up
the courage to plant a foot
in the soil(soul) and i will scream.
one day, i hope to scream,
louder than the wind.

paradigm shift #29 4/09/25

the walls itch for release so
i soothe the chipping paint with
my bandaged hand.
"my son, you have
spent far too long eclipsing
yourself with this victimhood.
it is time to shed this
bitter husk and step
into a painless life."

my breath hitches and i
feel the soft collapse of my
lungs as my head reels and my
heart beats slow - - -
"but, i swear you said that
jealousy was a pretty
color on me. that i should
spite you for the rest of my
waking hours."

stagnant, i feel the soft
shake of the wall's (your)
skull and the chuckle
that comes with it.
"no, my child. i said
that jealousy is never a pretty
color-- that you need to
learn to let the past fade to
be the past, my life eroding
from your spite into your
renewed life. i think
it's all the caffine!"
the wall(you) laugh.

"no, - /- ,- -; -. no."
my breath picks up as
i roll off my bed, uncaring of the
bones that break themselves.
unnaccepting of the truth, i shut
my eyes and cover my ears,
drowned within a restless,
dreamless, sleep.

it's time to take time #30 4/10/25

i am the pinnacle of what it means to
stay stagnating in old wounds,
laying down to wilt the crocuses
and freezing the morning dew.
and maybe the others (daffodil,
lily, et al.) can renew the spring
but for now, i will ruminate in winter.

analagous spring\winter #31 4/11/25
the sunrise is here-- remenants
of winter still stagnate, rendering
dying grass and blooming crocus
analagous, but you still try to
shift me back into winter.

titular #32 4/11/25

when my father says my name,
he adds emphasis to the beginning,
leaving no oppritunity to carve
out an end. he says something about
him being a martyr and that [i] stubborn,
could never understand what that feels like.
not wanting to anger him, i just nod, docile.

reason I could never love you #33 4/11/25

effigize me, transform what
could have been into a
post-fiction memory,
in which you(the moon)
never get to learn of my orbit(the sun)
because i(a poet) was never meant
to love you(an athlete).

springterlude iv #34 4/11/25

when the fog subsides and the air becomes clear, where does all the mist go?

la naturaleza #35 4/11/25

i graze the soft cloud line
and relinquish myself
[mountainous] to the
mist [effervecent]

IAMAPERSON [NOT CLICKBAIT] #36 4/11/25

I DRINK THE "REAL PERSON" SERUM AND WHAT HAPPENS NEXT WILL SHOCK YOU [NOT CLICKBAIT]

• MY REALITY HAS BEEN A LIE THIS ENTIRE TIME...(no, that doesn't sound like what the ebb and flow of a person should sound like.)
• THIS LIFE IS... (no, you have to add nuance. poets are nuanced creatures, reminded time and time again.)
• I GREET THE PAST ME AND HE... (no, that's stupid. nobody will understand that much nuance.)
• I RIP OUT MY... AND WHAT HAPPENED...(no, you need your connect with your soul. humour and comedy are not poetic.)
• AND I SAY...(no, this isn't a place you can vent. it is your job to listen and console.)
• MY WORLD VIEW CHANGES...(no, you can't change. you will forever be bitter and brash and mean.)
• WE UNIFY AND...(no, you can't love anyone. you are too jealous and self-entitled and snarky and-)
• I LET GO OF... (no, you have to make it this way and that way and you're not doing it right this is absolute-)

NON-PLAYER CHARACTER (NPC) #37 4/12/25

sometimes i feel like an npc (non-player character)
almost nonreal, as if (i) do not exist within the
context of the world &/or the firmament.
i sanctify the remaning corners of my
body and portray (myself) as a tapestry,
standing dormant next to others who
reinvent the world.

i title (my) artwork as "orange + grey + red"
or "errorcode" or something simple.
my mind[docile] creates stagnant requiems
and i absolve to do nothing with my life,
instead i devote it to others.

transposing my life into code,
i set up my base pathfinding(to you)
and my base actions to martyr,
salvage, and redestinate, disassociating
present and precedent.

woe there, that's (ii) intense #38 4/12/25
i lean on the intensity edge of the clarity-intensity scale,
brutalizing the normal, making love prematurely
blossom into desire and transmogrifying
distaste to disdain. i dissolve nuance, instead opting
for the gory, gutsy truth of it all.

father-soil #39 4/13/25
i.
you fade the tree's roots, rot,
and branches, uncaring of
the faint brushstrokes that
comprise it. i look up and it is all
foggy, i look down and the soil
obscures my future too far to
see any real epiphanies.

i tell you-- "are you sure that
i am your son?" and you laugh,
but the air lays dormant in silence. i
cannot tell if you are upset or not.

ii.
it is said that He shall come to you in a dream, but neither I nor He want to see eachother anymore. I do not pray, so subsequently
He does not come to see me. the only figure there is my
mother, but she does not speak to me. she just sings a lullaby and awaits
my patience. I do not think that notGod is my mother, but He certainly isn't either.

iii.
you awaken the mountains and the sun,
the clouds and the sea. "all of this
beautiful, prisitine land is yours to
erode alongside." i wade and laugh,
you just sit there and dissipate.
i pray to Him that you can stay,
but He was never there to begin with.

idk what to title this it's just me yapping to my ex why he was bad at loving #40 4/13/25

you need to let time build and let all the droplets of amity flow into a gush of love, and let all the time breathe for you and the other