Silken Prison.

It’s been a month, a year, a century since I last heard your voice.

I don’t know if I miss you, I just know my heart grips the walls of my chest like a multipronged pair of pliers when I think of you. You drive through the highways of my mind at night with headlights on full blast, as the fumes of your exhaust fade, I clutch my chest and swallow my tears.

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Orison

I definitely haven’t been in the mood for a story today, collecting my thoughts was a problem.

I haven’t written a poem in a month or so, I miss poetry. It’s the easiest form of writing for me and it gives me the most joy, even when I walk through the valley of the shadow of death…

 

Orison

Pray for me even if you don’t believe 

There’s a god to answer.

For this cup fills me

With anguish & bone crushing dread

And I am yet to take a sip

 

Pray for me, hold my hand if you can.

For this darkness swallows me whole

I can’t breathe

I can’t breathe

I cannot fucking breathe.

 

Pray for me, day and night

Perhaps God would look to you

Maybe your sins are fewer, 

Maybe he knows you still.

Me? He’s forgotten me. 

 

Pray for me for my tongue is gone,

Stolen by the thief of peace.

My words jumble in my head

Desperate for air, 

Dying by the minute. 

 

Pray for me even if you don’t believe

In prayers, or charms forgotten by ancestors. 

Pray for my soul

For the earth wearies me

And I want to die now.