the blue and the solace

liminal spaces.

It is always the early morning sun
bringing in the sicknesses of being alive again,
I have nothing to give to this summer
nothing to take from it.
The palpable wrath of the sun,
of the days gone by,
scorches up my mind
every morning
and i find myself looking for the time i lost
between these liminal spaces,
the time when i should have counted the stars every night
and held the moon between my fingertips
while caressing my mother's,
the time I should have screamed to the winds how alive i felt when i did
and whispered to the oceans
my love for them.
It's always the evening warmth
that reminds me of a love that could have been,
the love that spoke to me in morse
with every syllable becoming my language,
the words would roll off my tounge like dripping honey
and i would speak it
like a cassette on repeat
to people who'd undo me
every single time.
As the sun sets in,
the night with it's cold embrace
reminds me that i am running out of time
and i have nothing to show for the life that i have lived,
these stars that i grew up with have always been very young,
they don't ever stop blinking,
and that's when i find my youth seething at me
for drowning it between these liminal spaces,
for burying the idea of love so deep
I could collapse digging myself apart.