skye

. . . 

i realized a couple of days ago how i had removed all the poems from here and it felt so wrong. so empty. bare. as if a part of my life was erased with bleach and ethanol, obscenely. 
          and now although i am trying to put some of them back up, i am realizing how much it takes to bare oneself just like that. in mere misconstrued words. reminds me of wilde. reminds of so many people i had forgotten ever existed. hurts. i had missed myself. 

may. mahler. i have become lost to the world. hollow prairies. things we do to seem normal. idea of absolution. bruised and blazoned. calcifying grief and forgotten thrones. i am having a really hard time finding my way back home. 

everything hurts ): 

soon it will be september and each passing day will deflate my diaphragm to the point i wouldn't know how to breath. its reassuring in a way. dyspnoea. utterances carry more weight when followed by breathlessness. 

i tell myself each day that you were real and in doing so i increase the distance between us. i cant even be sure if i am real anymore

it always ends like this. ineffability of language. air that blows against the possibility of  rain. coming of may and losing you all over again. 

Hey Red here, just wanna know, how u doing?

life as series of rooms and paraphernalia of scents that define rooms and by extension life. and yet i am sinking

horrible week ): rethinking, how often do we repent yet violate