Silt

 

It is silt. 

  Treacherously thick and weighted. 

I can smell the rich damp 

  stuffed into my nostrils. 

The dark of earth tightening my insides. 

 Wrenched up, gut and core; 

  Concern. 

                 Fear.  Treacherous fear.

The kind that rolls over ships 

  and brings in torrential hurricanes. 

My under skin, 

  Just beneath the flesh...

  Is tight with it; 

 Your love is making me sick. 

Sick with the weight, 

  Of such a Rich silt, 

Soaked now more and more of my tears...

  While I spring them, healing. 

Sick with the earth sinking me in. 

  Sick with your love. 

Not because, oh not, 

  Because of any sin 

You have rendered; 

   Rather sick with the despair 

Of Love's decimation 

  And that's the promise to me 

     It keeps. 

It is not you.  

  I am sick trying to keep myself above ground...

For you. 

  Because I can not lose you- don't want to. 

I can not drown here. I can not choose to be on my own. 

To do so... a slap in the face 

  Of any God's left, 

That set YOU before me. 

  So I sit 

   In it. 

The weighted destruction 

 Of love 

Grown in me

  Silt taking over my body, 

Cordyceps birthing out of what's left. 

Muse of Hearts II: Because She Loved Too Much

 

I am terrified. 

  Scared of wasting 

Any more time 

  On some notion of love. 

On some idea, 

  Of some day, 

While I also palpably chew it between my teeth

  and let the flavors satiate my tongue. 

I am scared to dream anymore, 

  For fear of fault, 

Dreams are only there to slip away. 

  I am scared reading between the lines, 

Things he may never mean to say. 

    I am 

Terrified. 

  Terrified he will disappoint me. 

      and I him. 

Terrified to bank my heart on a pocket 

  that may only be illusion. 

Terrified we will unravel, 

  and then for what will this have been?

  Terrified 

To love him. 

and then....

  is this 

the consequence 

      of love? 

An aftermath of rubble 

   No one can re-assemble? 

A heart torn and pieced back together 

  a psychological paper mashe, left soaked. 

  He is a good man. 

The kind I had always dreamed of. 

The kind I had always wished for. 

  But, and is it too late? 

My heart now...

   A color jade I do not know how to rub out. 

I am tainted, and scorned, and wasted. 

  Scarred so ugly, 

  How could I even know how to love again? 

And yet...

  He deserves it all. 

It is a paradox. A leap of faith 

  I already took....

  and now I fall. 

Here, stuck in limbo now. 

  Between miles and promises, 

And an all too saturated awareness, 

  That promises 

     Mean nothing. 

To love him....

  Is to surrender my fate. 

To place my heart out of my body, 

  and scale it. 

To give up any dream I had left, 

  In some abysmally naive hope, 

That he will pick them up for me. 

  Love is pure insanity. 

It makes no sense here, in these bones, 

  Grown old with earthly tare. 

In my eyes, now gone blind. 

  In my heart, now shuttered up in fright. 

In my psychology, now layered of infinite shadows. 

  At my every turn, in fact, 

What has love given me???

Sure I gave for it. I gave it up. 

From my chest, I placed a tap 

  For so many, too many to drink. 

But now all I can wonder....

  Is what

Had love given me? 

  Hadn't it stripped me down naked, 

Chained and mauled me?! 

  Hadn't it snuffed out the flames I fanned since girlhood?! 

Hadn't it put its hands on me, like a wife from a 60's franchise? 

  Hadn't it sucked my soul and blood, 

Just to stay alive?! 

  What has love done ever, 

But promise and deliver me lies? 

and even if he was the one...

  What is left of my body 

But yet a bag of bones and ruins? 

What does the likes of me 

  Have to do with marriage? 

Could I be made for it? 

  Haven't I grown so aged now? 

My last dream of motherhood, 

  Hanging on the clothesline to dry. 

More promises 

  are almost certainly 

  In my world...

Just tall-tale goodbyes.