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I wrote everything I could about the way it felt To move forward or dig my heels in To survive with or without motion To love when I was terrified To be what I needed to when it was not who I was To make courage into words and stone out of mud I wrote
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He missed that life. The one that left dried blood under his fingernails and adrenaline pumping through him like lightening. And when he met me, he knew that I could become something like that for him. Except now the blood would be mine and the absolute need for violence would be rewarded to me when
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I can’t help it… Is it an addiction? The way I seek it out.. The feeling of making them feel good for the first time in a long time.. Or ever even. I know that I get high on it. I know it fills the hunger and lust inside me. Being the one that shows
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I had this dream last night.It is still with me.I dreamt a child I had known died.I passed it to my mother.My mother who died four years ago. She held it.She held in a way I would not have seen before.Close, careful, patient.She held it for a moment and said “this child is not gone.”As
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It wasn’t ever really about love with you Insteadit wasneedhungerurges It was jumping off the edgeit was licking a woundand soothing the bloodlust inside both of usit was quieting a bellowing beastno one else could see I have kept this space empty that may always be yours Who else could do what we did? And
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I didn’t mean for “maybe in my next life” to become my mantra but here I am going against the very religion of my upbringing and praying reincarnation exists as if pretending this is enough for now will soften the sharp pang of that hunger after each disappointment quietly quitting the hunt for the thing
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look at the violence I have done to my own starving heart just to feel something I could make believe is love let that be enough to prove that I should never be trusted with someone else’s even so he said he knew that quietly beneath the cage of my ribs the words can still
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There is somethingsomething beautifulwretchedand almost unfathomablein realizing that eventuallywe become a little bitof every person we’ve ever loved the blood& the bones |a human puzzleborn of painthe passing of timeand wisdom| ©️thebloodandthebones
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Grief is the deepest kind of sadnessIt is reaching out to find nothingIt is talking to the skyand hoping to find you in the starsIt is looking for a butterfly when I am missing youor a cardinal swooping low across my pathGrief is regret and doubt and second guessingIt is the closets full of clothes
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you may deny it to anyone above all to self we know that pretending is indeed the most elemental form of survival but I know that I was made from the ivory bone God stole to give mercy to the lonely I have lived in the space between your ribs so you cannot purge yourself
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The Blood & The Bones 