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Untitled

When did I stop listening to love songs?

Stop dancing in the shower and

Started going driving when it rained because

If I went fast enough, hand out the window,

That rain became bullets and

I was so ready to feel something again

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When did I stop painting?

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And started crossing lines over the same picture waiting to rip

Out of the paper and consume me whole

Carry me into the hell I was always told would be my destiny

And oil paint was always toxic and

I’ve learned a long time ago to lock my door

Regardless of what’s poisoning me from the inside

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When did I stop trying to speak

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And started writing again

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It’s funny when you think you’ve broken a cycle only to find your forever ex lover’s hand

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holding you because they’d never have to let go if they live inside of you

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And you only drown when you’re

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alone

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When did I stop yearning for something beyond

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What I was

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And started wanting nothing more than to sleep

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Forever

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Untitled (black on grey) Rothko

13 thoughts on “Untitled”

  3. Ahhhh the painting you put with this and how it connects with the words makes them mean so much more. And the pauses in your writing, how did you find how to do those so perfectly? It’s too good, I don’t know how you do this with your writing. Your words are truly an art.

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