The past breaks the future 

My heart is a stone
I lie in the arms of my lover unmoved
My heart is a cherry blossom
As it craves a sensual touch
My heart is a river wide
Drowning with tears, rising upon the banks
And flooding homes

My heart is a stone
As I lie untouched in my lover’s arms
It hardens with craving
And yearns to be spoiled

My heart is a leaky faucet
The bolts are loose and weak
It drips and drops rust coloured water
From pipes older than the house
They reside in

My heart has lived a thousand lives
It doesn’t know How to trust another
After all the war it’s witnessed
And pain it’s caused

Irreparable damage held together
With a duct tape heart
Frayed seams
Caulked valves
Antifreeze in my veins
So I am not ice

But I am rock
Hard as diamond
And yet pretty not
Reflecting light not
All for naught

My heart is a stone
I threw through the window
Of a young man’s house

And I am waiting for him to return it.

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The Uncanny Heart

I know this to be a broken heart
I know this from experience
I recognize this malady
this discomfort this ache

Broken ribs pierce a lung,
air slowly seeps into the cavity,
now empty, where my heart resided
before it burst, shattering ribs
puncturing the lung
not enough to kill me,
just enough to make me tired,
something about not enough oxygen to the brain
as it slowly fills the empty space,
leeching useless into the body
it no longer feeds

The twinge of vacancy
causing glazed eyes, mislaid thoughts,
forgotten desires…motives not worth the effort
of their eventual loss.

But this uncanny feeling is not what confuses me –
there is comfort in its familiarity
and shelter in the dark,
no hazards to lose what is not there –
what elation, what faith, what ambition?
All absent with the forfeiture of my core –

What obscures conclusion
is that no injury has occurred,
no sudden travesty or infirmity,
so what has generated such a heartache,
a brain sickness?

What is missing, save happiness itself –
which can still be found in
the blue sky
a good song
time with friends
a joke, a laugh
books and escapism –
an unsettling lack of loss dictates
at least an indifferent condition be established
– but not the torment of
heartbreak

Bits of mystery spill from the
Pandora box that now endures
in the airy space under my sternum.

Press on.
Let lack of heart not be distraction,
No more to wear upon my sleeve,
only a secret my face cannot keep.

 

Just Another Music Monday

Spring is here never coming.

So yesterday I decided to make a compilation of soft indie rock that’s slightly depressing, because this is my favourite stuff to listen to in the Spring when I’m feeling slightly hopeful but want to feel slightly hopeless and a little depressed, because it’s just more comfortable to be that way.

Especially when it’s still -20°C (if it’s not above zero it may as well be minus a hundred) and I have anxiety over silly things and I have too many bills to pay and I’m just not FEELING it. Ya know? (Also I watched Secret Life of Walter Mitty and I love those movies, but they only make me feel sorrowful – but still not as bad as one would feel watching “UP”)

Anyway, here’s the CD line up:

  1. “Brother” by Mighty Oaks
  2. “Hopeless Wanderer” by Mumford & Sons (Okay, this song makes me laugh because of the amazing video. But it still fits the mix tape requirements)
  3. “Blood” by The Middle East
  4. “Dirty Paws” by Of Monsters and Men
  5. Skinny Love” by Birdy (I actually don’t even like this song, but I love Birdy’s voice and it helps me to feel sadness)
  6. “I Lost Myself” by Laruen Mann and the Fairly Odd Folk
  7. “Dying Day” by Brandi Carlile
  8. “Your Rocky Spine” by Great Lake Swimmers
  9. “Just One Day” by Mighty Oaks
  10. “Your Bones” by Of Monsters and Men
  11. “Youth” by Daughter
  12. “Bugs” by O’Death
  13. “The Chain” by Ingrid Michaelson
  14. “Stranger at the Gate” by Passenger & Pilot
  15. “Hand Grenade” by The Almost
  16. “Things That Stop You Dreaming” by Passenger
  17. “Rivers and Roads” by The Head and the Heart
  18. “Paint” by The Paper Kites
  19. “Get on the Road” by Tired Pony
  20. “Lost Coastlines” by Okkervil River

3 parts 

I

As the sun sets, my sorrow grows,
The lights are dim, and the television screens pointless shows

Aladdin’s lamp is the only one I’d currently light,
I could use a wish, and there’s no prediction for shooting stars tonight

II

I hate it here: the place is filled with princesses.

And a sorrow blooms in my chest.
My heart is heavy, and my head is light.

But whether I’m in love, or I’m surfing a nicotine buzz is unknown

As I breathe, smoke fills my lungs, and I feel a heaviness – a restriction in my chest –
so that I don’t feel light, but weighted.

And so my mind is.

Desire between snapping and murderous rage
at being dominated, controlled….
Or not caring….

… to not care would be a wonderful blessing.
And maybe I don’t?

My hand smells like cigarettes, and as I ball my fist,
I imagine smashing it into a face…or three.

But I hesitate – do I not want a world without violence?

So I hold my hand, and bite my tongue – so hard –
blood drips over my lips and down my chin.

There is no one to kiss away this pain. No deathly
grip or vice in which to hold and hang this thing

Held over me.

III

You are three parts, and still not whole.
I’ve fallen down some rabbit hole, now living like some sightless mole,
and walking over hellish burning coal so that I may play the role
of perfect person – never a troll – while I feel my withered soul
is draining away as if someone stole – without paying the toll –

My freedom; and my love: my heart.

A Poem of Melancholy

What has it been since I realized I loved you?  A year? Two? Does it matter?
My heart beats to a rhythm which matches only yours.

And every time I feel like I could love another, your face appears on theirs.  And I am yours.

Only, you are not mine.
You are so far from my grasp, the realization of our love is impossible.
It is simply my love.
My love reflecting off of an endless sea of dashed hopes, and dreams, and seagull shit.

And the lake?  The lake that day, in the sun, our feet in the cold water.
Our faces in the cold water.  My bathing suit falling off, and your hands around my neck.
But I was safe.
The elements against us, and we were safe.

But it was not enough.  Or I was too much.  But either way, the quantities could never add up.  Nothing was 100%

It was wrong.  Did it not feel wrong to you?  I wanted it, though it felt wrong to me too.

And with every Nickelback and Spill Canvas and Taking Back Sunday song, indeed with every song, I hear our life, our love, our words, our arguments play back to me.  I hear us conquering and failing battles.  I hear fights, and frowns, and good memories all jumbled together. Like the tornado that stole away Dorothy.

Only it stole away passion, love, acceptance.  It stole away happiness: mine.  And though it felt as right as wrong – to me – you could not be swayed.

Which is fine.  Because then…you would not be the one I fell in love with.

But it hurts.  Even now.  Can we speak?  Can I hear your voice?  Can you torment me still? I would live for that, die for that.  I miss your face, your laugh, your smile – even your judgment.
I miss being perverse and having secret desires.

Now there is only a desire overburdened with a profound and infinite sorrow.

Psychologists think they invented things like depression and split personality disorder.
But before that there was melancholy and broken hearts, and love.  And things that  created a craziness no pill could fix.  And writers, and artists, and composers discovered these first.
And pulled out the infinite sorrow and turned it into words, and pictures, and sound.

And this art had the ability to break hearts and transcend time.  As can love.

No science can build or break down that.  We were here first. Creating, thinking, journaling, painting.  We were breaking hearts, spilling words, bending minds, melting time, and most importantly having our own hearts broken, our own hopes dashed against the jagged rocks of rejections, death, despair.

I miss you.  Come back to me.  Don’t let me die alone.  I want to stop trusting, believing hoping.  But then how would I be able to experience this pain that I crave.  I crave in place of you?