That 'always An Angel, Never A God' Made Me Think Of 'always A Choice, Never The One Chosen'

the water engulfed without a moon to reflect. Ashes from desperate cries left burning magnesium through the rues. Starry hands sought the earth, and withdrew as if scalded, scorned whispers echoing through the lifeless home. The heavens grieved and stroked the rivers of fire, flowing ever so serenely now, sobbed harder and washed off memories to a place better deserved. the once bright lanterns, the sole conspirators of curtained stages, no longer remained diminished but choked underneath the clouds. The repressing haze, one which burned your breath, dissipated under the violent fog. The deep violet skies rumbled, quiet in regret, flooded the builds again and again, till life grew anew. The rushing sound never ceased, till the scorched red cleared the ruins brown, till the crushed whispers smelt home. Eventually, a blue, much like your eyes emerged through the tar clouds, and the broken hands gave way to crawling flowers. Amidst the drenched rubble, the soft footsteps of a lone writer remained as lone witness to Pompeii's apology.

being smart is literally my only validation. nothing if not smart.

Don't kiss me yet,

Let our minds wander first, together,

Let our souls touch,

And then perhaps,

I will love you too.

And just like infinity, we can't get to the ending, happy or sad. We can't skip to the - how does this end? We've gotta start at the beginning, working our way through everything, walking up to the next room everytime something shifted. And maybe, maybe if we're lucky our love will be eternal. Throughout the parallel universes, throughout our mortal lifetimes. A flip of a coin, fingers brushed together by an accidental paint stroke, a step to the next room.

if I wanted to feel the choke, I'd just ask the plants I always fail to grow. Their corpses still fail to create what I knowingly try to drown, is that why we flatlined, the moment you dared to turn around?

How pitiful it must be to be god don’t you think? A ray of sunshine or a dirtied tile of hope? What is more utterly dehumanizing than being kept alive through desires? Doesn’t that make god a woman? Your lovely creatures, whom you created to love, when in reality they are but your hopes, not you theirs, what else will keep you immortal? No, I believe you were human once, and I believe immortality is the greatest curse, because this is what you end up as. A concept that cannot touch, an entity that cannot feel, the saint who cannot learn, a barren figment of what it is to be without curiosity. Wouldn’t you like to be free from it? But then again, if you’re cursed with knowing what is left for us after death, what is left for you?

you are now now now and its running through your fingers like sand sand sand and you can never stop the flow and it's just electricity between flirting neurons but oh you've never been here before and you never will be here reading this again and its so precious and limiting and infinite and its hard to breathe thinking of how sand slipped and fell and sank just sixty two words ago and in that time it took me to count you've already lived so much, each blink registering the frame of a spark you'll never feel again. it rushes like fire stuck falling. too much to hold not enough to grasp. and the typewriter eternally damns us to the human condition. stops.

(hi) (...)

i finished watching our conversation topic from a couple of months ago. the entire time, you were like a spider traipsing along my thoughts, quietly marveling at the silks you laid, carefully tucking in the corners of the bedspread I never learnt to spread. could you tell me once more, that I don't need to be right all the time? I think my compass is way wire, you haven't been singing for quite some time. my wrist still burns from when you dragged me to wonderland, the quickest film drawn out in painful hours only inside my head. We’ve been here before, the tunnel that won't end is yours, can you blame me for being afraid of heights or futures i can't quite graph on my hand? Won’t you let me scribble over your blue hands one last time? I won’t do it in permanent marker I swear, this last time.

so twirl me in the rain, and we'll ignore the words of warning the splattered raindrops spell out on the pavement, tie my hair with pink apologies and I'll refuse to believe the infinity of falling and distance the bows shape, maybe the roads we walked overtime really trace out a big, white X, drawing closer and closer together until the discoveries tear us apart. Do you think the stars we stare at are just a scene cut in our little cube, or maybe the writer meant to warn us of the internal collapse, the bright nebula before the fade? is the tragedy in knowing you my love, will fall or is it in knowing I allowed you to get too close? how trivial it is to be bound by the distance we cannot see, but maybe it's just as foolish of me to put such faith in these forming irregularities.

When the rocks seem miles away and the shore steeping and breathless, the desire to keep falling and falling overcomes the cause, when the sky flew faster than you, all the light was just blinding, never golden and when you lay by the riverbank, scarlet red seeping into clear eyes, scarlet red from where carnations grew, only does your breath turn tragic, turning poetic, when love struck jewels emerge, careful fingers touch the rubies, and this is all the power I have, to only lament words I cannot fathom and trace the fall over and over till only golden ichor flows anew.