Purgatories for love

Some times I wonder
what would it be like
to touch you once again?
To get a glimpse of
your tender heart,
to see your eyes filled with sunlight?

They say old loves
never die
but I get the sense
it is not so.

Instead they get stuck
in the purgatory of souls,
they resurface in between
the new moon and the old.

Still there I guess

Sometimes the heartbreak is still there
Or maybe it never really leaves.
Instead I overlook the cracks
Until they start creeping up
in every new step that I take
And the gap feels almost
Just as big as that time.

Except that now
There's not even the ache for you left.
Just the gaping hole that stayed behind,
like a mute mouth hanging open.

Cheap thrills

Sometimes it's the cheap thrills
the anonymous hands
that almost erase your name
from my lips
and empty my mind.

Sometimes it's the whiskey in my breath
and the required pressure
in all the right places.

In any case, at times
I manage to give my desire
another guise
and I don't know what makes me more shameless:

That I wash away your image
or that I always come back to it.

Small obsessions

Sometimes I write into the void
I address the lover
I have not met yet
Or have not touched
The could-have-been
The will-it-be?

Sometimes I write to my addictions
Small and big ones
Material ones and not.

Who said cowardice
is not another pill to swallow?

I was always smart about the wounds
-keep them invisible
they're usually easier to hide.

Sometimes my addictions are of the mind;
small obsessions, sometimes to songs
or words
or unaddressed emotions.

The hunger always eats from the inside out.

2018

It was a year of pieces
and in pieces
and gluing them back together
clumsily trying to make them stick
in any way that did not hurt
often failing
sometimes not.

It was the year
I started unlearning to shut up
and shut off
and started gripping with
having a voice again.

Seashell

I whispered all my secrets
into a seashell
and gifted it to you.
When you bring it to your ear
I hope they're echoed back in waves.

Dog bones

Part of me wonders
Whether he's just a man bored
Throwing bones at random
And me
Hungry for him by instinct
Ready to swallow
Any crump that comes my way