By the author’s pen


I could begin this one with a question or a statement so profound the rest of you would never bear to tune in to the words with your ears uncovered. But I’m starting it with this, just for today,

There are bells that hang in towers, placed there to be rung for their pitches rich and louder than the pulses we can feel all on our own, like the basses beating out the speakers,

They remind the headbangers that life still rests in the body even when it sits and waits to exist without a sound,

The days were fine and the nights were fine. It was only when the head hit the pillow to let reality fade that the manic wars started their commotions and left some notions

That a girl who sleeps alone by night must have lived some spoil. Those words came through strong as grounds for the feeler working out the days to meet the Lord and know His sword,

I speak to one who spends too much time looking out windows in her dreams. The only friends on the warmer side of the glass stay only to consume,

Just like you. That’s all she really learned from you and your stories. You held them to the microphone and put them on repeat, so when your name is heard the locks slam on every door

Of worlds to rest in. No one likes to say it anymore and she has caged up feelings plenty, afraid those feels will scratch the heart upon release,

She clouds up memories in forgotten boxes, races to flee the words drawn up by a single person who only had himself in mind when he tore the music’s yard,

She knew the birth was coming, felt the pains in every nerve, and common sense tells that all there was in that short time was nowhere near the HUMs and HAs 10 years down the road,

I knew too. I wrote down her name to pray and saw that the dreams created within her head were twisted by his hands and all comfort was actually calamity,

So I spend time fixing up an alternative mix of futures for a girl who tries to sleep but relives the heartbeats of the days she ran from,

Some words poured in boxes and promises drilled in so deep she sees them as tattoos on her skin. I have written stories for her defined by living questions, living loud, living light as bright as

Suns for every inch of skin. By this she will learn no shame exists for one who puts herself first, even when the fallout means sleeping alone is the furthest place from lonely she can be.


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