The Runner

You see, every time I fall you leave, and I am here, bandaging new wounds, layering on salve to make the pain dispel.  

You have a story for every empty space. I sit with black abysses in mason jars, overlooked, a puppeteer with the strings cut. You can’t understand the intricacy of these caves. Your legs cannot withstand the waves. So, I run away. 

Leaving has always been easy. I found happy a home in the woods where we roam alone. Strength has gathered. Sight is so keen there are sometimes too many dimensions being gleaned. Another memory for the pages. More words for the prose. 

I become a memory incapable of duplication; that “crazy girl” you used to know, until one day you looked up, stunned at how high she would rise.  

Questionable Answers

(written by M7 on March 16, 2007)

Sometimes, I crave intimacy so badly, that I cry myself to sleep hugging my pillow.” She says, her face sad as she looks inside his liquid eyes wanting to touch him, but unable to reach her hand forward.

Every night I sleep next to a person who is a thousand miles away, and I don’t even care.” He replies, his eyes cast down, accepting his existence, his purpose, unchained longing clinging to his lashes.

Tell me.” She whispers urgently. “Which is worse? Those who are lonely yet have someone to sleep beside them, abhorring their breathing? Or the one who sleeps alone and makes love only in their dreams?”

He reaches his hand forward to sweep her hair from over her eyes, and she breathes heavily into his touch, her lids half closed. This is forbidden, isn’t it; to covet such as this, another’s vow, a child’s father, to crave morsels that turn into cravings, making her want to claw at her throat from the absence.

The sting of solitude cuts deeper where there is no light, no hope, only the sound of life crumbling around you. See, there is hope for you. You are lovely and filled with colorful angst shooting from your pupils. My tunnel? It shows me darkness. It is an emotional abyss.”

His voice seeps with desperation as he twirls his thumbs around each other slowly. She watches the smoothness of his skin as it caresses each line used to provide human identity.

“Imagine my dismay as I wander,” She contemplates, “connecting with few, finding simplicity, boredom, lack of stimulation, but I must admit that being one alone is far more comfortable than being two in chosen separation.”

She cannot deny him the ownership, the validation of his own agony. Everything in her wants to pull his head to her chest so he can weep. Yet, they sit in silence, contemplating voids unanswered, accepting their own purpose in this fading connection that had been magnetic so long ago.

Sagan.” He says quietly, looking off into the distance, a half smile on his lips.

What?” She asks.

He takes her face into his hands. His eyes have passed her corneas and traveled into the center of her, sinking his words inside her earth; words that would grow fields of tall grass and wildflowers.

Sagan said ‘I have loved to the point of madness; that which is called madness, that which to me, is the only sensible way to love.’ This is the only way I know how to love.”

So they love the only way they know how.

The Mermaid

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The Mermaid

They said they
Found her drowned
Below the galley
She had
Tried to
Scratch her way
Back to sea

And when they say
“Drowning”
They mean
“Breathing”

They say she
Was homesick
For the quiet
The way the water
Moved things slow
The way the starfish
Danced in the jellyfish glow

She couldn’t float
In this human world
Of capture and
Lack of concern
She could neither bear
The way they hurt
Nor wear the scars
Of so many broken hearts
The deceptions
The misconceptions
The ego and mayhem

Chained, she became
Irrelevant pieces
For the thirsty
Drank from
A well sucked dry
Until her eyes cried
Like a taste of her
Momentary decadence
Could make their pain die

What a farce they created
As her spirit was deflated
Her existence debated
In hookah lounges
By serious hounds

Without a care
They used
Abused
Created confusion
With their illusions
She floundered
Broken gills
She was left alone
To weep and feel

They say she looked
Peacefully asleep
The air moving curls
Once, she’d begged
Never to be
lain to rest in coffins
Or beneath earth
She couldn’t bear
To become dirt

They say they found her
Fingers bent and broken
From holding to the hoping
So long there was
A permanent curve
A bend of the wrist
Left from too much wishing

Still now in the silent dark
She bumps the bows
Reminders that you will
Fail at rowing her sea
And she sings songs
“Of the one who
Never owned me.”
Lilting tunes of bravery
For the Matadors
Who valiantly tried.

They say there rose a tide
The day she died
So powerful
New planets were birthed
As she returned to moon
Escaping earth

And now she watches
From a star beneath the sea
Where coral reefs
Glow geometric algae
She writes stories

Deep diving
She died a thousand
Human deaths
Returning into
Liquid lungs
She explores the depths

v.k poetry
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