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Behind locked doors and closed windows: 1

I find myself in that dark abyss Cruel, malefic, and conscious I know not what I'm writing The purpose or the reason There's no escape route visible Clamouring for breath Screams muffled into whimpers My head hurts— A lot Oh it hurts, it hurts, it hurts I haven't seen love If it's meant to be seen I haven't felt love If it's meant to be felt I haven't tasted love If it's meant to be tasted What is love? I heard, the first glimpse into this rare jewel Is given by the primary caregivers I know not who they are Are they those two bodies— The ones screaming behind the screen The air heavy with a charge That doesn't feel positive Is this love? Then I have ample I see them while I play with Jojo and Mojo It's always those dramatic flailing of arms The crude expressions- theatrical They call me expressive Probably got it from my mother They call my articulation grave Probably got it from my father They see me debating on stage Say I have it in me- a gif...
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Wee Hours

It is in the wee hours that I think of you,
How you welded the cracks of my heart.
I love you, only, in these wee hours
When my skin tingles with the reminder
Of your-
Fleeting caresses,
Feather touches, and
Familiar coos.
These wee hours make me crave you
To have you wholly- body and soul.
I am pained, only, in these wee hours-
A spade caving out my heart,
Splinters puncturing my flesh, and
Death wails bleeding my ears.
And I am reminded why I must forget you.

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