Hello all! I thought I'd share a poem I've recently written about (the light topic of) deep psychological pain and attempting to not indulge in it whilst simultaneously trying to accept it. This is a balance I've struggled to meet in the past though I feel I'm making continual progress in my awareness of it. The accompanying artwork is a photograph of a disfigured waterbottle. It's a couple years old now but I feel the colour pallette and form are fitting for the subject matter. Anyway, I hope you enjoy 'em.
all we have is depth
connection anchored in;
deep in sombre tone
wanting nothing more
than the pull –
the reason to addict
ourselves in ache’s
beauty. In my womb,
arms, your pate
withered with meaning’s
search. Indulging
fractured nostalgia, we’re
unsure of how we are. You
gesture – ‘when were you last
happy?’- to which I don’t reply,
immediately. I’m melancholic
for now and such is all I see
in my trace and yours. I fall
cradled in knowing
our tender sores,
caressing their fringe.
On your lips, I read you
‘should be dead’ or have
died, taking me in as I
take you. Opening up
before closure,
I reluctantly rise
to the surface, aware
of intensity’s fade;
such depths no longer
each other’s embrace.
I dry myself gently,
prolonging time
ahead of parted ways.
My melancholy turns
to saudade with a pale
desire to have drowned
with you.
