an excavation in three parts

1.

I’ve got a hot glue gun on,
and melting as we speak
let’s make it brief

The excavation of habit
is like ridding myself of comfort
I am consistently made to feel
incomplete and lacking
I am tempted to say that it would be better
to have always been alone than to
have had anyone at all

Regret is a selfish thing
it only takes what it knows you need
the closure that you believed you held
the happiness that you swore was eternal
but it’ll give all reasoning a place to be secret
to hide away as you gnaw at raw memory

There is a place where I go to read up on my past
see, memories are relivable
but they should only have one life
yes, memories become ghosts
when you don’t let them go

I’d rather be terrified forever
than live with this ache
when I began it was an honest attempt
to write without letting you surface
but you’re on the surface and deep within
there is no in between
you’re on the ocean, you’re in the snow
you’re up in the woods, wherever I go

2.

I want to get the silhouette of a dogwood tattooed on my forearms
want to live in an old house by the sea

I want to accept relentless pull to tragedy
it’s not easy being happy

I want to call out your name
until it becomes stale on my tongue
And I don’t like the taste anymore
will I ever hate it the way I wish I would

Anger is a conscious decision
I try to make it over and over again
Righteous anger is a distraction
I wish I chose to partake in

AM I THE ONLY ONE WHO SPEAKS
loud and intuitively,
you haven’t changed
but I am not the same,
that had to be the reason that had to be enough

3.

When I met you, I did not know
that you would excavate my heart like the furthest indent of a field filled high with fossils
you took a part my being
with your own two hands, you broke me up into pieces

When I met you, I could not tell
that your soul was like eggshells and I could break you up
so easily, the quicker you came to know me
I didn’t know that feelings like this were tangible

Your voice reminds me of an orchestra
your hands are like the month of September
and I don’t like when you are far away
you’re never close enough

Are leftover memories enough to sustain me?
I’m almost convinced that I am unsustainable no matter the circumstance
that whether I am whole or in half
this kind of thing will never leave but
how could I let it last

eyeseeyou

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