A Poet's Pen

Angel

My bones are fractured in small cracks and lines

throughout my body.

I’ve been struck by a disaster that knows no category or scale to describe–

It has broken me into pieces and left me in screams of agony

From the absence of light.

I am fallen.

Depression: an absence of hope, filled with apathy, sitting in an empty house devoid of any colors

or windows

or doors.

Sometimes I can hear a low rumbling drone, like a constant flow moving away from me,

but I can’t place it.

I can’t decipher or understand what this sound is, or where it is going,

but I want to go with it.

On the other side of these walls I know there are roads with people and noise.

I know, because I used to be a part of it

When the Sun left my mind at peace–

So tell me…

When was I left behind in an empty, noiseless city?

My heart is fractured by beating fists.

Voices reach the inner workings of my body

And push me to hide–

But darkness looks a lot like fear.

I’m blindly moving through lost caverns

Fighting for an answer–

But it isn’t here.

I’m in love with a stranger.

He is a painter.

He paints in articulate words and vivid colors,

And I find comfort in his unfamiliarity–

It captures my image of what bold should be–

Like the edges of his skin when I touch him–

But he stands behind a door without a number,

And it rests at the end of my sight,

So I continue to move towards something that is, and isn’t, there.

I am in love with a stranger,

And he is a painter.

He converses with me in his converse sneakers

And pulls me in with a silence that holds me up in his arms.

The sharp edges of his body match his intensity

And beat into me to bring my heart back to life again

From its long sleep.