absorbing sweet somber songs

bathes my cracked hands 

 

crying out for inspiration. 

don’t wipe away your tears.

 

expression is 

fever begging to be burned.

 

go,     create your own 

heart that will not break. 

 

intuition is truth unuttered 

jiggling inside a pocket

 

knitted from loyalties that left me

lonely. I cannot make you understand 

me, as I don’t understand myself.

 

nameless is the price I must

obey if I don’t want to feel aching

pangs of the truth that I am nothing,

 

questioning how I can’t detect my own lies

regardless of how I can taste yours 

as it drips from your tongue like honey.

 

say nothing. feel everything.

those of us who are silent are

usually always right. don’t hold back

 

validity — anchor it 

weigh it in those cracked hands and permit

x-factor to roll-off

your tongue. 

 

zeal will help the ache.