Death has a strange taste. And I burn with it. I crawl. The wrong way up an escalator. That the flesh of my mind creeps, begs, bargains, rages. Blind with unusable poetry. I weep your smile into obsidian feathers. Forsaken. Fallen. And everything burns. Everything. In the fall. Stars run aground, broken on the rocks of that dull sunrise while I search for the comfort of your face in the jetsam. The salt outline is drawn. And I burn. Grabbing at that last, blinkered line of string. Wrapped in a thousand white flags, I am held against the wall. You burn in me. You burn me. You burn. You, who set the fuse to brimstone coals in my blood. And oh how I would hold that fire like a lantern to my heart. But even the cherished saccharin of light lags behind, afraid to touch the space. Where you were.

 

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25 thoughts on “Where you were 

  1. Aaaaargh love this Jac! I think your second sentence “And I burn with it.” is really strong: using that as a point of repetition throughout the piece is also a great device. And this “Stars run aground, broken on the rocks of that dull sunrise ” is just absolutely stunning. I love the use of short punchy sentences interspersed with longer images. Awesome work (as per usual) 🙂 x

    Liked by 1 person

  2. Man, thanks Ash, that’s so cool. After our conversation connecting art and writing, I’ve been playing around with some ideas based on this piece. I’m gonna see how charcoal, linseed oil and white spirt react when I throw them together.

    Liked by 1 person

  3. Now I’m the one blushing. Thanks Stuart, sometimes all I have is the music of something raging inside my head, and then there is so much doubt when I try to write it down. Like we’re speaking two different languages and something gets lost in translation.

    Liked by 1 person

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