Make Me an Angel

They tell you to make something of yourself and you want to want to try but you cannot imagine where to even start. Time has carved you out so deep you find yourself far behind yourself, following the shell. Make me into what? A bicycle to ride into the stars upon. A jewelry box dancer spinning in her felt lined box to some kind of sweet ballerina sadness. I don’t smile so please don’t ask. Cradle to cradle. Grave to grave. I want to offer you everything I have learned but I’m afraid it cannot last.

You will make connections not because they are really there but because you need them to be. The human mind constantly seeks to plug things into one another and make them fit. Make them dovetail into a story that can slide inside the veins. Divinity into tragedy and back again, the grains of the castle are still a pile of sand at their structure. A collection of beads infinitesimal, the whole is in the pieces. The pieces of ourselves we let wash away against the beach, they never really leave. The human heart seeks affection where it is surely impossible to find because what’s the harm if not. I am a freak because I want to crawl to you naked and taste all of your pain. I want your tears against my lips and the heavens to erupt in a beautiful kind of hurt which falls as heavy rain. As hard and wet, glorious and punishing. Metal in my mouth. The awful, elegant, succulent weight of it.

They tell you to do this or that and you just get high and watch the cars sail by. It’s not that you are hopeless it’s just that you know there’s plenty they won’t tell you and they don’t want to hear. Plenty enough they try to hide but you look anyway. You spend an obsessive amount of time peeling back the curtains, the curtains you were not supposed to recognize as drapery. Why fault ourselves for looking when all we ever truly seek are reflections of ourselves undistorted, frightening and real. When you touch me, close your eyes and tell me what you see with your insides. When you touch me as a blind man reaches out steady a hand, breathing, feels the satin heat of my skin, glow recognizes glow and thus the world may see. Romance inside the longed for and unexpected, mysterious and removed. That thing inside you out on the horizon looming. Vultures circling the deadness in the jawbone of eternity, cold miles and miles over head.

14 Replies to “Make Me an Angel”

  1. ‘awful, elegant, succulent [weight of it.]’ – the tang of metal – iron, I suppose. Or, tin. Or, aluminium*. The taste of heavy metal on my tongue.

    You have appeared, once again, from behind the curtain – magical and fleet, AMC.

    *aluminium [trans]: a-lu-min-um / a-lu-min-i-um

    Yes, ‘awful’, yes, ‘elegant’, but ‘succulent’, also.
    xx

    Liked by 1 person

    1. It is so fascinating to hear how the words settle in with you, dear Nick R. Always an alchemy of sorts, isn’t there, when another reads your words and they become something richer.
      Thank you so ever much for taking the time. You’re on fleet, cuz. Xx

      Liked by 1 person

  2. “Why fault ourselves for looking when all we ever truly seek are reflections of ourselves undistorted, frightening and real. When you touch me, close your eyes and tell me what you see with your insides. When you touch me as a blind man reaches out steady a hand, breathing, feels the satin heat of my skin, glow recognizes glow and thus the world may see.”

    Everything you publish next is exemplary! ❀ There is too much to love, too many lines of note!

    Liked by 2 people

  3. This is so beautifully written it makes me want to cry. You have a special way of breaking down the human mind and heart in a way that makes it so fascinating and beautiful.
    Love this so much!

    Liked by 1 person

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