If Our Houses Could Talk
By – Lysslue & Johntruthat
(A poetic conversation between twin flames)
Walls closing in,
Looking for a window.
Outside of the eyes -- a smile,
Jaw drilled and locked shut.
Now craving to reach;
Terrified of the backlash.
Every step will be on glass,
Which wounds are worth bloodshed?
Ripping between multiple realities.
Can you see me?
Can they hear me?
A shell within a shell within a shell.
Sailing away— another comes to shore.
A body dragged, a thought torched.
Unreachable but, close enough to touch.
Smiling becomes cries,
Screaming becomes laughter,
Dying is breathing.
Is tears a grin?
Eyes closed peace?
There is no release, just constant spinning.
Someone lay me down and sit for awhile.
I fear that I am lost; maybe in numerous timelines?
I feel it crash all at once, shouting in my head,
So I get up and just walk to bed --
To turn it off.
A mind lost in the wind,
Grabbing for branches and leaves,
Nothing ever seems to be the win.
Still the head continues to spin,
Heart trailing behind,
Beaten and exhausted,
Holding with hope to live again.
Wishing for centered focus,
"Which eyes do I choose?"
Who am I to choose?
An image comes to mind,
Seated still by a tree on a small island out in the calm waters,
A smile on her face,
Peace like a perfume settled around her.
Maybe she can help my mind that wanders,
Like leaves in the wind, with no idea of what is the end.
Familiar, like she is the one that was there at the beginning and is at the end.
Sit with her, maybe her eyes will have the focus and center that your restless heart would like to enter.
Is a life spared a life sacrificed?
No saviors here but, maybe we can sit awhile.
A touch feels like the sun,
His breath of life brings me revival,
Use bodies to finish the puzzle;
just to ignite it within our own soul.
A mirror image,
A silent conversation,
I need to fit with his body and be molded,
Tiles to a floor, a knob to a door.
How does he always manage to spot my ship coming to shore?
He holds my face covered in bruises and broken bones,
Kisses every inch of harmed skin.
He takes the loaded gun from my mind and sets it down,
Seeing the surrender in my soul.
He smells like ease and acceptance.
His tongue drips with letters that sound like the song of my existence.
He shines for me and on all the parts I have stained in darkness,
I the key to his chaotic, troubled mind.
A waltz, a strong push and pull,
A fight to lead.
Figuring out the flow of our steps,
Feet slightly bleed,
We see the ending,
We fight for the security of knowing.
Yet we are just students with amnesia.
We are everything the other holds.
Until the moment of remembering,
we are in constant agony of hearing each other screams,
Our unsettling cries of torment.
Not allowed to play savior.
In deep prayer we make it.
As we rest having done a lot and our best,
We dream of the rest and let our breath fill our chest.
Two houses breathing, dreaming of coming home…