This Rain
Caught in a storm while my lungs strained through breaths like castle stanchions exhausted by the chains that suspend their drawbridge, like a tongue across a mote, while my own gathers spit and gags from the deepest part of my throat, so very sick to my stomach. When it began to rain, hard drops galloped across the street like phantom hooves racing, the asphalt mirrored the barrage of lights and the wind heaved cold and hard like this time in my life. This wasn’t the first time I thought about my death.
An Observation
Asset whom they degrade, to shelter, claim thereto yet deny love – unconditionally.
A piece of them is piece of mind, not worth the respect or trust, the only two ingredients vital to create the very vessel that shivers in the wake of familial barrage of hellish whispers, phantasm dancing to a song it doesn’t know, wildly out of step, so that the other nothings gazing from nothing think nothing is wrong. Then it doesn’t matter how nothing they really are, just the weight of what once was. What you know as ‘love’ is just the chain hoisting your cage, a dead light in a massive fixture on the ceiling in the room of the building where you are supposed to feel safe.
Is There Light Where You Are Yet?
Today grief was an old blanket spilling from the mouth of a garbage bag by the dumpster where butterflies gathered. Too beautiful. Too perfect. I didn’t need to finish my cigarette, but I did and now something else flies away from me. Towards the sun that stains leather and photographs, fading memories like the glimpse of the past I caught in a dim-lit portrait of a polaroid. If I was an artist, I would trace the constellations slowly across your skin, threading starlight back into the arches of your cheekbones. Returning the lost glow to wherever you are.
Untitled
There is an agonizing pulse
we all share, an aching reminder,
a reason to carry the relentless hollow away
from the chasms of dark,
despite the fear and fascination
of depths and dreams.
Darling, hand me the masks you wear
to paint the inside of your favorite escape
so when you’re there, you’re very far away
from all of this.
Are You Okay Though?
I can’t tell you that I’m melting away in the warmth of confusion like a snowflake in the Texas sun.
Brooding like storm clouds on the fourth of July with fireworks ready to burst yet unable to shine.
Untangling you still, with all of your frayed wires sparking, shattering yet oddly harmonious.,
And as the shadows cast by the sinking sun, shallow, polka dotted, fading,
is this what you wish to hear?
Gonzalo F. Mendez is a Uruguayan-American Poet with a BA in English & Creative Writing from Southern New Hampshire University.
He is the author of For Whom Nothing Changes & Let Me Know When The Sun Goes Down. His Poetry can be found in Literary Magazines such as Litbreak, thINK, Alien Buddha, Don’t Submit Lit & Greater Oblivion.
Twitter: @gravescribe
Instagram @gravescribe
Alien Buddha Press 