⧖ 𝙃𝙊𝙇𝘿𝙄𝙉𝙂 ⧖

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There’s something I can’t let go—  
 old and buried in the snow.

Something literal,  
 some sort of place—  
  a quiet torture  
   becoming silent,  
    cast into waste.


◌ Where is my meaning?  
⧖ What is my place?  
✴ Where is my tumor?  
⌬ What is my face?


⧗ I’m holding onto you,  
 finding meaning in longing…  
  My only meaning was  
   belonging  
    and that meaning  
     is what brought me here.


── At the front door,  
  out of breath and coughing.  
    A black dog on a chain,  
      howling and frothing.


I stagger  
 into something empty—  
  the odor assaults me strongly.


☒ Something dead  
 and something awful—  
  this is certainly  
   what brought me.


I’m holding on,  
 and I can’t let go.


✢ Can I be there?


  I can’t let go.


Pleading with nothing,  
 begging to bleed.  
Pessimism is key  
 and my passion is purest.


Inner abstraction  
 deals with blackness  
  and rituals on my wrist…


I’m longing for something  
 that can’t be fixed.



I’m holding on  
 and I can’t let go.


 Can I be there?


 ’cause I can’t let go.

  I love you…


 Find me here,  
  and I’ll be  
   holding  
    onto  
     you.


  

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