For Mi Cielo

You struck a chord with me tonight. Like your words hit just the right note and found just the right harmony. It resonated in my memories.

Hiding behind closed doors because the threat outside is much worse than any closet monster. Trying not to cry because the voice on the other side is the same one that used to lull me to sleep. Only now it’s a growl, no longer distinguishable as a lullaby.

What is wrong? What is right? Why does this voice keep me up at night? What is fake? What is real? What will allow my wounds to heal? More than static to feel? My layers to peel?

The room is empty now- the storm has passed. But my mind is still spinning, still screaming.

“Bury your demons, bury your dreams, bury yourself, bury everything.”

Under six feet of myself I hide, my own graveyard.

Reality’s ordinances defied, like a dragon in a dungeon I guard

My gold and my treasure- mystery beyond measure.

But the only mystery is me. My defeat.

How I let my past keep me off my feet.

The silent sound of loneliness follows me to bed

like the anthem of a misunderstood soul.

Like a foe disguised as a friend.

But filling a glass heart with lead won’t make me whole.

Every broken glass shrieks violently

My past is reflected in every broken piece of me.

You were the first to seep through the cracks in my heart. You were the only one to help turn my scattered scraps of sound into a symphony.

“Take your time,” you said. “You don’t have to say anything.”

Permissible apathy won’t stop the bleeding.

Ignoring gaping wounds won’t promote healing.

Enabling an addict to one more hit, one more swig…

one less word.

One less confession.

One more buried past and a princess trying desperately to sleep on something far larger than a pea.

I wanted to speak, I wanted to share.

I wanted you to see, I wanted you to care.

And you did.

I was in need of a friend.

There’s no need to pretend.

Whether to follow or to defend,

You are a good thing that doesn’t have to end.

The memories are still there they just don’t bother me like they used to.

Everything is a metaphor.

Coalescence is what harmonies are for.

Peering through my mended shards I see you next to me.

I am not alone, my heart soars- I am free.

“C’est la finis de la guerre.”

For you, my Dear, I thank the Lord.

Now I sleep soundly.

Our symphony ends and begins with the same chord.

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