Prose: Camp Morning

I woke up around 6:30 this morning. The air was calm and mild, and it was apparent that it had rained overnight. Despite the dampness of the ground, the trees, the fly of my tent, I was dry and the air felt pleasant.

The Taste of Dust

I want to go to the desert.

Dust and heat,
reddened shoulders.
Chapped and cracked
hands and lips.

dry dry dry

Blue sky.
The taste of earth
in my mouth.
Every memory
slightly burnt.

Cool water
is a blessing;
nightfall a
virtual cleansing.

Cool air:
the sky explodes
into a million
constellations.

dry dry dry

When the sun comes up,
the sky is alive:
colours painted above
the horizon line.

I want to go to the desert.

Anyway

I avoid mirrors
I dare not look my sad self
in the eyes,
for I am not what I've claimed to be:
I am made up of lies.

(Save one.

My love for you
is my only truth.)

What would the woman
I make myself out to be
think of the woman
that's actually me?

I am weak.
Powerless.
Without a sense of self preservation
I love you to the point of my own damnation.

I continue to love you
as you chisel away at my heart,
burying the shards beneath your skin.
I watch as you fill yourself
with my love, but like some
black hole, you do not reflect it back.
I disappear.

I betray my own self
with every day that I continue to
offer my heart to you,
my soul prostrate before you,
with every moment that I beg
for what should be given freely.

I love you beyond what is sane,
but even knowing that I cannot turn away.
My heart is yours to do with what you may,
and to this end, I've accepted my fate.

I am yours, I have given you everything.
And so I lay naked at your feet,
waiting for you to deign to accept me.
knowing you never will.
still loving you anyway.

Corpses

Every dream you have
is like a star in the sky,
and you are reaching for the heavens.

Every star in the sky
has long been dead, which means
you are reaching for corpses.

Priorities

"What's wrong?
Why are you crying?"
You don't ask.

"I love you
more than I love me,"
I don't answer.