Dark and Darker Days

My soul bleeds for you friends
so that art can land on pages
yet to be flipped.
Buried in darkness
light comes out beautiful.

I think I hurt for you
as if my art
can’t be born in joy
the way it can be born
in dark
and darker days.

Blood must fall
for words to flow
but it’s not true!
It’s not true!
The majestic
bring words to pages
just as powerfully.
Maybe I have just not
been brought to the majestic.

I bleed for you friends
so you may use me
as a conduit for what
you have to say.

But you never told me
to turn the lights off
I hit the switch
myself.
Assuming
you won’t come to me
among witnesses
and here you are
and I have candles burning.

You come through me
I a mere vessel
a solid form
that allows this thing
this thought
to land
beautifully.

But it’s not always beautiful.
You tear through
the ugly
to find
something worth holding onto.

Did I create an art worth
breathing for?
Or has it merely been using
my lungs.

A parasite.

But no
it’s keeping me alive
this my friends
is mutual.

And sometimes
the air is thin
sometimes
I can only expand my chest so far
before I choke
on expansion.

I cave sometimes
and crawl into deep holes
that laid down
blankets
for my visit.

I don’t wait patiently
for air most days.

Most days
I scream for it.

But here
it flows through me
with minor pushes
and beautiful flaws.

Sometimes
I let there be flaws
so when the oxygen runs out
they’ll know it passed
through me.