A Spiral at Such Dizzy heights

Must be winter that pulls these goosebumps to the surface, like a first kiss, but not quite as warm. Yesterday, I almost decided to go away for a bit. I want nothing, but to protect myself from all that has ever happened and to try to make sure it never happens again. But no one can stop things that happen all the time (if any of the time). I feel the need to replace so much that has happened with a smile--a smile that outshines and insecurity or fear. A smoothing of sorts. Something to ease my weary mind. Where my bones are not milk less cavities without calcium to render.

You know, they say med school is so complicated, but if only my life were as easy. Gosh, I was so happy in the early hours of November. Where did I go wrong? Perhaps I should make my blog private. I often wonder if I seem a bit too sad or too happy at times. But this is a place for my inner thoughts,...who would I be if I were to candy-coat them all the time? I am not a sad person. I am just honest.

But sometimes the dark will not consider the light. It pulls you to where nothing can be tasted, and love is a heartbeat that sounds from somewhere in the distance. You reach and reach, but it seems to be moving at the same pace as you, and no matter how fast you go, stumbling past the unseen, it never can be touched. Almost as if it wants to stop, so you can catch up, but is much too frightened. Then you make it into the light, only to see you were already there, but the strings you held, the heart strings, are now on your back and play you like some sort of puppet, or a character from an old time movie scene, where substance and security are just language beneath the sheets, where solitude is not intention, where everything is black and white. Where someone's aim is steady and they gather me in the palm, hug my restless heart.

And color? Color is an interpretation of all you desire and deserve, but you must constantly keep the light on.

I feel as if I have fallen into the ice. From the ice, I look up and scenes replay over and over, but I feel as if I have no control as to get out and get back into them. I think it is a feeling of losing what I held so tightly. And in this world, life seems so far away and severely cold.

The Sands, the sea itself cannot contain me

While I stood in the stillness, slept
deep in the bones of men,
I must have looked like a fool.

Against the crag, beyond our fears,
the smallness of my nape tightens--its air,
exhausted over the course of winter.

I look across the sands of salt and fervor,
weep for what I may have lost--gentle
        as the hands I imagined
        along my spine.

It is here, beside the low wooden fence
that whispers the road home, here where
I will surrender, weightless
as the dying moth.

        And if I stand in ill repute, my
heart beating against the black clouds of
this storm--

may you come find me.