Fear of Fear

Sometimes it's the unspoken words that hold the truth, those heartfelt messages hidden between the lines that need to be read,  but are only skimmed hastily.

How imperfect his pen is as it tears through my pages rewriting my scars back to surface,
retracing their prominence forcing facing myself in somebody else's view.

I see only the pain that I drowned for moments in whiskey and coke induced haze,
and he wants me too embrace the pain that returns in coming back down to my reflection.

Fingers follow his eyes opening my eyes to a future that only comes when one can except the root of the pain and not stagger to numb,
numb comes in pleasures and they rock me to sleep.

His voice is still whispering song of pleasures from the pain and I can only hush and listen tears streaming down my face...
as an artist continues memorizing my mannerisms oblviously it would seem.

But his recollection of me knows the tears and they fall from his eyes at my hand.

I was selfish in my wanting for something beyond the past,
knowing I still carried it's torch in my chest as I wrote of love I only wished I could have bared.
But I bared my flesh, my scars and hid my soul and empty from his open arms.

The artist looks at me falling helplessly as I only can turn to leave and stand in his recollection baring the flesh of fear,

A fear of everything screaming in my eyes, and I am running away as is what I do best.

Running to the pain I am familiar, the rage that fills my hollowed chest.

And I dream of the artist, drawing him in my recollections on nights like this hidden between lines he skins in broken Haste, and he thinks me oblivious to the tears streaming down his face.

Does he remember his recollection as I do his smiling face?

I am not good for any one, I am pain to the touched, I don't reach out to bleed a goat dry, but my hand severs the artists heart from his pen.
I can only hope that one day I will embrace myself and my scars the way he recollects them....

Easily...

Gentle as the tides against the sand, as easily as I fell in love with the man behind the artist....

Maybe one day I will stop running from happiness...


For now I run....
Running is what I do best.

I. Confession              
             
I confess embracing the ecstasy
of joyful moments in your absence
while rejecting the balance of pain
your presence brought to experience
the contrast of contractual agreement  
 
I confess to having concealed your  
essence within wet marshlands  
of impression to forget you existed  
dreaming to be free of outstretched  
palms and bewildering numbness  
 
I confess I pretended to hold you  
as an infant against my breasts  
when you reared an indignant head  
so that I could comfort and appeasa  
your wrath to regain my happiness.              
             
I confess I have always sensed you  
in the silence of uncertainty, a dark  
peal of feral stray edging against  
starvation, shaking the infrastructure  
of constructed conclusion loose  
 
I confess I ignored your quantum  
field of energy during confusion  
seeking instead a palpable awareness  
a kaleidoscopic portal of myself  
clothed in calm understanding  
 
I confess it wasn’t you who needed  
my dark mantle of consciousness about  
your insecurity of being, nor desired  
what none but you could understand  
within our authentic nature of Truth  
 
I confess it is I who has waited  
needing you              
             
II. Absolution              
             
I do not absolve Fear’s hacking cough  
in hopes it asphyxiates, nor shall coax  
it from the covert chamber of self  
as a stray I could Love 
 
I'll run to it, let it instruct there is nothing  
to ever be afraid of, not even fear itself;  
I absolve those who say so
 
We only need fear ourselves
              
~