‘No One Will Ever Understand and That’s Okay’ & ‘Just Enough’

Photographer - Tobi Brun

No One Will Ever Understand and That’s Okay.

Neon lights bust open upon our smoky windowsill, crawling out of the weapons of our mouths I

spill inside of you.

Gunshots! Resound and bounce around the cage of your ribs. 

I dig deeper into the distance of your power floating around the vacuum of your heart.

You entrap me within your pounding blood, like rocket fuel you shock my veins.

Neon lights crack my skull open and I spill down your spine.

I wait like helpless eyes at the pew of your body, watching as you perform unto the ledge of all

we have.

Scratch and claw me open as we travel into the machine of our diamond hearts.

Glass shatters in the hall of air, spilling out from the broken tears of the god we beg for.

Ringing out, our bodies echo as the hands of the clock bring us into the fold.

Neon lights dance into the hand of an anxious star.

Your tongue burns into me like the view of a distant sea.

I scream at the walls and ask why can’t there be just one more memory?

You put the gun to my head and I lay waste to the world, the lights of the grid flicker from our

waves rippling like boundless fear.

Two bodies falling into place.

Neon lights mark the death of me and you.

So with nothing left we accept the cultivated rage, the boiling gray within, we look into the

mirrors and shatter our minds like somebody will have to love us.

Eventually.

Right?

Running into your eyes as if I belong to them, like within them I can hide from the grip of my

heart.

Save me.

I whisper (whimper).

You look into me like all those neon lights.

Breaking open, questioning their own shadow.

What do you see?

TELL ME WHAT YOU SEE!

When you look into me…

Neon lights march to the rattling drum of death. 

I smell your hair, how it tastes like morning.

Your eyes…

How they hold me.

We can’t escape it, we can’t outrun it, we can’t hide.

Neon lights commit suicide just to know what it means to feel.

JUST ENOUGH

I’m choking on blood chilling chunks of time

my thoughts are vain and tempted by the succulent imagination of desire,

the overwhelming success of death.

Laying in a bed frozen by my own howling furnace of existence

the gnawing chains and icy teeth of a sun roaming overhead,

its shape is not what I perceived coming out the womb as a shaking and wet mess of dream

it is exactly what I would envision the end of the road would look like,

how it haunts you, laughing at you with its gorgeous reminder of life and death.

As I lay here imprisoned behind the bars of her pleading laugh and iridescent glow as she sleeps,

this sun continues to bludgeon the lies into my feeble and horrific mind.

As a needle of its own breath dances along the seams of my crumpled and sickly twisted

imagination I lay in silence and watch as the shadows crawl like lyrics across my mind.

As the vision of her skin lofts neatly into the facade of my mind time bends backwards and I

imagine us dancing on a sheet of melting glass.

Helpless as the cries of raindrops splitting their secrets over indifferent Converse sneakers,

shoelaces arching their lonely shadow across laughing puddles, like that day, many days ago,

when she danced along the ribs of a rainy day and I got lost in a cloud, how I felt as if I never

really say her.

These sounds exist everywhere and nowhere at once amongst the bubbling eyes of my walls.

My mind replays her hopelessly, caught on quivering images of her hand brushing away a

stranded fleece of hair from her galactic eyes, as if it were trapped in the grooves of a never

ending war.

The taste of peaches, the juice running parallel down her jaw, the day breeding magnificence

from her frayed blue jeans.

How everything is enough in her gaze, like the watery sunlight crumbling inside her eyes makes

me believe.

Yet I am trapped.

Surrounded by the mangling thorns of passing time.

Sunlight melting down my walls like a fleeting candle, burning my veins and making me itch

from the inside out.

I shatter like glass at the sound of her skin, as the sun ticks mechanically across the sky I pray to

a god that I have never met.

Until nothing is left but a desert with drifting sand and a crumbling castle.

Michael Munns is a writer from Homer, Alaska. He has written and shared his poetry at open mics in the Colorado Springs area. He is an avid reader and writer who aspires to share his ideas
with the world. Serving in the army he does not have any college education. Believing books are the backbone to our society, he educates himself in the likes of Tolstoy, Hemingway, Faulkner,
and the greats he admires so much. His main forms are poetry and short stories. We are proud to share this is his first ever publication.