Explanation by Christian G

I am not ready to ensnare this decimation.
This decimal was not made for me.
Blot, a dark hue
The knife dives deep into me.
***
I am smoke.
Smoke is I,
And I wish I could share it with you.

I wish I, an aftermath of flame,
Could be understood.
I want an explanation.

Two Ways to Think By Christian G

There are two ways to think when you're in the clouds.

A: I am lost

B: I am liberated

Exits from Snares by Christian G

Exits from snares.
That way I tread, a white light threaded in flesh.
Carrying me from dark dreads in the plague of feeling.

Where no light envelopes a sense of self.
I surrender to love;
Take me where I grow highest.
Let me be my best self.

Hold The Flame by Christian G

Hold the flame, brightest
In the dark.
In the incoherent silence,
Listen to your heart.

Know that some have passed,
And that their lives shine bright.
But never forget the ripples,
And devastation it caused.

What Do You Call Yourself?

What do you call yourself?
A polished mirror; a foggy lens?
Either way, let your light shine through.
Either way, let your light be true.

#Twitterpoetry by Christian Gould

Intense feelings enwrap me like a dark origami,
 Circling around the sun.
Closing in. Closing in.
An orb of chaos.

Folded in clouds.
Trying to get back on the ground.
Trying to remember why I'm here;
What my goal was, who I am.

Who I am? -
I am all I am.
All I need to be.
But I still wonder why,
After all this time,
I feel lost, time after time.

Words are not enough for the feelings to resign.
To put a noose on their neck.
It is but a brief incision.

Words are the curtains,
Curtailing these feelings of violence,
From doing harm to me.
They subside, but temporary.

I feel the words opening me,
To a steady, sterile breeze.
A stillness that envelopes me.

                                           - #Twitterpoetry

Tale of Compassion

Suicide –

Homicidal isolation,

That wears the branches of the heart.

Ixtab keeps tabs,

On the chambers of the dark.

An idea, a knot

When the world shuts on the breath.

Drags you into seas,

Promising more: Sleep –

Hibernation –

It said they would weep no more.

Yaxche Tree.

Or Aokigahara,

The places where suicide freeze –

Peering out,

From the cusp of a funnel,

That trickles into dark waters.

Breath clasped on scars,

A wheeze, a cry.

Now, here is the rest.

A green door,

An ancient promise.

If possible,

I hope these words funnel through.

This pallet is for you.

This love is for you,

These words are for you.

If you can’t find them,

We’ll bring them to you.

Make our own legends.

Write our own myths.

The branches of my heart reach out.

Spreading love to all.

                                                                                                 Tale of Compassion by Christian Gould