arqios

post-tempest chews


 
Denial saunters
In the quiet haze of morning,
I sit by the empty space beside me,
its chill a whisper against my skin. 
The silence tastes metallic,
like the tang of tears unshed. 

I tell myself this isn’t real— 
that you’ll walk through the door 
just as the sunlight spills through the blinds,
framing your shadow in gold. 
But shadows stay empty. 

Walls rise within me like a fortress— 
denial, a hurricane’s eye 
where nothing can breach. 


 Anger swallowed
Days crash against me, unrelenting,
their edges jagged like shattered glass. 
Reality shakes me like thunder,
roaring its truth through clenched teeth. 

Fists meet walls. Air feels heavy— 
suffocating, electric, alive with fury. 
Why did you leave? Why now

My rage is a wildfire, devouring everything: 
questions, memories, even silence itself. 
But when the flames die down,
only ash remains. 


Bargaining
In the depths of night, I plead,
my whispers like stones sinking 
into an unyielding ocean. 
If I could rewrite the past,” 
I promise the void, “I’d make it right.” 

The weight of hope presses against my chest,
crushing, heavy as mountains— 
yet I grasp at thin air,
trying to reshape the inevitable. 

Promises dissolve; dreams unspool. 
No deals are struck in this storm-torn world. 


Depression cloaked
Grief settles like fog on weary shoulders— 
its weight palpable, pulling me into shadow. 
Every step feels like walking through wet cement,
each breath shallow against the crushing grey. 

The light dims. The air thickens,
and I sink into myself— 
a wanderer lost in a land without stars. 

Memories pull at me like tides,
their undertow dragging me deeper 
into desolation’s abyss. 


Hope?

But then, in the first breath of dawn,
I hear a sound—a whisper, faint, yet alive. 
The rain’s rhythm softens, the storm recedes. 

Hope flickers like a lantern, dim but unyielding. 
Acceptance grows slowly, like vines 
reaching through cracked earth for sun. 

I carry you still, etched in my veins— 
not as chains, but as roots anchoring me. 
The scars remain, but beneath their lines,
life pulses anew. 

This grief, this love— 
both a phoenix and a flame.