To Be Embers

To Be Embers

I wanted the kind of love

Where I would be burnt alive

I found it

And now I’m wondering if

should have fallen in love

with ice


I blame the books.

I blame the books I read, for giving me a warped idea of love.

I’ve read all kinds of books. Announcing love, denouncing love, debating love, negating love. The sum of results I could draw was that most people fall in love with the idea of love. Once you see through that illusion, you get to the core concept of absolute, undiluted, one hundred per cent untainted, selfless love. Which is an ideal beyond reach in day to day life, so it might as well not exist.

Except that it does exist. After setting that purity on a pedestal, everyone who even tried to come into my life fell short. I did not want someone I could not look up to, the way I would if they belonged on that pedestal. Not that I was chasing angels, but flaws are not what define a person. On the contrary, flaws recede into the background, only to provide more texture in that fabric. And all the books I read deepened that in me. I did not want the easy going love of summertime and spring fields, of daisies and butterflies.

I wanted the fury of the storm. The last breath of air you surrender from your lungs when drowning in someone else. The ozone singed smell of the sky when lightning rips it apart. Beauty and complexity and infuriating, infuriating madness. I wanted love that transmuted each touch into a metaphysical journey, the kind where a passing glance could wrap brimstone fingers inside your rib cage and pull your heart and lungs down in one savage slash. I waited for love like that, while all other approaches simply bounced off me for years.

I wanted love that I could forsake Heaven for. And I found it.

And books would read themselves out inside my head when he touched me. It was symphonies and sonatas and crescendos and all the music of the world, playing itself out when we sat in silence. The world moved in funny ways, and I forgot how to walk like a normal person. I was the daylight astronomer, counting the constellations in the sun. I wrote books and books of words for him, and he is worth thousands of books more. I said them out so loud in my head that my throat became dry, my voice hoarse and not more than a croak. I disintegrated and dispersed among the black holes of his eyes, and I let myself be utterly bare, and completely accepted there.

I found the love I wanted to be consumed by…. but it did not consume me.

It left me wanting for more.

And it decays as swiftly as crushed leaves left out in the rain, as books who have lain languishing, exposed to the elements. You’re left just standing there, fighting for a love long abandoned, trying to burn yourself when his fire has gone out…

Oh I blame the books I read, for showing me what love truly is.

Because they tell you what it is, but they don’t tell you how it doesn’t last forever.


c. CM, 02.09.2014

To Be Embers- To be, for the Daily Post.

Color Blind



Color blind

You walked into my life
And threw the windows of my mind wide open
I’d been sitting in the dark
in there for so long
With the light you brought
I realized
My head was a riot of colors
Behind my eyes
Rainbows everywhere
An explosion of mirrors
I was just seeing myself wrong

I had been color blind
And you made me see
All the colors
Inside of me

© CM

I think I’ve been seeing it all wrong.

I’ve been staring for so long into darkness, imagining how empty my world will be without you in it, making faces at me every day. At the risk of sounding dramatic, I know I can’t bear to live that way. Not this deep in.

But then I looked at everything we’ve given each other. Everything you’ve given me. And there’s the tiniest chance that we might be able to reconnect our broken rainbow again, somewhere down the years. And that’s good enough.

I can live with the colors we made.




Two vials of diazepam
Just gets my mind to hush
Slow down the world a little bit
I can’t keep up
With this rush

Four vials of diazepam
My arm’s a little numb
Not unlike the rest
Of my chest
I think my heart is stumped

Six vials of diazepam
The dose is a bit steep
A vertical mountain to climb back
Ill probably sleep the week

Eight vials of diazepam
It’s darker than before
Pushed sluggishly through my hand
I’ll just write till I can’t move
Then there will be nothing more

It’s never been this dark before
I hope you’ll understand

© CM



Takotsubo cardiomyopathy
Or Broken Heart Syndrome
Means that there’s a broken heart
In your chest
Deranged function from
Deranged thoughts
Your heart doesn’t know
How to pump
When you breathe
Where to rest

Like a fractured sternum
You carry the stabbing pain
Jarring every step
that you take
Eventually, ECGs show
Left ventricular failure
Well.. Your heart did break

Slowly, it gives up and
Progresses to shutdown
Bringing that heaving, straining heart
To a peaceful rest
At least I know what I’m
looking forward to
I might have Takotsubo’s
broken heart
In my chest

© CM




I always thought I was
A consummate survivor
Capable of pulling through
Rather insane amounts of pain

Yet these monsters have managed to burrow in
And wedge themselves
Like a corkscrew turning through my brain

Each day I tug them out some
Each night they twist back in some
Always two deeper and one back

I suppose when they will have drilled
Through my head
At least I won’t be worrying about
Being cracked

Either I dig them out or
Let them eat their way through
Both ways I’ll be dead, but the latter
Is really more elegant

It’s just a matter of
Waiting to see
Which will win out
in the end

© CM