Thoughts

Seasonal Thrills

/ Tresha Barrett / Leave a comment

Like the summer heat, I lay bare, allowing trickles of sweat and want to drift down my chest.
Perked by the wisps of autumn, I watch as my mind fills with whirls of color in hopes of new beginnings.
Then soon, sometimes too soon, the dregs of winter stream by, and solitude sits heavy once again.
But spring, ever far, holds the echoed shrouds of blossoming truths that sweat, hope, and solitude can’t seem to amend.
This cycle, this vestibule of ardor and despair, how it trills like birdsong in the background of my life.
Lest desolation is my fate, these seasons of emotions may possibly be just right.

Suffering

/ Tresha Barrett / Leave a comment

I have no more pain to give
No more suffering to cloak myself in
No more heartbreak to wallow in.
Now, days are just a little too bright
Trials are a little too easy
And I no longer carry a cloud of blights.
How do I exist in this world of symmetry?
I can’t cry to the moon and wear black in bravery.
Oh! Now I’m just another sham.
I should throw myself off the highest cliff and let myself be damned.
Goodbye heartbreak
Goodbye pain
Goodbye years of suffering from which I’ve weaned.
Until next we meet
I will sit in silence, willing the darkness near so I can bask at its feet.

Awakenings

/ Tresha Barrett / Leave a comment

My existence sits heavily on my chest —
Pulling at me, strangling me, suffocating me.
I breathe in through my bones and ruminate at my rest,
All the machinations of the end that lie hollow upon my wake.
I can feel my skin stretching, creaking against my tendons
As I, not of this space, ponder my furtive passings.
Everything is heightened, intense, and shit, what does one have to do to cease this choking hold?
I call upon the ethers, the universe, and breathe.
That’s all I’m allowed to do —
Where my assurances lie.
I have nothing but this dream,
My dream,
This existence
As it sinks its claws in
And I die each time I wake,
Faced with another moment of the rising and settling of my chest.
I can make a playground of this.
I know.
But where’s the fun really, if you’re the only one fucking around?

Nightlife

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Time is as time was
Time will always be.
Glossing shadows
Coy smiles
Is that all that we could be?
Such fickle creatures, you and I
He, she, and we.
Bellow the cries of what lies behind
The standards and the truth.
As want is as want was
With innocence in between.
How do we change the stiff and the stoked
If there is no inbetween?
How do we revive all the desecrated graves
When our ancestors remain blind to their sins?
We are who we are —
An amalgamation of curiosity and pain.
Where there’s no longer hope in the cries of babes
And no true god to cleanse our sins.
We are who we were —
Burning through the night.
There’s no end to this
No end to us
We’re just setting fire to the night.
Some hoping
Some looking on in disgust.
Still, we are how we’ve always been
Trudging through the night.

Faded

/ Tresha Barrett / Leave a comment

He’s in my head again.
The pain, the longing, it’s here again.
And he knows.
When will it end?
He’d all but consumed me then.
His scent,
His smile,
His sins…
They all stuck around like a second skin.
He’s in my dreams.
Always a little too far.
I’ll always want the taste of him.
Will I grow?
It’s forever a strange thing,
How much I yearn and crave just a bit more of him.
Does he know?
He’ll stay in my head and then…
Who knows?

Desire

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Tell me your secrets and I will show you mine.
The ones that replace words with writhes and moans that cross all kinds of lines.
I will, if you wish, give a taste to define —
All the naughty things that cross my mind.
No feather-like kisses and delicate tongue,
No sheets to slither on or tempered wants.
I like pain with my pleasure — to give and to get.
I want to be ripped apart and my pulsing appetite kept whet.
Blindside me with brazen hands, nails and teeth,
Let me be the filler of your darkest needs.
They say the darker the desire, the deeper the cuts,
But I’ll devour it all and bear the marks with pride.
Simply satiate the source of the constant pulse between my thighs.

Existential Crisis?

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When it’s quiet, really quiet, I feel the echoes of my existence bleeding through my skin.
I try to stay still – no breathing, no thinking – just floating.
Maybe that will keep it at bay.
It usually does for a little while.
Not often though.
The heavy feeling of my breath, my heartbeat-
The fact that I am here in this moment (this space) is something that has always haunted me.
Does it haunt you too?
Do you want to pause your existence and not feel, not touch, not smell, not want…?
These moments are my torture – my masochistic thrill,
For, if I do not feel the weight of my existence, how do I know that i’m alive?