Felt alone
Cause I thought I should
Told to feel this way
Incomplete without a love
Sold to me each day
Yet what I want is not a tide
I won’t succumb to waves
And when I find just what I need
It wouldn’t pull away
Felt alone
But not afraid
Despite what I was told
Not falling for the sterling trends
I’m waiting for the gold
-Galwyn
Wound frail aorta
Pulse far from ataractic
Emphatic, my loveless anorexia
Pathetic, my soundless aphasia
Rend this troubled mind from better times
An imposition unwanted
Participation without consent
Never there, yet omnipresent
Euthanize me with a dream
Humanize this ghastly scheme
Banshees wail, spectors stay
Spectate the funerals, the song’s decay
Aortic valve, this organ’s scream
Shrieking pipes emphasizing
Wound frail aorta
Sort of a spring
With clock run silent, never to sing
-Galwyn
Your thrice melted steel
Stole my breath in the night
Not a scream,
But a gasp
Not a sound,
But a sight
Blood of red,
Eyes of green
Falling snow,
Pale white
With breastplate unfastened
And shoulders made light
Eyes of red,
Blood unseen
Pale snow,
Falling white
With heartbreak thrice fashioned
Fitting end for a knight
-Galwyn
Rich but not sweet
Silver spoons only bore
card castle houses
and suicide doors
Folding chairs,
gilded ropes,
diamonds covered up with spades
Kings and queens, faceless
shuffling directionless parades
Going to war
with suits and clubs
laminated hearts in tow
As so above, as such below
to find a place where wealth can’t go
But they have played right into hands
To be shuffled, split, and made unknown
All for plastic castles never owned
and silver spoons which never shone
-Galwyn
My headache is splitting
Fill the valley with your touch
Bind my hemispheres closer
Art and science in your clutch
My heartache is swelling
Pierce my soul and let it run
If you find me compelling
You’ll find it’s all after I’m done
To diagnose the way it is
Doesn’t deliver the cure
While I write and I wallow
I’m no closer to her
A tough pill to swallow
But the truth has to hurt
For sickness is painful
And from knowledge comes the curse
-Galwyn
A moment made momentous
Impressing gilded fingers into my shoulder blade
Depressing and embracing
Caressing and encasing
Replacing? No.
Defacing? Perhaps.
An army of legs wouldn’t run
From faltering lips, with lungs collapsed
A tiding made titanic
Sink my fears,
Drown my sorrows,
Be still, my panic
And in this moment I’m apathetic
With momentous love, by lips, turned tragic
-Galwyn
I was made for her
But we weren’t made for each other.
I’d reach out and touch her
but would she recall the feeling?
No, I recoil without startle
and relapse without starting
To waste the romance of one’s lifetime-
So disheartening
-Galwyn
