red this morning, do you think
you could burn up, too?
(t)he(y)if they felt the static,
why couldn't they fall back
on nothing again?
if he felt the static
why didn't he play it
through the chords?
ice, italics. stressed.I. signed, (literally) hopeless (not very) romantic
today i stood outside
for too long and came
back with numb toes and
a cold heart- i mean,
i had one from the start
and just because yours
wants to beat for mine
and i'm easily gullible
does not make me see
you, like i saw the one
and, damn, maybe it’d
just be easier on me
and you and
if i just go back to
breaking my own heart,
the cold can freeze my
heart, sure, but it
still cannot stop
(only i can do that.)
II. signed, jealousy
there is no war here,
only the midst of me
trying not to cry
because i'm already
dead and i'm aware
of it, aware i'm a
velvet-blue canary in a tiger cage
and surprisingly, i
love saying goodbye but
don't like giving u
i can't figure out something i don't know.whatever was the meaning of
the tiny stars on your back
and freckles you didn't have- (but would suit you.)
when did i miss the
nostalgic like memories and
the days spent
i don't care how
many times i will become void;
my heart always knew i was a
record-- but why, why
did i lose my eyesight?
i broke my glasses long ago but i
see lilacs in your eyes
and golden hearts beneath your feet (shattered)
when will i understand
the meaning of time and time lost
and time spent wading in waters
of empty words you never heard
and never will, because oh dear,
i'm beginning to see that people like you
have hearing trouble.
lucky stars, who said so?i never had, nor needed
guiding stars, and i didn't need
them until your smile broke
and i couldn't fix it with all
the gadgets and screwdrivers
in my toolkit-
my mother, she had always been
frustrated with the fact
i didn't want to connect the dots
that i wanted to draw my own
pictures, be different, but
realizing my steps then, only three years old,
made me angry because i wanted change.
and change fell down like acid rain
and i lost my colourful imagination in a graveyard.
(death was always my favourite.)
but one thing that didn't change,
she told me,
was that i could never read
emotions- sometimes, she called
me a robot and i couldn't stop from crying.
i don't think robots can cry.
mothers don't lie, for i don't
understand your eyes
or the feelings behind them
and if i did
myself over and over.
"where are your lucky stars now?"
fate and a handful of broken ribs.it all became a heartthrob obsession
when your eyes smiled along
with the sun, too,
and my broken bones fluttered along
to my now alive again, heart-rate--
the violin strings i doubt i could play
would ring through your ears like
every thought of your fingers
running through my hair
that would never happen in this poisoned
bone like wisps and heavy rib cages
that i will never get
to caress and fix,
no- i'm not a mechanic
but i'm damn close.
so let me write you a
river of some kind of
sad truth, a riverside woodland
where both of us see
the forest for the trees
"don't fall into the water!"
(i don't have a line of fate on my palm.
does that mean i've already met it?)
for myself and forsakeninstinct was a fable of motions
i was never really doing;
in a comatose state of
which they dare call
i found i took too many
steps backward out of
lack of commodities
for his heart was
an exterior shell
and i was breaking
the case -
a star on the rise
who was mislead
in a make believe conversation between hearts;
a headliner news article
lined with shifts of blame
that was never meant
to be lost
a little prettier to youi have found that i keep thinking myself in circles
around your heart. i guess it’s not
that much of a problem, but i keep feeling
the urging sensation to wrap my arms around your
skin and every part of you i can, because when you left
it’s almost like you died.
it’s almost like you fell and shattered into a million
rose-bud petals on my bedroom floor,
like you crashed and burned into a fire
of passion inside my aching heart.
so let me count your
eyelashes one by one while you create a cocoon around
my heart without breaking it down. i want to feel your hands intertwined
with mine after waking up from a battle scene of blood and guts, when will that happen?
when will my fantasy strike my reality, hit him over the head and say,
“i fucking told you so.”
i fucking told you we were twin flames and you shook your head after kissing
me in your antique dreams; now coated with acidic false lies the ground
whispered in your ear, but i know you love the sky, boy. so
door knobshe falls asleep to the sound of echoes.
they are more than silent reminders; they are also
snowflakes falling from the tip of her snowglobe.
she feels deeper and yet is so low- swimming
in waters awaiting something she is unknowing of.
young; dry throated.
she feels fingertips- cold- unwavering- holding her
fragile body once more. but she knows she is
just to hold a duty- and such actions mean nothing.
she is to twist, turn, and to be rewarded in small
(but is that faux too?)
butterfly wings over-hardwhen he finally found that
his fabricated wonderland
utopia was a chained
captivity of his illusions-
his thoughts became
chrysalises filled with
butterfly guts & blood
now, who taught him to kill
his thoughts with
(the scent of burgundy ash
and lit cigarettes
is one he already knows.)
by the looks of it,
the body he has
is now painted red;
a forlorn hero,
a walking time machine
stuck in the second
when his neck
kissed his head
stuck in the minute
when his veins cried
and he cried, too
Her burnt Salvationpry open the wall of my past
maybe you'll see what no one
else wanted too,
But she's cemented to this corner,
where a hundred knocks per hour
finally becomes those empty
whimpers repeating thank you
let the poets cry themselves to sleepit's hard to hate you in the morning
when you're waiting in my dreams
what's lovely in the moonlight
is deadly in sunlight, it seems
you won't write, and you won't call
you don't even say 'hello' anymore
(but i wanted to tell you,
you're still the reason i don't lock my door.)
time doesn't need to make sense anymore.i feel you under my skin like a new kind of blood.
the taste of the crisp metaphor rolls of my tongue
before you've had the chance to sing me to sleep
like you've done in years before
but you don't know this because you're only here now
you haven't seen the death and the wrought
and i praise the lucky stars for that
but you know me, my dear
you know me from the past
or perhaps even
from the future
but your lips still taste the same,
no matter what crazy timeline we're in
and no matter how many times i've died to get here with you now
shattering glass and stars.some people can't see the stars.
it's not blindness that constricts them
but rather the deafness and the ignorance
inside their eyes.
and [although they can't hear]
the sound of glasses
brings tears to their eyes
because they wonder if this is what the stars sound like
but the funny thing is
all they can see in the night sky
are little airplanes
they're mistaking for stars.
cypress trees are a symbol for deathi, i am in love and sad.
i have given in to a concave of misfortune.
a constant, blooming
cypress tree which i’m slowly
wishing upon for my death;
and its leaves curl and listen just
like you do. what a shame you don't
have pretty evergreen eyes;
they’d suit you.
ii, it is not your fault if they cause it. if they try and chop your tree down.
my tree cries with me when it
rains, letting the red past roll down
i am tired of the branches
on my tree,
they have too many scars
because people have
tried to chop it down
i didn't stop them, though.
(i just don't think they were
or the reaper isn't coming for
iii, a dead one’s thought of death
hey, isn't it funny how we all die
the leaves just stop growing
because they deserve some sleep, too
after all, all good things come to an end.
(except life isn't that
great for me. i guess that makes
iv, a walking steel boned skeleton.
Beautiful.They say I’m beautiful
Because of the way my crystalline heart reflects light off its fractured surface
Well, that isn't a reflection
It’s rejection of the light because it’s all too much to handle
Throw myself away into the dark without even a candle
‘Cause I don’t want to recognize all the pain I’m in
Or realize the truth behind what I am or who I've been
And I tried to make things right but I just keep on making wrong
I never listened to the angel on my shoulder when she called
I count my tears like they’re experience
And my scars like they’re mysterious
And that’s a feeling I’ll remember –
Watching as you left
Watching as you ended what was meant to be forever
And I can see it in their eyes; everyone can empathize
So they say that I’m beautiful because they don’t know what else to say.
But if being broken is beautiful, then it’s the ugliest way...
Broken ButterflyWould she sing?
Or would she sigh?
Would she walk?
Or would she fly?
Would she stumble?
Would she fall?
Could she even
Stand at all?
This much is true...
I believe in you...
Set your sights
Up to the sky...
You have to try...
My broken butterfly!
Hello, BeautifulHello, Beautiful;
You don't know me.
I don't know you.
I know people who know you
They were crying
Letters and ink
And I didn't understand.
I know your name,
Their words about
Those always made me smile
And I was so scared,
not to them
not to her
she's so beautiful.
Here are my tears
Because I don't know you,
But I'm really glad you're here.
I don't know you
But I really want to
society threads her like a needleoh,
she is the child of
clutching needles in the
palm of her mind's eye,
she gnaws and
spits her body slick,
until she can thread
through "perfect" at last.
it's a cruel vision,
and she's been beautiful
oh, it makes me cry.
she's the one with
all membrane and silver,
see-through in the moonlight
i could blow her away
with bated breath and my
whispered, desperate prayer:
love yourself again."
step away from that mirror,
and the scale.
you'll find yourself wanting.
ah, it makes me cry.
dear depression,(master of the umbra)
i hate you.
broken whispers, lonely promises,
you are the worst of lovers, owning all, but
never seeming to be satisfied
even with your name branded scarlet into my wrists.
i am no longer the golden songbird as when you first met me,
you still hang onto me
raking across my heart like
my pen ripping across the bloodstained page, like
lightning across the skies, (vengeance
raining down from the gods i used to believe in)
"don't let them catch you,"
you breathed into my ears.
an ounce of life, in exchange for a cloak of darkness (i thought i'd only stay one night)
the fog was sluggish and deep.
so blinded, I hid
in the shelter you offered me
(i still hear those echoes)
my rib cages are my prison bars, my heart bound by these chains...
you chopped off my wings and left bleeding stumps
and told me i was never bound for the skies.
(shattered glass, lifeless eyes)
Set me free.
disorder"mirror, mirror, on the wall
who's the fairest of them all?"
i whispered to my doleful reflection,
but this was no fairy tale:
this was a small town on a cold, foggy night.
my skeleton was so beautiful
i wanted to showcase it,
give onlookers a glimpse of my impending
death through my very flesh.
i could picture myself, edges carved away
like a cored apple.
i just wanted to feel real.
everyone around me chewed and swallowed so easily
but i just gnawed on my lip until i
tasted blood, and let
a piece of myself die.
the flavor made my mouth water
as my stomach ground out hoarse
requests for expansion, for meaning.
i held nothing within but pathetic yearning,
hollow with self-hatred.
i could only feel affection with pain.
perfection became my obsession,
consuming me alive the way i would have
loved to consume anything at all.
some part of me believe i could be a super model,
and living my life on ambition and emptiness
was the way to do it.
every day i watched the little numbers
fairy dust like cotton sporesi was six and fairy tales had a
hold on heaven; the window was always cracked
at night in hopes some prince
charming would come waltzing in to sweep
me off my feet, take me somewhere more beautiful than this
backwater town. sixteen rolled
around to find me already forgotten, already
running (in circles) and wondering why books propped open the only
shutter to my soul.
you walked in out of nowhere,
somehow out of place with skin like honey
and eyes like dew and y'know,
i hated you. too beautiful for nowhere, too beautiful
to be nothing, and you just didn't get it.
you bought me a rose when you saw
me on the street ' just 'cause '
(made me mad cause beauty shouldn't have a hold on pretty things).
on the second date you took
me skating, told me to stare at the stars
for a minute. took me a while
to realize i was searching through secondhand smog for
nothing just so you could look at me looking
(guess there was a way 'round those walls in my head after all).
you used to sneak in
Missing YouThere is a stillness,
Though not rest.
An empty place, inside.
The pain stops...
The place where you reside.
Losing you brought chaos,
Missing you, an aching
Swollen in my chest.
Loving you was worth it,
A soul I'll not forget...
Though loneliness is painful,
I hold, not one, regret.
There is a stillness,
Though not rest.
An empty place, inside.
The pain stops...
The place where you reside.
~ A Love That Lasts ~Will you...
Give me your heart
To hold and protect?
Laugh with me
And mend the broken past?
Stand by my side
And never stray away?
Grow old with me
And never regret one day?
With your last breath
Whisper "You were my first and my last"?
Give me a love that lasts?