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Weary From TormentPeering out from within rusty metal bars,
Clutching them until my knuckles turn white,
As if I could conjure the strength to crush them into the dust I breathe,
I reside in my cage.
Wide eyes search
For a bit of light
To instill hope
Instead of fear,
But none is to be found
Within this godforsaken prison.
I reside in my cage.
FragmentMy eyes remain clouded,
Unable to conjure any form of tears.
They are dry, blood-shot,
And shift out of focus.
Though I lay still,
My heart is ceaselessly spinning,
The world is endlessly aching.
I can taste the song and I can see the heat.
I hear my heartbeat alone above the ringing that is the scream of the night's wind.
It is calling out for the tear the has fallen
Upon your sleeve, resting on a desk.
The old wood is marked
By the ink that was spilled
When you tried to let the words escape from your lips.
I toss and turn as the crow flies away.
The butterflies are beckoned to mourn the loss of your tears,
Yet I am left.
Arms reach out
And grasp empty air
And I snuggle into a fragment
Of a memory
That is over before it even started.
The dove finds you
And delivers a cold stone--
All that tossing and turning
Has strangled me.
A MysteryI want someone to tell me there's no one else like me.
Say that I'm as precious and irreplaceable as the fleeting moment we are living in.
I wish someone would say that they are desperate to freeze the picture,
So that I could be captured and would never leave.
I suppose everyone yearns to find someone willing to extol them endlessly every waking hour.
How selfish I am.
Though I might say these loving things to someone, I should want for nothing in return.
In reality, I must realize that love shouldn't expect anything in return.
I must find someone to accept my love.
Though it may not be returned for years to come,
I want you to be happy.
I hope that you smile everyday.
I hope that woe never crosses your path,
And that you are forever immersed with the joy that I may never know.
Love is still a mystery in my youthful eyes,
And in you own as well.
Cold to the core.
Never really feeling
Too stiff to ever bound across a meadow,
Too dead to ever want to.
Only ever wallowing in the cruel reality,
As if frozen in time
Without a hope.
The harsh wind slaps you across the face.
Glassy eyes cry without even feeling sad,
The cold nips the nose red.
It hurts too much
To look up
And try to find the sun
That left so long ago.
The ice encrusting the world in a cold prison melts,
And your cheeks flush and warmth floods you.
A blanket acts as a shield.
The coldness has left.
It's strange to remember now
How it felt to feel.
Enveloped in warmth,
The world comes alive.
The color, once drained from the flowers,
Paints the landscape
Hues of crimson and violet.
Everything has a heartbeat,
Everything has a pulse.
Warmth radiates from a world
Once so dark and desolate.
No one knew
That underneath the coldness
Still worth living.
So look up,
The sun is smiling down upon you.
Another MistakeCold and cruel accusations,
Hateful glares under stone hearts.
Dark red stains of regret upon the slate,
The tears have dried
But the betrayal is fresh.
Nausea and woe
Fills me up to the brim.
Though I was the one
Who was hurt the most,
You are the one
Who cares the least.
You don't bother to face me now
You never saw who I was,
A vulnerable little girl,
Searching for a hand, anyone's,
To guide her from the hell she had created in her head.
Just another mistake
On the record of my life,
A lie I had no recollection of
May haunt me forevermore.
Mauled and scarred,
I broke and gathered myself up.
You will never know, not now,
How deceived I felt.
Someone finally cares, I thought.
But, you falter,
You pull your hand away.
No, it was never really there.
Not where it was supposed to be.
You were too afraid to reach down below the surface.
You never tried
Because you never cared.
Self-DestructionWith a sudden jolt,
I am ripped from my fantasy.
I have come to know happiness
As a fleeting thing.
It slips away once more.
The heavens come crashing down all around me.
I raise up my hands futilely in defense,
I take the blow.
I take no shelter from the storm waging within.
I cry tears of embarrassment
I stare down meekly
Not knowing what I'm apologizing for.
The earth beneath my feet
Begins to shake
Like a dramatic crescendo,
My emotions spike
And daggers pierce me.
A scarred and beaten core
Endures each and every blow,
Not knowing what it did
To deserve such abuse.
And I am filled
With all the hate of hell.
I can't find any trace of warmth
In the human heart,
I am scorched by a conflagration
They engulf me
And destroy every trace of peace that I tried to cling to.
Makes no sound.
The world takes no heed
Of the destruction within me.
I am felt to endure it alone
And I sit here silently
Story Time.The face of evil,
Once a god frozen in the ice,
Whose sanity melts remembering touch,
Is a drop of fire on the rise,
Its soaring hopes
Tied with black ribbons to an electric chair.
Lament, bleeding roses,
Bite your tongue till it bleeds.
In the silent midnight,
A tear sings a water's lullaby,
An Underwater fire walk in the labyrinth submerges the ivory heart.
Praying for spring:
The cycle of love and solitude.
Rescue is possible,
We need an instant repair.
Until then, I'll be missing you.
Depicting LunacyThe moon leaks through the blinds,
Casting a shrine on the wall.
Light blue starlight
And my hands are perspiring
As they twist in the sheets.
My eyelashes graze the pillow,
And my heart drops to my stomach.
SacrificeThe blood trickling down my chest
Is the same blood dripping from the bullet on the ground.
The heart that was punctured
Is the same heart still beating for you.
The world that is so stained and bloodied
Is the same world that you live in.
I will protect you
With, regrettably, the only life that I have.
love poem for a poetand if you ever complain
of writer's block
I will hold you
your chest pressed to mine
close and warm and quiet
and trace every word
that's been eluding you
onto the blank page
of your back
opinionsSuch dangerous things
you'd never think
they'd nibble at society
until it drove us all insane
But no one wants to admit they're wrong
Yes, everyone wants to be right
All our minds wish they agreed,
but all strike such different chords
and they'll never
Make it rainFeel the hurt,
Feel the pain.
Let it go,
And make it rain.
Caressed by subtle lips,
And liquid finger tips.
Our cheeks brush,
Its more than enough.
But then she's lost.
Consumed by the now,
Restrained by the then
And overwhelmed by what's to come.
Sleeping fear and waking dread.
Monsters hiding under your bed.
Twisting turns, squirming threads,
Dancing lights throughout your head.
You must be willing to risk it all,
Standing strong to watch it fall.
I'll grab your hand through all the pain,
And pull you out as I make it rain.
cerebrum.if it's midnight already and i can't feel you anymore,
it's because you're savoring the taste of someone else;
or maybe it's because you're just lost in all the shades of blue,
the word "farewell" comes in so many colors.
if you've climbed too high and still haven't found a signal,
it's because my thoughts are lost somewhere in jupiter's storm
or maybe it's because i'm asleep on a train
heading far, far away from you.
i took a metaphor literally once when i cut you out of my life
with a pair of rusty black-handled scissors and every picture that i had of us.
it never seemed to work, i could never chase you out of my head,
and that was when i realized that you lived there.
you're everything and nothing i've learned in history class,
about guillotines and revolutions,
and if i know one thing, it's that you're surely not a Saint
and no sir, i will not love you.
something as little"Do you sometimes think about humans and hurt," she says. She's rummaging in a crate on the cold floor of her garage, and her face is hidden. You shift to let the afternoon light shine on the golden wave of her hair.
"Because I do," she goes on, before you can admit that you have no answer. Small objects fall from the crate and cascade to the floor with a clatter. "I do."
Her words hang heavy between you, alone and uncomfortable in the summer air, and your tongue stumbles in the strangeness of the moment and spits out, "Why?"
She bundles the long strands of her hair into a fist and straightens, her hands otherwise empty. "Humans are so frail," she says, leaving your question unanswered, drifting with her I do. "They're made of all this muscle and bone and stubbornness, and still you can cut them to the heart with something as little as words." Her eyes fix on yours.
"What do you mean," you say, struggling to keep up with her. "Why words."
She smiles and the force of it is
Supernova She wants to be a supernova. Eighteen years is enough for her to understand that her mind is a thousands-year-old star; already hitting the edge of her window ledge. You can find it in the way her paper eyelids rest over burning eyes, and the smooth ache of decomposing thoughts sliding through her veins. She's a celestial paradox. She is a human being. She has a hand-me-down soul that's been breaking since her birth, and even though it's leaking beauty she's just running out too fast. Her mind is busy burning thoughts away into ash covered bones; an unbearably powerful flame. And she wonders, how is it that she can't get far enough away? The infinity of space is still freedom-less to her so how can one-thousand miles still not be enough to escape life's gravity? [Truthfully, it's because she's only considering horizontal componen
moonsongthe crescent moons bitten into my palms
break apart the hard worn lines written
there. a fortune teller told me
it was just a matter of time before my
universe crashed in on itself
and my stars ripped themselves apart.
your gray-sky-eyes swallowed me whole
and i fell down, down, down
while your piano key fingers played
my melody one last time.
conjurethere's something enchanting about
the 1 AM light,
the way the chill draws a soul
out of every breath,
the heavy air
laden with witchcraft.
there's a kind of magic
in the snow's white fingers,
abstract and pristine,
the soft steady charm
of their slight caresses,
their sleight of hand.
there's something about a night like this
that has you convinced
the world is holding its breath,
and when it releases it, the cold
will pull strange voodoo
out of its mouth, too.
flowers and rainI don't deserve the way you comb my hair on rainy days
To braid in flowers to make up for the gloomy weather.
I say "mother, I love the rain, and the thunder and lightning
Don't scare me, they protect me from the silence that threatens
To swallow me whole." but my mother only shakes her head and
Smiles at me as if I am a naïve little child who wears rose colored
Contacts that can show you the sun even while sleeping under blankets
Of clouds, and that's when I thought that what she was doing was for herself.
She was in another universe while she turned my straw like hair into gold,
Immersing herself in a good memory for every flower she wove into the back of my head,
Trying to get as far away as possible from the deafening noise that tried to swallow her whole.
But she couldn't really see me as she ran from reality,
Nor could she see that the flowers she so beautifully
Wove into my hair were dead.
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