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Almost Perfectthe sun is melting away,
we call it romantic when
all good things die quietly;
I feel like I’m always transitioning
through different levels of sobriety:
spent up on the people in my life
like the girl who doesn’t remember
my name and the boy who thought
I was joking.
(I will care for myself, and
then the world will stop and
spin in the right direction;
the mirror will blur and
I will finally see me,
unfiltered and beautiful)
I just want to believe
that somewhere there’s a boy
ready to sing my bleeding ears
with a cinnamon voice, he
will tell me I couldn’t
possibly be human: something
otherworldly, a moonmaid with
starry eyes come to make
and it would be almost perfect,
floating in that jagged gap where
devotion seems to breed and
where I could finally sleep,
untouched and sober.
softenedthe sky whispers,
ribbons of crystalline quiet,
same shade as the angel dust
you shivered every time we were
in the darkness, we were
sorry birds searching for
open dawns. you, the
swan, me, the
black as night and
just as hopeful.
and there were poems
written in your skin, universes
blooming in your hands; your eyes
were a December sunrise saving me
from any sleep.
I’ve decided that
people are a composition of
all their greatest memories—and you,
you were always the most
beautiful piece of
we are not a fairytalewe are not a fairytale.
I am not the strong lead with a heart of fire,
bones of steel, and eyes of vapid curiosity;
motivation seeping through
my every last intended action because
I was written this way
(the heroine falls only to rise again:
proverbial phoenix, burning out
because it is the cycle of my
life) and you, you are not
the beautiful travesty, perfectly composed
to strike me where I’m weak and
[almost]human, delicately woven
like the tapestry of my dismantling—
a subtle irony where somewhere, a writer
chuckles softly, understanding
we are blinder than church mice, born
in a makeshift world of darkness where
I’m not sure whether or not the sun will
rise again tomorrow, because it won’t exist
until someone breathes life into it,
but no. we were never so lucky
to be carefully orchestrated,
a composition rendered for
another’s satisfaction. I am not the
climax, nor the resolution, but a lamb
with Stockholm Syndrome and
a tendency towards people
wallflower clippingsthere's scar tissue in her throat,
swollen around the words she never said;
dark rings around her eyes
like planets unremembered, and
a staleness to her touch,
the crystalline Dead Sea.
she's living like a story
that's already been told
"if no one loved you
would you mean anything at all?"
in that moment,
we forget to exist.
don't forget to let me go(the worst thing I’ve ever been
is an accident)
my words have no filter and I am
too many apologies bound
together by the stringent belief
tomorrow is worth more than today—
remember that summer when I was
beautiful? all covered in amber fog
and delivered like a dream. I was
a porcelain promise, a lavender
whisper, a breathtaking cancer,
and so many other precious things
I just want to go back to that
time where I was unmolded by
mistakes and words unsaid
(it was never you
I have spent too long trying
to drain out every tear from
the ocean, my love,
simple tasks are for the
weak of heart, it was
I am still beautiful at night:
a perfect collision on a road
going nowhere, (please
do me one last favor
and remember me.)
Addressed to Jane Doesome nights I like to tear my veins out, individually
like flower tendrils waiting to bloom and
string them up in the sun I never got to see;
violet memories, severe and sharp around the edges
like the day her eyes clouded over. blooming
purple, precious thing, nurtured by her inability to say no;
I wonder what she’d say when she saw the spaceships
steal the sky. she’d raise her bloodless palms
to the empty heavens and ask them to take her, too
(these nightmares are a self-diagnosed
expiration date, I wake to the sound
of your wildflower heart mourning my
goodbye. I still wince like there’s
a war being fought between my bones;
the history books won’t remember the way
death knelt and cleaned my canvas
skin, kissing my forehead before
abandoning me to lose in peace) dear
nameless, the numbers stamped on your wrist are not
an identity. on nights such as these, I swallow your voice
like a shot of whiskey and string myself out like you,
the porcelain savior, hollow,
existentialism and shoddy metaphorsI was violet-cheeked and
diamond-hearted; a work
of art in reverse,
tearing between my ribs
and calling it beautiful,
and I wonder now why they
never taught me this in school;
the sepia-saturated glow life
gives out some point after
you’ve realized wishes are
for those who’ve not yet
woken more alone than when
they went to sleep,
they never taught me all
the reasons why or that
sin tastes sweet. I met
my maker once in a backalley
bar, stormy eyes and peppermint
breath, charming off a hangover;
he sighed, “I know how many
days it’ll take you to give up
completely. I know how many
dreams you’ve sold away and
how many lies you need to
swallow before you can fall asleep.
I know that you’ve never quite
grown up and I know that
you’re afraid of me” he
smiled silent and downed
another drink, losing himself
in the ramblings of a solipsistic
existence where “I” am finally all
that matters (and sometimes
I believe I was built hollow
scraps and sacramentsyou,
beautiful siren girl with melodies
entangled in her hair: you are
shell-shocked and sea-struck
even though you cannot stand
the sensation of sand beneath
you have fingers for prying, picking,
pulling at your skin and nesting
in that hollow space between
your bones. and if anyone asks,
you will swear there are monsters
sleeping in the concaves of your ribs;
there are ghosts beneath your tongue,
embittered, and you are not the words
they say there is an answer, little girl
(sometimes you begin to believe you are
a scarecrow on the border of reality
begging people to turn the other way;
and the mirror will agree)
how far have you gone? a feather in
the breeze who won’t promise to return
again; there is a wandering warmth in
the hesitation of your harbored fear.
where will you be in six months when
the future has become itself and you
are still astray? little one, no one is like you
in the way you sway to the cadence of a
dissonant night. no one knows your
i’d tell you I hated you
if you had a voice or a face,
or any sense of tangibility aside
from the spider fingers you use
to crawl through my brain
you are not beautiful, like
all the other poets protest. you
are the red in my eye, like
a pen bled; the ragged to
my fingernails, the hitch of my breath
when it catches in my throat.
before i go, i’ll write a million letters (a million
pennies for my thoughts, bitter, embedded
under my tongue) and send them to people
i’ve never met, telling them how my eyes were blue
when i was little but now are the same gray
i’m choking on, how i am maddie and how that’s short
for a name i was never graceful enough for, how
i tell myself stories of lives i’ll never live so i
can go to sleep
because when i’m really gone, that’s all that’ll be left
(it’s funny what people
try to justify with words)
you never loved me,
you selfish thing, i wonder why
i wasted so many nights relivin
HeartlessLove is cruel
Love is ironic
Love is a tool
Love is idiotic
It defies explanation
Twisting, spiraling, leaping
How does it conquer?
How does it rule?
It crushes, it breaks
Yet still is a jewel
If you love something
You should let it go
Yet I just can’t leave
That warm, buttery glow
It strikes without warning
At first is a blessing
Then leaves us broken
Gasping and guessing
The glass is half empty
Even when half full
But I want to smash the glass
With the rage of a bull
No matter if concealed
In dress, cloak, or suit
Love will be always
The heart’s delicious fruit
It ensnares and entangles
Dripping intoxicating juice
And all the while
It tightens the noose
Whispers in your ear
Then swiftly melts away
Comes back a second later
To lead you astray
Locks you up
Then gives you the key
But you refuse to come out
Suffused with your glee
Ah, love is mystical
So what do I know?
But hear this, child
It turns friend into foe
What I want to address
Is behind that sweet
(c)loves and (c)loversi am no artist's muse,
i am no ship's harbor
i am no hero's weaker heel,
i am no good earth's flower
i have never been your lover
nor have i ever kissed you,
- not even once
though i dream of you (c)love-scented,
with lips shaped like a lucky (c)lover's-
kissing you and to be kissed by you
i can never profess,
not even confess
even to myself
i stay standing, (b)raving the cold nights,
pretty much batty and bootless
the absence of you weighs metric tons on my
shivering nape, and
you dam(n) me with
you are my river's boulder,
and undefined border
Never Bow Down. (Failure In Denial)Your poisoned words are your weapon of choice,
Paralyzing me with just the sound of your voice.
Whispering your lies and getting under my skin,
But I can see right through you 'cause you're so paper thin!
Are you really so heartless?
Behind your lies is there any truth?
Can you tell I don't want this!?
I will never bow down to you!
You say across my skin is where my short comings compile,
And that my scars remind you I'm a failure in denial!
No matter what you've always had the upper hand,
Holding me under for reasons none understand!
Are you really so heartless?
Behind your lies is there any truth?
Can you tell I don't want this!?
And that I'll never
Silent BoyThere once was a child,
Who never spoke a word.
He never changed his face,
Never cried when he got hurt.
Those dearest to him stood away,
They didn't know what to do.
And since they treated him in silence,
Silence became the only thing he knew.
As the years passed and he grew
He still remained the same,
Never speaking to anyone
And for that, no one ever came.
He was always picked on,
Someone always had something to say;
Either 'you are dead inside',
Or 'your life is wasted away'.
Through all the insults, the words,
The bruises, and the pain,
He tolerated it all, turned away,
He remained silent, he never changed.
His life kept getting worse.
He was no longer shown love,
He was just another silent boy
Who only deserved another shove.
No one ever showed sympathy.
No one saw that he was torn.
No one ever saw him as a person.
To them, he wasn't even born.
But he did learn how to feel,
The dormant feelings finally awoke.
The agony he felt towards their words,
The pain from the hits and words
I'm a monsterWe all have little monsters in us
that whisper ugly words into our ears.
My soul is at war, it is a fight
between the human and the monster in me,
and I fear... that the monster will win.
The monster controls me...
it forces me to think the worst of others
and it tells me to isolate myself,
to protect myself from those evil humans.
The monster dictates my every move,
I must pretend that I am a human...
lest anyone think of me as a monster.
The human inside of me has long died
and the seemingly innocent person you see
is nothing but a disgusting monster
hiding in the body of another,
preying on the weaknesses -
the weaknesses of those frail humans
and feasting on their flaws.
I wanted to be human,
but I'm a monster.
And I hate myself for it.
Lore of Death~I have been known by many names
Over the course of history
In ancient Greece I was known as Thanatos
Twin brother to Hypnos
Charged with escorting the deceased
To the realm of the underworld
In Ireland I was called the dullahan
A creature with large eyes and ear to ear smile
With my head under my arm I ride to the homes
And call out those whose time had come
The Scottish believed me to be a canine
A black or dark green dog named Cų Sėth
Whose purpose was to take the souls of the dead
And deliver them to the afterlife
Hindu scripture name me Yamaraj
Riding a black buffalo and carrying a rope
I'd lasso souls to take back to Yamalok
Where they will face judgement
Common culture know me as the reaper
Cloaked in black and scythe in hand
But I only need to touch you once
For my purpose to be fulfilled
I have had many names
Many forms and appearances
But one thing has always been certain
I am inevitable and a certainty
Many have tried to bribe me
To trick me or evade me
They may have succeede
Bleach HaikusI don't care for this.
Haikus are stupid, you too!
So I say, SCREW YOU!
- Grimmjow J.
You say you hate me?
You lie. You know you love me.
I am so awesome.
- Szayel A.G.
This is so boring~!
I wonder where Baldie is?
His head is shiny!
Um, what else to write? Um...
Ice cream with sardines!
I'm one of the last quincies.
I hate soul reapers.
I - oops! Oh, no! This is bad!
My pen broke! ...Again.
The path of Justice.
It is the path I follow.
Path with less bloodshed.
I never show you
what I'm really feeling. But
I really do care.
- Gin I.
I want to have fun!
How about we have some sake?
Let's have a good time!
You always left me.
Have you left for the last time?
I am so confused.
I don't understand.
These emotions you speak of.
Your heart, what is it?
40. Dragonsdragon [drag-uhn]
1.) a mythical creature generally represented as a huge, winged reptile with a crested head, enormous claws and teeth and usually spouting fire.
3.) a fierce, violent person.
I am the dragon, viewed as evil by all. I have no feelings. I'm a fearsome beast, horribly vicious and bloodthirsty.
All one must do to be a hero is to slay me and save the princess.
I hoard treasure. I am a villain. The bad guy.
But what if the princess
Grew tired of her parents that never understood
Why she got upset when they insisted she marry a prince
(Who could never really love her, not properly)
And came to me with tears in her eyes?
What if I had compassion on her
I'll build you a tower.
I can protect you from bothering princes and mean grandmothers and kings and queens
And you can see the stars out your window
You will always be with me
And you will be safe.
Inside the bruteHey flea
I wanted to tell the truth today
But before I could say a word
You ran away
I promised myself
Not to give in to the rage
But your careless behavior
Releases the monster out of the cage
And I don't know if you do it on purpose
If you want to hurt me in this way
I don't know who's the hunter
And who's the prey
But one day I'll control you
And keep you from escaping
Even if inside
The monster is scraping
I'll keep it caged
I don't know if you knew
But even if you're a flea
I love you
trapped back in time like
a sinner on something sweet;
don’t ask me to move on
kaleidoscope eyes never knew left
from right. I’m different, I’m different;
bleeding white and crying black and
flying out in a storm with paper wings)
I fell in love with a broken idol--
bruised throat and splintered fingers,
the most beautiful shade of purple
to ever fade out. He never knew
maybe I’m dumb.
maybe I forgot the way the world spins backwards
and that happy endings only come from fairytales
rewritten so that children can fall asleep.
in all my years I never quite learned
how to disappear completely,
this sickly escapism justified by the
promise of all my missing pieces:
a runaway’s prayer on shooting stars,
oh, please just take me
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