CollapsibleDaydream. Softened tonegrazing the senses. Same layer of peach fuzz her kind grows when port-cities put on boréale gowns and frown as Tuesday seeps over copper roofs. In wilderness our hands wereblind swans struggling against differentlevels of gravity —underwater heavy— and close-whispered wisheson the couch—not warm,snug.It’s time to blink once moreand flex the ghost sinewclinically removed by the absenceof hervoice.
Aether and StardustYour eyes flutter in the light,batting around clouds ofaether and stardust,letting your corneasrun dry (again.) all for one last chance to stare into the sun.
unobstructed viewsfor you, my dear, I could attemptto carve out the soundof a smile, or weave the mostintricate words with a sighyou make me want to steal the skyand pluck the stars like feathersfrom the wings of the nightand set fire to every onethen try to compile the tasteof burning beautyin twenty-five letters or lessbut I have always been clumsy with words;always too many or too few.my words are tigers, predators,too quick to chase and kill -whereas you, you,your words are songbirds,butterflies.you capture them so neatlyand show them how to singat just the right pitchto speak to the soul,then let them dissolvein a soft, soft sky.quite simply, my dear,you inspire me to write.
Melancholy BluesIntricate butterfly how you weave suchan interesting pattern in the dustOf buildings long crumbled in soot and ash they laytelling stories of glories that once stood proudFlying in a world so black and whitewith rain that tips and taps in a melancholic bluesYour flight is laboured and your wings covered in oily residueOf too many burdens too often heldSometimes I see you there behind metallic barsthe place where you hide all your scarsIntricate little butterflyIf only you could see all the colors you possessyou would light this world up and the sun with itLet the rain wash away the painand just maybe next time you hear it
she reminds me of myselfI'm sorry, Alice, the looking glass lies.Flowers don't singand hares don't keep time.Your world of wonderis all make believe -Why else would your reflectiongiggle and wink?You aren't a child any longer, my dear.Have a matchstick for your dreamsand a hammer for that mirror.Our hands may be callousedas we coddle our pastsbut delusions are enemiesand wistful muses pass.I will wait for you, darling,I will write for you, lass.I will capture life's beautyand contain it in glass.Though, the singing that lingersis the voice of my own.The fragrant flowers are dyingeven while their seed is sown.
with a whisperthis is how we rule the world, the underclassed the uncapitalist (uncapitalised)the forgotten, lobotom-ised, relics of a long lost dystopast.not with a SHOUT, we do not argue. we do not even unsheath our mightier-than-the's.we whisper in your children's ears the memories of what should have been. the life we all crave. the death we all crave. WE do not discriminate or obstigate our opinions onto others pressing the side of the blade down onto the fles
AdorationThere can sometimes be a certain kind ofcertaintywhen it comes to matters of your-selfand the ways in which you not just seebut, most especially, in the ways in which youbelieveyouarelessthanyouaremy dearIn such cases we must always remind ourselves to beopennot just in our hearts but in our minds, as wellopen to the notions of others in their most soft-spoken and mostvehementvoicesthat contradict the most deeply-held beliefs in yourheartI'd hate to be redundant, but I feel inclined to saythat I find it hard to agree with you, sometimes,in all the little ways youdoubtyour ownmagnificenceth
Mere Dust"And the LORD God formed man of the dust of the ground, and breathed into his nostrils the breath of life; and man became a living soul."~Genesis 2:7 KJVMere dust...In His dreamsSpheres burnIn crashing redsAnd brilliant lazuliSupernovae scatteringMolten plasmaTo the farthest corners of the UniverseColliding and coalescing into comets and asteroidsSailing cross the void as specks ofMere dust...Settled neath a paneInside the spires of ChartresCenturies yawn o'er the chasmWhilst seasons bring rain and snow and heatGalleons ride seasMad captains chase treasures in new worldsPast the ends of the Earth...Still we remain as
MartyrYou painted across your pallid arms--”Martyr”.Transfixed by absolution, rapt by redemption,Passaging suffering: your fingers as vessels,Your flayed chest, the Eightfold Path.Transfixed by absolution, rapt by redemption,You scratched proverbs beneath your jagged nails.Your flayed chest, the Eightfold Path,Running crimson amidst your sagacity.You scratched proverbs beneath your jagged nails,And you gnawed away at your wisdom.Running crimson amidst your sagacity,Harried hands, held high to the heavens.And you gnawed away at your wisdomUntil the emboli reached your fingertips,Harried hands, held high to the heavens,Fingering shaky prayers for renewal.Until the emboli reached your fingertips,You wrote scriptures of flesh and bone,Fingering shaky prayers for renewalAnd parables, plucked from your open palms.You wrote scriptures of flesh and bone,Passaging suffering: your fingers as vessels,And parables plucked from your open palmsYou painted across your pal
Beautiful MetaphorA name found its way to my soul today...And it might be a beautiful metaphor.Spread rose petals over the bed of nails,and make sure to Ignore the personal demons at the dinner table,discussing why affectionpacked her bags and walked out.It's healthy to wonder how often one confuses lacking intelligence with acts of empathy or mistakes approval signs for caring feelings.—and how many emotions mass-produced at thechinese assembly-line humans wear to their dates.I always felt like a fallen angelUnsure to loveDrifting among atrociously silent streets and gazing upon heart-shaped rows of insensitive masks.But not
admittance is salvationYou were always beautiful.With your smattering of frecklesand the deepest green eyes.A crowd was always attached to your hip,a voice constant in your ear.You were never more alone.You remember the feeling of the room spinning that nightand the outline of that guy.(You thought you loved him.)You had never felt more hate.And you're afraid becauseevery time you feel that rush of anger,that blinding surge, you bottle it.You've never been more shaken up.Then one day, at the junction of hot rage and face down in the bathtub,You admit to yourself thatyou have failed to be real.You've never been more transparent.
SometimesDigital stars make neon scars in the night,and we are imagining the feeling of sometimes being alive,and sometimes being in love.Magazine dreams rip at the seams in the light,and we are imagining the feeling of sometimes being in love,and sometimes being aliveBright coloured cars start highway wars in plain sight,and we are imagining the feeling of sometimes being alive,and sometimes being in love.Tasting the sounds as the ocean pounds against moonlight,and we are imagining the feeling of sometimes being in love,and sometimes being alive.
fateless wonderfate is a funnyfickle thingsome swear toits existencewhile othersscoff in disbeliefto whomeverI owe the tippingof my imaginary hatI bid thanks -be it the starsthe trees' choir of leavesor even meor youI will never bethe samebecause of your smile
All I Can Give (The World For You)All I Can Give(The World For you)I promised it to you, but it was never mine to give;A waning glimpse of the truth, like marked sands passed through a sieve.For nights did I ponder, countless hours I have stumbledTo replace it with this, my dear; words quietly mumbled.You are something more than perfect. Something brilliant and snow-white-pure.You were born to count our defects,Your heart is some soul's cure.But even after reading this, my poorly scribbled praise,I'll tell you, my dear girl, again, enjoy your single days.The love you bring, the gifts you give, are all quite magical;Like Milton's Devil, stay your knee
Close Your Eyes, Count to TenI'm above quivering over keyboardsbut haven't mastered stalwart real-life talks.This "soul" inside me's screaming in sweet chords,this mind is humming gently as it walks.The book says, "Rawhead close behind you treads"My face is gone, to hide the fury anddistress. Although I thought my heart was deadit turns out they don't really work unmanned.I wish these dumb bastards would leave me beand wallow in those shallow pools; their minds.They call it "make-up" 'cause it's fantasyso shut up, 'cause you've all forgot your lines.Y'all keep your chemical proclivities,I'll take the seminal amenities.
In My WorldIt's like nothing else in the world existsbut faces, and that long-forgotten sting.That ceaseless drumming of "innocent" fists—my head's a broken bell; let freedom ring.I called them crocodile tears. I lied,since every time I look a little weak, the big kids came out and got me. Yeah, I cried.But not out loud, I was too choked to speak.Now the big kids play their parts on stage, as peersand while that may seem better, to a fool,it's always been the worst of all my fears.Now bullies look like friends; it's just too cruel.Quoth the dark schoolboy, his backbone whorled"The children are the demons in my world."
Intricately OrdinaryI try to be honestWith myself, At least.But the voices Won't stop Judging me,And I don't want them upset. They know where I live...And while I liveIn the here & nowI can't stop thinkingOf where this moment is taking me.I'm afraid it'll be nowhere. But maybe that's where I'll be safe...
Intricately OrdinaryTears blurred the keyboard as she sat down. She went through the motions of opening a new document robotically. Unseeing eyes looked at a blank page of white as thoughts raced through her head. Hesitantly at first, she laid her fingers upon the keyboard, feeling for the two lines on 'F' and 'J'- if she looked down, the tears would fall upon her keyboard- and finally, she typed."I hope it's harder for him to move on now that he knows I have a name."Seeing that in black and white, knowing it's true and at the same time, feeling like she wished it wasn't, something began to break in her. The tiny 'snap' went unnoticed, as floodgates began to
Sta.sh
