So musical notes fall upon my heart like raindrops
I can only breath again when the music finally stops.
It moves my very being like a sunset on a summer night
but yet it leaves me frozen at a sudden dreamlike sight.
I feel each note as it patters gently on my heart
I hardly notice when it stops and when it will start.
It rips a scar across my weary soul but heals as it goes,
the energy I gather from the notes is easy to show.
I can climb a frightening mountain in the rain,
as long as I have the warming music to ease my pain.
We should all have notes that fall unto us in time
like words that always fall into sweet and dazzling rhyme.
"Just sit down
Let me gather my thoughts
We'll break up when I'm good and ready."
And like a God-fearing Christian
For some reason, I listened
To the whisper of my own reality failing
Her mouth moved oceans
To drench my coastlines with doubt
And her teeth reflected suns
That burned the happiness out
and I thought to myself
This is the end of my world
With a pause in her tirade
She caught her breath
As I rose to the surface
before my lungs collapsed
risking a bad case of bends
and as her eyes ripped my being into fibers
I thought there was one last try to make amends
I raised my hand
Her Scorched Earth policy
My own personal holocaust
In hopes that if put on the stand
The jury would at least be hung.
And for a moment
A fleeting sliver of time
I saw the light at the end of the tunnel.
And like a fool
I was blinded
My walls of introversion
And almost like my brother
I continued down this path
Too busy looking forward
To think of stepping back
To view the world around me
As the ground gave way underneath
And every word you said
Took a brick from the wall
Like the world's most dangerous Jenga game
And this time I lost
And was killed by the force of my own timidity
And nothing can give me back what I lost
And nothing can take back what you said
The world bleeds colors for a girl who can only see shades of grey
She sees in particular 50 shades
She walks with pain and dignity
The type of dignity that screams
the type of dignity that is silenced by tired fingers with a smack to the lips
She is a walking contradiction
Her conscience fumes with words that only she can hear.
They paint her canvas with colors so dim that it is surprisingly impossible to hide.
She wants the world to know of her pain; she is seeking.
Acceptance but Approval.
It is with precision that she is
It is with precision that she is
Her canvas is a replica of Da' Vinci
Carefully crafted so that enough smiles can hide her tears
She blooms with effortless screams.
She does not walk to be seen
But to be heard
And she cries
Only because her comfortable canvas has now been brushed with
And for the first time in a long time
The world bled Red for a girl who is used to seeing grey.
She can not find words to express what's been drawn.
She cannot lift a finger to the skin she has..
-Galleries of displayed art
she is seeing 50 shades of colors
Not only on herself but on other's
she stops in the middle of the street
Her pupils look at the ground blurry as she falls sobbing.
She pleads for grey-
As if the color would respond.
"Please, I'm sorry"
Mutes the women and paints
A new canvas on her naked body
"Anything but red"
The woman said.
"If you wish for grey,
stop painting red"
The woman opened her eyes,
looked at her stained knuckles,
opened her shackled hand,
Scoped her Canvas,
Felt the delusional ground,
Her mind screamed of colors.
RED RED RED
"Put the brush down,
this is not Art."
|And she did|
dystopian dream filled with wilhelm screams, in his head, perfection is bursting at it's seems. I the adviser, broke a glass over his head, blood all over the handsome head, my knuckles as hard as stonehenge, and we made love?
What will become will become of this day and I wake up to find this day's been taken away by the thieves of the night,is this right,
does the night carry on even though it has gone,does the day have no say in its dawning?
It is morning in my head ergo,I am not dead or maybe I could be.
If the night doesn't see me does the day really free me,do I carry the can for the sins of mankind?
I find in illusion a great deal of confusion,a smelting of fantasy,a melting of freedom.
This hit and miss in me really disheartens me and although I keep trying there's something inside me that tells me I'm dying,it's a shame.
There is no fortune or fame for the runners up in a game just the harsh feel of failure,but if the day should return and I am still awake,there's a chance of a part,a starring role in the affairs of my own beating heart,
is it here
do you know
did the day really come and the night really go?
In cahoots with the Pole Star, I map out a route that will make me fortune,the moon makes me a beggar man and the beggars just scowl,
I'll be free soon not out of tune with my peers,not retreating from the advancing of legions of years.
It's all relative or so they say,
and what will become will become of this day.
I know I must have lost you between
"Caring" and "Forever", but you didn't flinch
at goodbye, that's when I knew you'd left
The distance felt like miles but was in truth an inch
Like an engine out of oil, frozen
Hot metal and hot tears couldn't keep you warm
enough for all the years you promised
and to forgotten lovers, no shrine or time is left
But empty promises like vacant thoughts
Still haunt and bind like roses that have wilted
In all the emptied bottles, you decorated with
Preserving shattered hearts within them too