Willfully she stepped tiptoeing around the dreams of a resting lover
Whom with she had shared a rather restless night slumber
To study the curve of her spine made her stomach turn asunder
She would miss the sigh of ease that crumbled out this Irish clover
This lovely little thing with hair on fire had stole her
But freedom came at a price that shook foundations of love all over
See she could run from Cincinnati to Dover
And still not know why bright eyes drew her closer
Throwing back beers with a laugh like a manic joker
She knew that it was always harder to bitterly walk away sober
She had to march as if a destined loyal soldier
Never quite tittering to a untimely stop until she was much older
She suffered her scars to passions sick sinful overexposure
Never again she whispered stepping to the beat inside her chest conducted by a sorrowful composer
and with a flash of Yellow your World Turned Upside Down,
now Lost+ and confused with the windows all closed fearing all the White Shadows,
you run towards Amsterdam, hoping, praying for a Ladder To The Sun,
back to Square One finding yourself walking through another Rainy Day,
but you knew I was coming and so you did not stray,
remembering my Postcards From Far Away... of course with Twisted Logic,
We Never Change…
Writing whatever comes from the tip of the iceberg in my brain.
Sanity has banished me, willingly jumping down the drain.
You'd think that it'd cause strain,
I mean I do have to rearrange and explain myself more often than not.
I was gonna say something else, but I forgot, haha.
There's a lotta blahblah, but I shoot straight for imagination, fascinating conversations.
Thinks can get kinda crazy, with little to no persuasion.
Sometimes, I think I should proceed with more hesitation.
But instead I just project the thoughts for manifestation.
Gotta lotta love to give, and I'm happy to do it.
I can be your best friend, who'da knew it?
*Known, I know, exploding in my own zone with thoughts of fantasy.
Yet always happily tied down in this intricate sea of reality.
Don't forsake the give and take,
Embrace the love then reciprocate.
Life becomes all the more worthwhile when work turns into play.
I may end it here, so you, have a fantabulous rest of your day! :D
Just kidding, I want to keep going.
I want to explore more with my oars and keep rowing
Flowing into the unknown consciousness.
Emotions are based on perspectives, and let right now be BLISS
Love,
Ryno
He found her look to be vintage
with an elevated edgy style.
She channelled her inner joy
through her electric smile.
He was hopelessly, happily biten
when she appeared across the room.
He knew in that moment's second
her taste he would soon consume.
The moment they met was magnetic,
transmitting waves of fervent desire.
Explosive intensity saturated them,
ablaze in a sultry feverish fire.
I was searching my pockets for a story to tell my daughter on the night before Thanksgiving when she was looking especially nineteen, shouldering the immeasurable weight of being nineteen, and I couldn’t find one with a good three-act structure, but I started to tell her about the kind of vaguely existential warm knot I always used to get in my stomach when I went home from school for Thanksgiving, and how I couldn’t decide at the time whether it was happy or sad, but now I knew that it was happy for certain, and when you think about how once things change they are not changing back it can be a little heavy, but you don’t have to think about it too often, and we had this new recipe for cranberry sauce this year and you don’t even have to get up early to watch the parade.
When I went downstairs at nine the next morning to put the turkey in the oven, she was smiling in front of the TV, sipping a cup of black coffee with her dad.
You walked into the room and made my eyes burn,
They told me the world was built for two
But this desolate solitary desertion is exclusive to me.
Is it by mistake or design,
that I feel so lone.
It was better than I ever knew.
Now I do,
Did you answer my question?
If you'd still love me when I had nothing?
Maybe you did.
I just didn't like you're answer.
Now I do.
A child with a smile that wasn't forced upon her,
A child with a dream that is her own.
A child with a pen,
She writes down her poems.
She doesn't care if they aren't the best in the world,
Because it's her own.
This child sees a blade and all she thinks it's for is sharpening her pencils,
This child sees a lighter and it's no use to her.
She eats her meals without worrying about her weight,
She only wretches in the toilet when she has a virus.
She doesn't care about her hair,
She doesn't care about her dirtied clothing.
This child is happy,
Nothing to her is boring.
But she doesn't know what's going to come in the future,
She doesn't realize she'll skip her meals,
Or use her blades for things other than sharpening pencils.
She's going to vomit her lunch in the toilet,
She's going to fuss over her hair and clothing.
And the happiness she once knew,
Will be forever gone.
the wind abused me today
while i was walking home from work
it screamed at me
to get going, move along
WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR
it chucked dust in my eyes
and messed up my hair
it was loud and i began to cry
because my mind was also loud
and before i knew it, they began competing
in cacophony
until
i couldn't distinguish the difference between them
all i heard was
you're not good enough no one wants you
your mother doesn't love you you're a failure
waste of space waiting always waiting you're going
to spend your whole life waiting
what a pathetic little girl you are keep walking that's right
one foot after the other keep going don't stop
nothing will turn out how you want it to
you don't deserve anything good you never did you never will
and i just wanted to scream but i couldn't
sometimes i feel like if i'm quiet enough
then the physical silence will be like a lullaby
that will slowly lull the internal thunder
to hushed lightning
but that is rarely ever the case
i hate the wind
i hate this city
sometimes living gets so hard that it's a wonder
we all don't get a million dollar reward for living
through the worst hours, minutes, seconds
of our days
when we get so tired of existing but keep existing
anyway
how do we do it? how do we keep going like we do?
is it bravery or just necessity or just indifference?
i'm so tired
tired of existing
i just want to put ear muffs on and stay underneath
the covers forever
the hardest thing in the world
is being paralyzed with fear of the unknown
and living through it anyway.
I wore a red dress
and you took a picture of me leaning against the house
smoking a cigarette
I said I didn't like my face
you said you did.
that's when I knew.
so I sat on the arm of a chair and you handed me a fan
and asked if I would take it upstairs
it was all yellow light and people spilling beer and
passing joints
and touching each other's legs
I smiled and said yes
and knew you could see it burning in my eyes
just sizzling there, hot
two drops of boiling water hissing on a stove top
never cooling.
I took the fan upstairs and put it in your window
the air blowing the bottom of my skirt
just a little.
and things were still blurry
so it's good that I wanted to close my eyes.
and I did.
and I was reminded of the feeling of another's hands
stroking
holding
restraining
feeling.
really feeling.
in the morning I picked my red dress off the floor
and put my face close to the fan
feeling the air hit the sweat on my cheeks
and on my forehead .
we smiled at each other
and I meant it.
because hands grabbing drunk in a small bed by a window
didn't have to be any more
than just
that.
All of the kisses and the closeness seem distant now.
The sweet nothings and the silly laughter are left miles behind me,
like the sunshine of a distant horizon.
I've read my share of endings, and now I can smell them coming.
Tension hangs in the air like humidity,
and one after another, friends turn their backs like leaves before a storm.
The clouds are gathering now, and there is nothing to do but wait
for the first drop to fall like a tear.
But I will not cry today, for I have weathered enough storms.
I knew this was coming.
