I wake up
No breakfast  today, life's much to fast.
A cup of coffee will do
So I set the coffee maker,
turn on the shower,
And lose myself in the mirror.
All the while watching,
Waiting.
Waiting for something
But finding nothing in the end
This morning is not my own
It belongs to someone else

I once read on a dollar bill a few years back that
“You can't sing the blues without blood on your hands,
And you've got blood on you hands.”
I spent that dollar but the blood staid on my hands.

We absolve our tender memories
Of what it was like to be children
To not have worry on our brows
To have an unstoppable imagination
which could build floating boats
and mega droids the size of skyscrapers.
An imagination that would make us all ninjas
and princesses and cow boys and girls
Each of us have saved the world with a cardboard swords
and index finger barrels and gun hammer thumbs

Now, we sing requiems of missed messages
All for a few lousy blood soaked dollars.

doubt they will ever

be written, certainly

not this day, the

thirteenth of anniversary.



there will be reams, and ink

satined fingers, hair assunder,

wild eyes for the work. it is hotter,

we stick to linen

sheets. remember the words



from first, to last,

to write.



it will be a soliary task,

where no one enters,

consumes our tea.



the memoires may be written,

in the garden.



sbm.

Constant flow,
Diving in and away,
A short stay someplace new,
Everytime

And then it feels,
Like the time is correct,
To change the old order,
Allow to unforget,
The most unfair ******

The right moon to pray,
To have my visions returned,
During the day, anyway,
Only my mask gets burnt

As if my words were heard,
I recall but one place,
Slice open the vein, in blood,
There's some of your taste

One cannot just agree,
That it was horrible,
It is never difficult,
We do what's impossible

Hair nets and hand-me-downs,
Striped garb with strings
Wise men in scrubbing gowns,
Angels with wings

Pin ****** and pressure cuff,
Disarming chat
Face mask and gassy stuff,
Drugs by the vat

Dull aches like bicycles
Peddling up lanes,
Cold streaks like icicles
Rush through the veins,

Laid back and lazily
Watching the dance,
Head floating hazily
Into a trance

Woozily waking up,
Wobbly and drunk
Water to sip and sup,
Memories sunk

Balance returning when
Loved ones are phoned,
Recovery over, then
Time to go home

Nous etions, en cet instant, prisonniers du bonheur.
Heritiers de cette douce mais, o combien lourde, ferveur
Brulant sous cette peau vernie de sueur, de sable et de sel,
Portes, en princes sous les ficelles des tisseuses de ciel.
Nous regardions le gris a nous ecorcher les yeux,
Aimant de la passion infidele du zenith bleu
Le vide encombrant de nos plus incroyables espoirs
Et le remou sans debut ni fin de nouvelles memoires.
Nous les connaissions, ces esprits, vagabonds des mers
Chassant, au milieu des vagues ces humeurs incidencieres,
Celles la meme qui jadis se prenommaient “reves d’enfance”
Et qui depuis de sont transformes en dependence.
Nous les connaissions, et meme si la nature de ce lien
M’est masque par un sacerdoce qui ne sera jamais mien,
Elle me dicte toujours chaque contour de leur lames grises
Qui de cet air sec et fier sont tragiquement eprises
Nous etions, en cet instant prisonniers de beaute,
Celle la meme qui voit nos poumons dechiquetes
A vouloir engouffrer ce monde entier sous nos pores
Que demain a travers ces lettres je puisse a nouveau le voir.

the music of old fashioned births
is no longer enough
and this thought becomes
a magical opera
where all promenade a century
entertaining memoires
that beg release
like an early summer
that is to late
we shall not retire to a wilderness
for we are a great and radiant sin
like exploding nebulas of the mind

liquid love poured from
           seeping fissures.
And she tasted his every moment.

He gave his essence so she could
       linger within a lifetime of memoires.
And she saw every pain of his existence.

Within her tears were reflections of his
            momentary happiness with her.
Knowing she would drain his pain away.


"To collect the pain of another
         is to know the true emotions
         of what its like to live within there anguish"

We only know those we love truly by tasting
        the dirt left behind in there footsteps.
Everyone has prints in the past wished brushed away.

This the inspiration from the same old songs
Painting memories as the sunrise sways to moonlight
Writing out immaculate fantasies in which I long
To see vividly in reality as an endearing sight
Seducing fixated thoughts into a surrealist abstract
A senseless halucination seperated from common fact

Spilling out vague accounts of thoughts days before
Monotonous literal interpretations of living dreams
Dwindling epiphanies leaking from persepections pore
Forgotten pieces of satisfaction that we can't redeem
Except on these tattered memoires I've come to resent
Piles upon piles of dying highs rotting on parchment

Despondent attempts to reanimate decaying emotion
Through a larger than life sincerity hidden in rhyme
Showcasing empty facades and uncertainties devotion
In vain of the first conception that changed as time
Makes a mockering of the beauty lost in every moment
Restless sensations trapped within all the verses spent

Broken words of rememberance that a poem leaves behind
Untimely rhythms growing more useless as days pass by
From the deliverance of meaning in our star-lit minds
To the desperate hour where we can't find a reason to try
We're searching for an excuse to have our names defined
A theme on a story that will mean something once we die

My memoires like a juke box, I insert
a thought to play out those memories
stored with in my mind. New ones I
can view no long stored play out in HD.

Then we have those stored at the back,
old memories some long forgotten then
a coin, smell of music last heard inserted
in with some change of thought, and
played out in my mind on an LP slower
than the new ones but still seen quite vividly.

My mind is a juke box of memoires, it plays
old and new, some of the old ones with
out sound but the pictures I see are just
as good of long forgotten. The new ones
stored my jukebox stores my memories
for me to listen to and see, I put in a thought
and I see the memory of old as if it was
only remembered yesterday.

a jezebel in past memories
or was it the men who took over--

after all it was there tendencies



a town like hell in past memoires

or was it the house of god--

after all that is what it transalates;

or is it just a fraud?



change comes.

change goes.

so add your sums,

find the pimps and hoes.

it's reality i love.

the sound of the siren.

but in this economy were getting fired--

when the jobs should be a hirin'

but i don't mind the flame

this mind of mine is one you cannot tame

take the torch, to burn the web--

he would rather see that black widow dead.

but i enjoy life, even the poison.

lay down in that bed,

ask for a little bit of arson

to go with that martini--

choices are in the end an action

with a consequence

can you see the beauty?

a cage, a prison, a fence

or is it just a fraction

of the picture;

maybe it is just a mirror

and the thing you see deep within

is just the sight of fear

and we learn to look away

because hard truth doesn't seem quite okay

we lie to you, to ourselves to ease the pain

each and every day.

****, I'M LOSING MY MIND

as the clock ticks it's time.

is it in, or just sane?

the answer is one we must create--

not find.

but we still keep ah searchin.

lookin for that love.

lookin high and low,

under and above.

we wait, we go.

we hate our libido.

cause baby you just want to **** fast, then slow

then walk out that do'

never ask for any mo'

i guess it's just my mother ******* ego.

so eat the pineapple raw.

get caught in satans claw.

break the pieces to the jigsaw.

cause i care, and i don't.

i contradict my each and every thought.

but these wars seem to have already been faught.

and all i seem to have got

are these bombs

and many a gun

we'll use them in your front lawns

teach your children it is fun!

so cut off the leg and an arm

it's in the tradition of a religion

when a girl misbehaves.

but my father told me

thats what he would do if he followed those customs too.

and words no longer penetrate my heart, nor soul.

i just let them go.

you can't hurt me

just try to insert thee.

see the pain you will be in.

all because of fornication--

it can be as brutal as the storm of an ocean,

but maybe as sweet as a potion.

and i'm not lookin to find a person

to listen to my every word an...

****

cause right now thats how i think of it.

i slept alone before i met you,

and i will sleep alone post-abuse.

this is why i choose to refuse;

to live in hell.

to be the jezebel.

to kiss, and tell.

instead i shall choose

not to be defeated and lose

but to keep my soul, to choose not to sell.

just look to the future, and excel.

I like poetry
Like a painter likes art
While they make brush strokes
I stand up and try to evoke
Feelings  
I can’t paint a picture with a brush
But I sure as hell can with words
For instance
Some of the most beautiful things
Come from sadness
I’ve seen Poets hold back tears
When talking about lost lovers
I’ve met vagabonds who run
From state to state looking for
A place to call home
I’ve held my baby brother and sister
In my arms while I smile to myself
Knowing that they will have a better
Future than me.
I put these thoughts into poems
Because we use feelings to create
It doesn’t matter if it’s
Poetry, photography or painting
We all have an escape
My favorite artist killed himself
At the age of 29
His only escape
Consisted of starry nights
Wandering in wheat fields
And painting the man he wishes
He could be
Not realizing he had
All of the time in the world
To find his happiness
But It didn’t take much time
For the bullet to enter his chest
Lead penetrating his heart
Where his passion should be
His last words were
The Sadness will last forever
And it does
It feels like an eternity
When depression is clawing your back
Leaving you bruised and scarred
When anxiety comes crawling back
Leaving you broken and breathless
Realizing the person you once were
Is no longer the person you truly are
You’re not the same kid
That your single mother raised
Working night shifts at bars
Where people were shot in cold blood
Because my father decided
That leaving a 19-year-old woman
With a newborn was a good idea
You’re not the same teenager who prayed
To a god every night and ended up
Being even more alone than before
I don’t believe in hell
But if it’s real then I’m already living in it
You soon begin to realize
That life doesn’t owe you anything
So you try to make the best of it
Even when you’re dying inside
Because life is about memoires
Sometimes you have to stop and smell the roses
Watch the sunset and sunrise
You have to travel to the places
You dreamed of seeing as a kid
To remember the innocence
Fall in love with someone that
Leaves a fire in your chest
That cannot be extinguished
Because for once
Waking up will be okay
If they’re in your arms
Learn to live your own life
Before you teach somebody else
How to live theirs
Learn to love yourself
Learn to live freely
And don’t be afraid to explore
You have to be lost
To eventually find where
You belong anyway
So don’t rush to your destination
There’s so much to see along the way

lines over lapping lines
like my train of thought
I mull over the same things
contemplating exactly what I did wrong
and how I  can change the things I did
but you see my memories and thoughts
are not exactly the same as over lapping lines
because you can erase a line
you cant erase your memoires from your mind
and sometimes it feels as if I'm dragging a 50 pound weight
like its wrapped around my legs
so running after you can not be an option for me to choose
I'm weighed down by 50 pounds
of guilt and self hatred
and like lines over lapping lines
ill always come back to the same questions
but trust me I'm trying to pry this weight from myself
but its merely impossible
so ill give up the chase and allow these
lines to overlap

Le printemps quand quelqu'un est en amour
La campe où quelqu'un a des memoires
Les jours quand quelqu'un est fachés
L'automne quand quelqu'un est brisé
Le jour ou quelqu'un a pleurée
Les mois quand quelqu'un ne parlés pas
L'été quand quelqu'un est en amour
Les mots que quelqu'un ne disés pas
Les mois après quand quelqu'un l'a dit
La lettre que quelqu'un a donnée
La lettre que quelqu'un a ignorée
Le rejet que quelqu'un a senti
L'ami que quelqu'un a jeté
L'au revoir que quelqu'un n'a pas dit.

AN ODE TO BLISSFUL MEMOIRES
(Bijoylakshmi Das)
Deep I merge into memories past -
To excavate from Mind's fathomless Vast,
To make it afresh and sylvan-rapt
That wraps me around like mnemonics of the chapter last.

In dalliance of a fairyland delight
The lone moments paved way to an untrammelled Bliss,
The Sweetheart Sovereign's seraphic sojourn
And His all-transcending Heaven-fraught kiss.

The Bacchic mirth once made life worth,
The mundane mire turned to heavenly hue,
Air stirred with Elysean resplendence
The prodigious parable opened its pages anew.

The Soul sported with splendid might
In unending ecstasy of solitude recondite,
The Empyrean Damsel alighted upon Earth -
With soft unceasing sobs from the Infinite.

The Night gleamed with a vesper brilliance
The ****** Moon played Her alluring dance,
The Day's diadem dazzled with Sun-clad rays
Life enlivened in an euphoric Trance.

The blissful marvel carved out of arcane depths
To herald the Dawn of a Surrealist realm,
The star-spangled firmament in its twinkling tuning
Played Eternal Love's divine game.

How magnificent, bright and calm
Were the majestic momentous moments sublime!
The Distant brooklets murmered muse to Silence
In their unspoken never-ending rhyme.

The unsung Music, the unheard Symphony
Soon opened their golden doors for You,
The Unknown Traveller of the Mystic Kingdom -
Dawned upon Earth to dwell in midst of morn-moist dew.

Now the mind gathers souvenir from the forgotten Archive past,
The unexplored Empire seeks new release  -
In Light and Love and an unending Certitude :
The Glory that would never cease.

I bow down to the Supreme Above,
In Gratitude and Solemnity to His boundless Love.
(Bijoylakshmi Das, Haridwar. 26th July 2019)

Detach the mournful profile from youthful embittered emotions ..
Sad , dark hours preceding death are merely curtain calls , rivers that peek inquiry from birth to ocean swept , delta epilogue ..
Reborn of Spring storms , the memoires of blackberry Winter ,
gray day maritime gales , thundershowers of September , yellow daffodils of March foretell the onset of today , gleam in the abiding sunlight of their anticipated hereafter ..
Behold the cliffs whom covet the turquoise exposure of the sea , imperiled flowers that belay their certain capitulation amongst the sharpened bottom .. Gulls shriek in suspend animation , black shorelines echo their resignation , carried across thick ocean breezes ...
Our physical days quite aware of the future at each subtle turn , the payment of debit with every expensive hour ...

These words that stay trapped inside my head
As I gnaw at my tongue
Preventing the painfully true "I think I love you" from escaping.
My fears of rejection causing palpations of my heart
Rippling through my veins
Tearing at my lungs
Until I wish to force a knife through my throat.
My thoughts walk through my mind with a killing smile
Sensing discordant anxiety roaring through my chest
Until I am a quivering shadow of emptiness.
What is my purpose in this god forsaken, cruel world?
Within my head, thoughts of suicide echo off the once joyful now turned to black memoires
Of the times I could truly smile.
It's not that I want to die
Its just that my depression eats at my body
Destroying me from the inaide
Until now I can no longer take it and suicide...
Yes! Dreaded suicide has become my only other option
As I no longer can see myself living this intoxicated lidfe
Which drains the heart and soul out of me.
For you see I am a mere human who has lost herself to the bitterness
And your sympathy and words of "its not your fault" make me believe otherwise.
I'm already dead!
Trapped in a shadowy figure of a girl you all think you know.
Beaten down until the point of unbearable decision and pain.
Suicide is my only option.
Its not that I wanted to die, but I can no longer live!

These words that stay trapped inside my head
As I gnaw at my tongue
Preventing the painfully true "I think I love you" from escaping.
My fears of rejection causing palpations of my heart
Rippling through my veins
Tearing at my lungs
Until I wish to force a knife through my throat.
My thoughts walk through my mind with a killing smile
Sensing discordant anxiety roaring through my chest
Until I am a quivering shadow of emptiness.
What is my purpose in this god forsaken, cruel world?
Within my head, thoughts of suicide echo off the once joyful now turned to black memoires
Of the times I could truly smile.
It's not that I want to die
Its just that my depression eats at my body
Destroying me from the inaide
Until now I can no longer take it and suicide...
Yes! Dreaded suicide has become my only other option
As I no longer can see myself living this intoxicated lidfe
Which drains the heart and soul out of me.
For you see I am a mere human who has lost herself to the bitterness
And your sympathy and words of "its not your fault" make me believe otherwise.
I'm already dead!
Trapped in a shadowy figure of a girl you all think you know.
Beaten down until the point of unbearable decision and pain.
Suicide is my only option.
Its not that I wanted to die, but I can no longer live!

A song came on the radio
a memory from afar
a sadness yet a smile of mine
come on feel the noise

I had to turn it up so loud
my ears began to sing
as music from my very past
brought tears upon my chin

I thought that was the start of starts
to start my weekend off
but no this radio gave much more
for ears and memoires

More tears appeared as Freddie sang
brought thoughts of long ago
my mum gone out so dad did shout
come on my son its time
as our radiogram blasted out our song
repeated many days  

More tears appeared as song was sung
i nearly crashed my car
such thoughts of times so long ago
My memories in a jar

REIT

My soul is a vacant lot.
Years ago sold to some shyster
looking to make a quick buck.
No one could live on those kind of wages.

The emptiness now a flattened yard
all sorts of wreckage leaking power steering fluid with anti-freeze
an environmental hazard if nothing else.

My spirit is an abandoned brownstone
where photos once tacked
on walls reminiscent of happier times
smiles were genuine, ties were taught
Sunday best meant just that – then and there
A home fully furnished with memoires back in the day
now foreclosed
shuttered.

My heart is an empty warehouse
years ago used to recycle broken promises, empty wishes, hollow, unrealized dreams
My good intentions could push through the hurt
a cost of doing business
never questioning the **** in – **** out logistics

Then, the last love broke away from the loading dock out back
on its forever journey to paradise
while I stood there on a rotting, empty platform
with the invoice in my hand
the NSF cheque written in blood
signed with my tears.


9/10 Feb ‘21

Collections litter boxes
                              unkempt
in the corners of my room.
filtering through snowstorms
of white laced with scribbled verse.

Memoires sewn in tapestry of
what was wondering within
the cotton of thought and the
needle of motion of my pencil.

There are momentary pauses
laced with eyes gauging words.
Then there are crumbled echoes
of what now litter a tiny  bin.

I walk from the room of my conscious
verses some unkempt in the corner,
others slung into a void of rejection.
I may visit momentary , but now I write.

"You're insane!" she screamed, the darkness emphasizing the exclamation point on a two lane country road with the headlights turned off. At 60 miles an hour, the moon mocked her hysteria illuminating only white lines on the asphalt resembling heart beats on a hospital monitor. If the blips stopped, so did our lives.

I laughed believing no one can die at 21. The difference between terror and confidence is a little circle. There is unjustifiable bravery if you hold the wheel in your hands. Begging was followed by crying (which was usually my role on earlier dates) where somehow I found joy in the cruelty. I had driven the road a hundred times before and knew the "Humpty Dumpty" **** and when to hit the gas to make her stomach leave her mouth. Each curve had its own reward and unforgiving consequence. I was sure I smelled ***, but that was okay. It was her car.

Years have past and those memoires had been filed away until I spoke to her the other day.
"When are you going to take me for a ride?"
I should have been torn for a meaning. I'm sure she meant both.
"Lights on or lights off?" I quipped.
"Surprise me."

Lights off.

She screamed twice.

Save the Date

O how I do hope you will Save The Date!
It’s a special occasion, so don’t be late
Be sure to sign in with the guard at the gate
I leave on the twelfth; I simply can’t wait
That’s when I’ll be executed by the State.

*Registered at Coffins ‘n’ Stuff, Thibodeaux’s Funeral Home,
& Jardin d’Memoires and Gift Shoppe

Regression of shallow songs
that repeat on the reflection
of what was versed in sight.

My thoughts discerning on
impressions that are dissected
within my illusions of fact.

My memoires are tissue paper
regrets that are wiped away,
but never clean the stain of thought.

I have shrapnel stuck with the
halls of my recollection that tell
me I was wrong to live when I died.

Could you sleep on the shards of
what I swam within, I'm a breath
away from slumber, *"I wish for death.

These old sidewalks
Are still being poured,
Uncemented in my mind's
Evicted memory,
   Still as I walk them
With regards to the past,
When everything is changed,
    I loosened the locks on
Memoires that fall off the side
Of cliffs onto
Some ravine no one will recognise as once up so high.
    Here on the street,
With knuckles clamped
As if another Street fight might occur,
Though the innards of
My seasoned being
Archive the rotation
Of memory's grip,
    Such a daunting thing
To be grateful for all
The pain,
    I imagine ducking from
Grazing bullets,
  Eating laying down in the living
Room, privately
     To my self,
The self takes refuge here.
    A silent thing that creeps
Up
When times seem bad,
    One cam remember the worst,
And that 12 year old
Would smile,
Laydown and have some
Dinner shaking his head
With a humble smile.
    I think it's OK
To walk the worst
When things are bad,
   It's being like an old soul
Waving at a new born,
Experience is funny
Like that.

Synthetic thoughts,
compromised  by organic
                            reflections.

synaptic pathways
                           worn down
by rudimentary contemplations.

"What am I"

Am I who I see
                        or
am I just memoires
              looking back..

The interchanging elapse
Between the wind and the sun
The air and the rising soil

Comes with how different
Or how yet so the same

As it happens now like when
The pour of rain
The sunshine though
Flickering in the eyes
Over ever-change

Though my eyes see different
Perhaps I’m unkowingly some type of
Colorblind

Moving perhaps forwards or backwards
As I sleep of memoires
And hasty rememberance when I wake up
To of yesterday

Rainbows come in a while usually
Though stagnant in piling up of thought
For it exists

Where and there though
Distinguishable

Fire flames of proving existing now
Like ashes
You’ll never be gone

© Clarissa van Vreden

It haunts those streets
In the hidden hours
When neither sun nor moon
Grace the stillborn sky

That city lost long ago
To the steady march of the waves
In the ages since though
Have the great waters receeded

Leaving but strange memoires
Of coral and salt
Sitting upon the shores
Of a dried up sea

There, among thirsting relics
Of a bygone seabed
Does a creature lurk
In exalted solitude

Neither spirit nor man
But somewhere inbetween
shrouded in tattered cloth
And adorned by grievous horns

In and out through the ruins
Of that once alluring locus
Where in long ages past
The spirits and sprites yet lingered

But no longer
Now only the solitary Wydyatt
Haunts those ancient roads
Beneath the twilight skies

Do you ever hear something that leaves you feeling a wave of nostalgia?

You get a warm familiar feeling and are left with a strange tingling feeling across your entire body

Pleasant memoires surrounding that particular song take you back to better days

Days without sadness or melancholy

And when it ends, you feel a little bit sad, wishing for just five more minutes of peaceful pleasantness

I wish I could feel like this forever

THE SUBLIME TOUCH
(Bijoylakshmi Das, 10th Feb 2020)
Though you are far away, My Immortal Dear!
In the unreachable heights of the firmament above,
In Certitude’s Kingdom of the beatific Beatitude;
I offer at your golden footprints left on Earth –
“Gratitude in Solemnity: My rarest Blossoms of Divine Love”.

Heaven’s Glory adores your abode in abundance
The deathless Delight kisses your forlorn heart,
The voiceless Voice’ sweet soft muse
Makes your recluse resplendent in Joy’s radiance.

The message I send you enveloped by rain-moist clouds
Of the highest rapture of the untold ecstasy,
The emerald memoires of the earthly sojourn
Ordained with mind’s magnificent phantasy.

The brightening brilliance of your blooming visage
Enlivened with celestial enrapturing hue,
The sweetening fragrance I’m now wrapped around
Of the mystic presence, Oh! That is You.

The silent solitude: the only cherished dream
Of your infancy’s longings of the melancholic heart,
Away from the world and its endless torpor
To build the hermitage in the sacrosanct Vast.

The brooding Eve’s beautiful rhapsody’s chapter
Repeat its cadences of the unending mirth,
The Sunlit splendours of the forgotten reverie
Often inspires me to rise to the Vast.

The oceanic depth of calm dwells deep within me
Only at the surface do waves play uproar,
The measureless stretch of the Time’s endless expanse  
Takes me back to the timeless yore.

I rejoice in the golden reminiscences
Of the gladdening moments’ pleasant gifts,
I try to feel your invisible presence
In priceless precincts of the sublime Bliss.

There you sit on unreachable heights
Much above the body, mind and spirit,
You are in union with the Supreme Beloved
Merged deep into His rainbow-rapt kiss.

The graceful gestures of the woodland far
The tireless trekking of the mountain vast,
Which once made us live together
In the inmost recess of two joyous hearts.

The body-less infinite, the mindless region
I’m no more captive to the Spirit in me,
The drops of nectar drip from the Immortal’s sky
Make us forever live in limitless blithe.

Oh Dear! Oh My ever-loving Dear!
Roam forever in the Garden of Rapture free,
Though you are far away in your Elysian paradise,
As Godhead’s Kin do dwell in me.
………………………………………………………………………

james

did you see the mammoth coming?

was it so very big, very woolly?

did it smile to you to say hello
did it bring gifts from whence
it came

little things
aide memoires

is the snow deep today
and are you safe indoors

here we go on strike
snuggle up indoors
by the stove

watch films, read books

snow days

james

snow days

no snow here today
no woolly mammoths

i have little monkeys
with party hats

Scars
My scars on my body are small little reminders that life is real
There on my arms, on my chest, my legs
Some are shallow reminders of how life was without you
Some are canyons and valleys and cave in my arm of times when I had you
They remind me that you werent the one.
The one would have stayed with me,
The one would have clean my scars
Not add more to the collection
The one would have woke up at 5:32 in the morning to take a walk with me
The one would have fought for me
Not run away as soon as things were getting worse
I wanted you to be the one so bad that I changed the way I was
What I liked
Who I acted like
You put 100s of scars on my body
Some you can't see, That I’ll always have
Scars that won't fade
Blades are hidden in songs, in places, in memories of us together
Blades that are on the corner of linden ave and forest drive
Blades that cut straight to the bone
Some of my scars will eventually fade away and only be small memoires
But the scars you left will never go away.
Now the cave, canyons, and valleys that once had blood flowing through them every night
Are now dried up
There are still there lying doment and only hold memories
And temptation to open them up again to feel you again.
Still you where the clever that cut into my heart
You were the one that distorted  my somewhat stable foundtaion
But I still want you
If you were to text me and ask me if I wanted to come over and watch a movie
I would come over in a matter of seconds
I still care about you
People say that your ex is meant to stay your ex
I don't see you as my ex
I see you as a friend that I cant talk to till August 1st
I hope that one day
Someday
We can be friends
Will that day ever come or am I just a daydreamer
Am I just a person that wants you still after everything you've do done to me
After the hell you put me though
I still love you
Do you ever love me?