an hour to swallow a tide of sparks
This cozy infinity in pages frantically hoped to never write
Curling into a soft bed and finding only depressing postures
A shine that aims to cull and cut away the taste
Of a rose and the thorns it holds
The purpose of guilt and giving in like lungs that scratch
And cough up some blue beauty to see what could be.
Winter wants nothing but the pretty girl in a grey coat
Birdcage ribs and haloes over hair and horizon
Sleeping is a shroud to turn and rip out a breath
A thin cloth bound as a vein below pale skin
A script to crush and coil about a heaving chest
By the sun through the clouds is a light in a secular place.
A little kick as the floral dress tears easily into abrupt dialogue
Black death lips desired for a cursive speech
Goes to the lap of shade and grieves what loss has been
With a spilled touch to praise in forsaken tones
An hour to swallow a tide of sparks
Bitter as the blossom taking shape in the windowpane.
Frowning brows as the weight slips back
To shoulders broken by and out of passion
The slow, calm, nervous loss as the petals drop
An accident, to swear the truth of lust
And as heavy as the sky
Falls deeper and deeper again.
You are beautiful.
The words whispered without doubt.
Each syllable slipping through smoothly,
as if somehow shaping this statement supports
and supplements its substantiality.
A falling phrase fathering the feeling,
that every fleeting fear has found itself futile and foreign.
Until you find yourself yielding and yearning to yip,
as you did in the yesteryears of youth.
But these words are not spoken with enough clarity.
These words are taken as a compliment meant to leave you blushing.
They are understood as a revelation encountered after you are found to be the victor
of a superficial comparison with those around you.
As if each attractive feature earns you additional points,
with a judge that can be bought with each glance and smile and touch.
As if each insecurity that you feel,
or each person that you think is more alluring,
can somehow subtract from the meaning of the statement.
Your beauty cannot be compared.
The beauty that you contain cannot be explained
to joking friends when they ask where you fit in on a 10-scale.
You cannot put numbers next to the hope and insight that you so freely give.
There are not enough hedons to quantify it.
You are beautiful.
I will repeat it until you think it echoes off the walls surrounding you.
Until every time you look into a mirror you believe you have x-ray vision,
and you can see the warmth of your soul,
with the clarity of vision that you have granted me.
Until you realize that every smile that appeared,
every laugh that escaped,
and every brief happy dance that was ever done in your presence
was caused by the beauty that rests within you.
Wielding the talent to brighten a day with a single smile,
the power to make all of the worries and doubts in a person's mind disappear
with a single thoughtful statement,
a capacity for selflessness that allows no cynic to doubt your motives,
and the ability to make others realize their own beauty
just by interacting with you.
The world is more beautiful because you are a part of it.
Perception, keep it far from me it means nothing…
The chemical imbalance…
distorts, rearranges, changes, and manipulates what’s real.
Sleep, slumber my long lost friend, we once spent countless nights journeying the deep depths of my conscience and subconscious mind,
to places of pure ecstasy
Now we meet only when the black outs come
I guess there aren’t dreams when you die.
I take in more death.
I dig deeper into nothing to try and find something.
Nothing is all I find,
there is something there
the white canvas is blank,
but I see…
I touch enlightenment as I soar through space,
my white canvas has become stars,
Life is all perception
keep perception far from me it means nothing
just pass me the death. Inhalation.
The sweet death fills my lungs, and takes hold of my soul.
My perception is a layer of my intelligence.
I can cease to perceive and still exist.
I hear vibrations at moving frequencies that can not be quantified,
I visualize images that can’t be personified,
I smell the aura and aroma of pure existence,
I feel the texture of objects beneath my flesh,
and I taste life on the tip of my tongue,
the taste of loss,
peace, and enlightenment.
I am living, but I am dead. Inhalation. I breathe in death.
I breathe it all the way to my soul.
My body shutters.
Time fades in and out.
I no longer perceive I only exist.
There is something inside of each of our souls:
This desire for the things that will destroy us.
We crave to behave in ways that leave scars.
Battered and mauled, we are in love with the sickness.
Why do we find it so inviting that we can’t want to turn away from it?
Because to turn away would be to deny ourselves of who we are.
We were born this way: rotting flesh and souls in decay.
We will not admit to the shame of it because we cannot let our pride be wounded.
We do not accept it as fault.
We embrace it because we can’t change.
But the evidence roars in the background as you say that you are deemed worthy.
The lie you just told broke a heart.
The substances from yesterday still affect your loved ones today.
We are not meant to hurt; we were not made to hurt each other.
I believe in love.
I believe in forces.
I believe that we all were destined for good things.
They say I am too old for imaginary friends,
But this love is not imaginary.
I can see this love.
I can see it in smiling eyes.
I can see it in random acts of kindness that shouldn’t be so random.
Brothers and sisters, we were made for more than this world has to offer.
I saw love; I felt love.
Love followed me.
Love pulled me out of my own head, my own mess, my own love for my own sin.
Love knocked the wind out of me.
Love crushed my old heart.
Love let it shatter to take what was inside and make it something better.
Love loved me, when I just didn’t care.
Love waited for me.
Love was always there.
Love always knew that I would find my way.
Love had its hand on me on even my darkest day.
Love looked at me with heartbreak it its eyes.
When my back was turned, love never passed by.
Love never turned and left;
Love never gave in.
Love hurt because I wouldn’t let love in.
But love stayed and love waited.
Love waited on me.
Love led me and taught me how it feels to be free.
Love saw in my heart that I was a wreck.
Love broke down my bones to build them back.
And this time, they are stronger.
Love let me feel pain, though it pained love too,
Because in the end love always knew
That I would find love from my shackled, broken place
Where I would accept love and accept grace.
When my heart was torn open, bleeding out on the ground…
When my soul was crying out for something unknown
To fill the gaping void in my life left by the people
Who couldn’t love like love itself…
When my fears consumed me and I thought I might explode…
When I needed someone to hear me- just hear me-
So that I would not feel so alone…
When the stars taunted me and told me I was small
And that my life would never amount to anything at all…
When I was left in the dust and so unfairly mistreated
By people who were just as lost as me…
When the screaming of voices that were broken from
The love that they never received would ring in my ears…
I was lost.
When there were times that life meant nothing to me
Because I had no reason to live it…
Love found me, and love rescued me.
And love waited to make sure I understood
That love was not going anywhere.
And love wanted me to know love and that I could show love to
People who never really knew the love that found me.
They say that I’m too old for imaginary friends,
But love is not so imaginary.
Love is felt, and love wants you back.
And love never leaves you wanting.
The love on this earth is tainted and broken,
And people hurt each other because they were hurt too.
When people love, they try and give it their best go,
But they are weary and reluctant.
My heart longs for a love deep enough that no one is left dry.
A thirst that is quenched.
No more hunger pangs.
Because love showed itself to me.
So let me love even though I am weak.
Let me try and have that love show through me.
I want to shine so bright the sun would feel inadequate,
Because the brightness of love burns like a thousand earthly suns.
Because the love that found me is the love that beats in my heart,
Traveling deeper than my bones, so I can feel it in my core
When my heart pounds on.
This love courses through my veins, planting a hope in me
That I didn’t even know could be possible.
Love was not found in the pages of a book;
Love was found in the message of a force that created love’s meaning.
The pages of the book hold the words of the creator of the love
That found me but love is in their meaning.
Love is in the force behind the words that kiss the pages
Of the book that is mocked and made foolish.
The words twisting, distorted and wrong,
So far from the place where they started.
So far now that they are only words,
And the meaning they held is lost.
Love itself was mocked and made foolish
By the ones love came to rescue.
I will not mock love.
I will be proud to stand for a love that will stand for me,
When I am no better than any other imperfect human being.
No one laughs at love when love is shown in a smile,
Or a word of comfort to someone who is in need.
But they laugh at love when love is shown in the meaning
Behind the words in a book that only acts to convey the love
That could save them.
They say that I am too old for imaginary friends,
And they mock the love that lifted me above the ashes
And led me through the pain of life.
When my life was wading in open waters
With sharks circling beneath me
And feeling the fatigue set in.
Pretty soon, I would have been too tired
To even try at all.
But love reached out into my heart
And gave me the strength to keep wading,
With the knowledge that the sharks can’t touch me.
And one day I will be out of the water and onto dry land
Where I will never have to swim again.
They say I am too old for imaginary friends,
But love is the realest thing I know and
Love saved me.
There's nothing I've wanted more than the ability to forget.
I've tried but I haven't been able to master it, yet.
I can't forget you're scorching touch,
You left scars, more than enough.
You were trying to mask your impotence,
I should've shown more than just indifference.
Tell me did you know what you were doing, did you notice my change?
Must of, since you asked "Why are you acting so strange?"
I never admitted, never told a soul,
I never seeked help- I turned numb, bitter cold.
Tried to convince myself I was strong, stronger than you.
I was completely wrong, you knew this, too.
You hold so much sovereignty over me,
I still can't comprehend how this can be.
You knew who'd keep quiet, you knew what prey to choose,
You're so clever, made sure you would never lose.
Do you know how indefinitely f'cked up I am now?
Are you happy? Are you proud? Do you want to take a bow?
Your time is ending, your death is near,
You'll be gone, yet I'll always have so much to fear..
Your beauty endless
Your pain deep
Your secrets forever mine to keep
Your features stunning
Your words real
Your suffering forever mine to feel
Your glances tender
Your touch sweet
Your lips forever mine to meet
It's 2am in December and my windows are all open.
Trying to remember what it's like to feel..
I'd smoke another Newport, but I've smoked so many
that it hurts to inhale normal air,
especially the crisp winter air
that's pouring into my apartment,
sleep seems futile..
There's an empty bottle of cheap pinot lying next to me,
a half-finished PBR, from the thirty I bought myself
and I haven't thought of you in a while.
My mind wanders to that alleyway in the heart of Columbus,
dark and deserted,
the sounds of lovers off in the distance,
my boyfriend calling my name, searching
but I can't hear him.
I can only hear you...
You see love, I haven't thought of you,
haven't let myself back to that place
because I met a nice boy,
who told me nice things,
asked nicely if he could touch me, in nice places
before he did so,
and it was nice...
So I waited and he waited,
took things slowly for once,
convinced him it was worth it,
that I, was worth it,
so when he told me, it was beautiful
and I told him right back.
it was beautiful,
"I love you"...
And don't you dare question me, love
for I love him,
because he thinks I'm wonderful,
hasn't seen the scary parts that I'd showed you,
doesn't believe I'm as broken as I say,
He tells me I'm perfect...
that night in Columbus, Ohio still haunts me,
the night you rode a bus for sixteen hours to get to,
that moment we're screaming at each other,
I'm telling you that I hate you, and I know you've never cared
why are you even here? I HATE you...!
You kiss me.
Like your sole purpose in life... was to kiss me.
Like you'd been waiting forever..
You kiss me
like you were created by God
for the final moment
where your lips would dance with mine,
and fireworks would fly
from your fingertips
as they brushed across my cheeks,
turning tears into vapor,
unspoken truths into song,
longing into love,
you kissed me.
Kissed me, and saved me from being stone..
That night, you told me everything I'd ever longed for you to tell me.
Told me about your terrifying family,
and the reasons you were better off being alone.
I wept into your arms as you told me you loved me,
that you had given me every single thing you could,
how you were sorry it wasn't enough.
And I told you all the sad things I'd lived through,
all the boys who never learned my name,
all the nights I'd never had a home,
the day I wished I was dead..
And you stroked my hair, told me not to cry,
wiped the tears from my cheeks,
while I told you that all you had to do was ask,
that I'd come back for you.
All you had to do was tell me to come back, for you.
And that night,
in that tiny apartment, 700 miles from home
you made love to me,
kissed me softly,
whispered sweet nothings until I fell asleep on your chest...
You became home, my love,
You were my home.
The next day,
you got on a Greyhound bus back to where you came from.
Didn't look back.
And I went back to that little apartment,
never looked back down that alleyway,
and once more,
this poem is not about you, i promise.
it's not about the line of your
jaw, how it locks in place or how
my lips pressed against your
throat are the only keys that will
turn you over, it's not about that.
it's about the tick of my heart and how
it sped up to match the speed
of light when i first felt
a hand curled around mine and how
i first felt it sliding its way between
it happened to be your hand, but that's
not the point.
this poem is not about you, i promise.
it's about my fingertips that ache like
cold nights, wishing to feel the
heat of a vein pulsing underneath
it, (i just need to touch you again)
this isn't about you,
it's about me.
it's about how i fell apart at the sight of you and
you pieced me back together with your presence and
how i tore you down after i decided we were spent and
how i took out several loans to piece you back together and
still never had enough to compensate for the wounds i inflicted and
how i fall apart now at the sound of your name and
how i have no strength left to stand up and
keep going after you said mine for the last time.
this poem is not about you, i promise.
you were just the ringing in my ears
and this is my sad attempt at trying
to tear you out.
Stay is a funny command;
when I asked you to lie still within my
hands and let me keep you between my
fingers, you immediately began to squirm.
You wriggled around and slipped past
my cracks, and when I asked you to
hold back, to let me touch you one last
time, you ran full speed in the other
Stay is a funny command;
no one ever takes it as seriously as you do,
and no one ever listens.
"Stay" is ineffective and inefficient, like the
love I feel for you.
half here in a 1.5x body
six inches above the national average height
I didn't notice when I was marooned in the clouds
now a pariah afraid of birds (SQUAWK)
"It's too foggy to notice much here"
"Too bad I didn't pay attention"
too b a d
so s a d
That nobody sad I was sick till it was too late…
…now I've got smack on the brain, nothing in my cunt, and empty pockets for innumerable bills
except I always find money for booze, whose blurry touch tells me not to feel, too feel, and to speak.
I wonder when I became retarded* and when I stopped being exceptional.
Maybe they're synonymous?
IDK LMao K I L L ME, maYBE
This is too long of a poem for anyone to read it