She keeps songs locked away in boxes like secrets. She will take them out like postcards to help her remember the feeling of a different time, a different person by her side. She likes the one that makes her eyes close to see the lights. She smiles at the one that makes her stand up on tiptoes, the one that helps her forget she doesn’t know what to do with her hands.
The tune will carry her.
Like it did the times when voices broke like a heart. When instruments’ strings would snap and hurt.
He’d rather be angry than numb, and so the feeling boils within him. It swiftly moves through his body, poisoning all that it touches. The feeling settles, burrowing deep into his worn bones. The darkness surrounds him. When the sun rises, he does too.
I used to read your poems but lately you don't write you're silent and aloof you know that isn't right. You can't close a door once opened you can't abolish all your dreams you're a poet of the heart mustn't fall apart at the seams. Say what you can in words they speak the message true spoken from the heart the poems will see you through. A hermit's not your style a recluse, you are not never give up writing of things that you've been taught. I used to read your poems I'd read them once again if you would send them out (this one's from a poet friend)
i spent my life trying to please someone with a twisted disease i broke myself down and tucked my feelings away to become the person they wanted me to be i let myself be watched through the glass of a two sided mirror of a sociopath i wallowed my spirit away and begged for acceptance but there’s nothing in the world that i could do to let the narcissist know that i am human too
the only thing that can please a narcissist is being miserable
i thought I won’t feel it but i did getting dumped hurts was it worth it letting you in loving you is it true what they say it is better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all and time heals all wounds
Como la brisa que la sangre orea sobre el oscuro campo de batalla, cargada de perfumes y armonías en el silencio de la noche vaga,Símbolo del dolor y la ternura, del bardo inglés en el horrible drama, la dulce Ofelia, la razón perdida, cogiendo flores y cantando pasa.
I wanted so badly to go because I could not stay while your garbage bag was filling with maggots through a hole that I put there when a seizure overtook me on the boat. You know? The boat that couldn't float with bags of baggy maggots that were fatter than we expected.
The throaty croaks of the after-rain frogs, Hidden in the damp dark garden, Calling and answering one to other, While a few creatures silently listen, The water drops linger on dampened leaves, And the night crickets add their say, In some fireflies' lights they glisten, A finishing touch after a rainy day.
I love him I tell myself I know that We will be together forever I don’t believe that We could be separated My thoughts tell me that He’s the love of my life Sometimes my heart lies and says I could live an eternity Without him Like my friends say “We’re perfect for each other” And you can’t tell me He’s not the one.
They said, "The most beautiful art is looking into someone's eyes when they talk about the things they love." And I said, "Or looking at someone you love. Or maybe, just maybe, by looking at the mirror is the most beautiful art anyone should appreciate."
Appreciation post for myself; for you and for everyone as well. You deserve more than the world has to offer.
I thought if I could swallow the stars I’d be as beautiful as the evening sky I tried one night with fireflies They burned my throat Their legs striking at soft flesh But my skin did not glow No moon crawled from my eye sockets I was left with corpses in my stomach I soon learned I would only ever be A cemetery