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Jasperlantern
Jasperlantern
☼All the love's still there, I just don't know what to do with it now☽
Poems2
Followers14
Words187
Did you ever notice how easy it is to count the branches of bare trees? For the longest time I couldn't tell if it was autumn or spring with you Because whenever my happiness began to bloom You would send a chill up my spine Cracking my skull and breaking my spirit Telling me everything would be alright If I just kept believing you. But what's the point in living When you can't tell if it's becoming progressively frigid or humid outside? Leafs are falling in reverse No wait They're stapled onto the branches. Sitting in the painted green grass Like hay under my feet, you look up at me smiling because now, there is no cause to think fall will ever come. It was always spring with you. It would always rain hardest When you cut my tear ducts open And washed the blood from your hands With whatever spilled out.
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May 26, 2015
May 26, 2015 at 11:27 AM UTC
Jasperlantern
I Think Of You When I Rip My Hair Out
Did you ever notice how easy it is to count the branches of bare trees? For the longest time I couldn't tell if it was autumn or spring with you Because whenever my happiness began to bloom You would send a chill up my spine Cracking my skull and breaking my spirit Telling me everything would be alright If I just kept believing you. But what's the point in living When you can't tell if it's becoming progressively frigid or humid outside? Leafs are falling in reverse No wait They're stapled onto the branches. Sitting in the painted green grass Like hay under my feet, you look up at me smiling because now, there is no cause to think fall will ever come. It was always spring with you. It would always rain hardest When you cut my tear ducts open And washed the blood from your hands With whatever spilled out.
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21
Danielle died the day she found a reason to live. She blew her brains out, Covering the walls with memories of her future. A red, stained glass image of a flawed plot line, Plans, dreams, habits she would never form into reality. Danielle was psychic, Or psychotic, Depending on one's point of view. She would tell me stories of the future, And how she's seen it five thousand times. An arresting daydream that left a bitter-sweet migraine behind. The pain takes me away from my stress But an aneurysm would be preferable. Danielle loved to sing songs about novocaine and nicotine, About how my existence was a wood chip under her toenail, And kicking door frames had become a habit. Still, she insisted we depart this life hand in hand, Yin and yang, polar opposites. A love so vain, blood would rush through my fingertips into hers. Our love was a rose caught in a riptide. A bear trap concealed in a bouquet. I was the shotgun lips loaded with her empty shells. She told me once, The rest of our lives would be only her and I, I had the only invitation to a party I could never describe. A letterbomb disguised as a California post card. She made jail look like a jewelry store, A hammer to nails look like a manicure. To love her was to love the scales under my skin. The fork in my tongue, She was my favorite part of myself. April came, And the confetti landed on the floor, The way ice dripped from branches That sound a lot like bones when they break. I am a captive of my own ribcage She swallowed the only key to open my chest. I turn to find her standing at the altar Shrouded in a blanket of amber. It’s over now.
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May 1, 2015
May 1, 2015 at 12:33 AM UTC
Jasperlantern
Darker Days
Danielle died the day she found a reason to live. She blew her brains out, Covering the walls with memories of her future. A red, stained glass image of a flawed plot line, Plans, dreams, habits she would never form into reality. Danielle was psychic, Or psychotic, Depending on one's point of view. She would tell me stories of the future, And how she's seen it five thousand times. An arresting daydream that left a bitter-sweet migraine behind. The pain takes me away from my stress But an aneurysm would be preferable. Danielle loved to sing songs about novocaine and nicotine, About how my existence was a wood chip under her toenail, And kicking door frames had become a habit. Still, she insisted we depart this life hand in hand, Yin and yang, polar opposites. A love so vain, blood would rush through my fingertips into hers. Our love was a rose caught in a riptide. A bear trap concealed in a bouquet. I was the shotgun lips loaded with her empty shells. She told me once, The rest of our lives would be only her and I, I had the only invitation to a party I could never describe. A letterbomb disguised as a California post card. She made jail look like a jewelry store, A hammer to nails look like a manicure. To love her was to love the scales under my skin. The fork in my tongue, She was my favorite part of myself. April came, And the confetti landed on the floor, The way ice dripped from branches That sound a lot like bones when they break. I am a captive of my own ribcage She swallowed the only key to open my chest. I turn to find her standing at the altar Shrouded in a blanket of amber. It’s over now.
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