Explain to me in the depths of night,
On marble stairs of silent synagogues,
How you have swamped my fearless soul.
Once comparable to church light,
Now reflects the darkened holes of words forgotten.
Do you acknowledge the death of my mind?
Doubtful, my accidental murdering love,
Uneducated, unaware, unloving as I now progress.
Life is a white wash, wailing from all angles.
And I hope you've noticed my only talent,
To become a phantom of all aspects
Founded masks upon surrounding presences.
Hysterical screams at O'Molloy's heated hooting tales,
Assumed shouting in agreement
Fear Not! The subject of my howling is directed at the disgrace of your being.
Laughing, screeching, loss of breath at your current self.
How you're like a notch of carpet.
Irritating, unmoving, need of scissors,
Lost in life as we stamp on you,
Uncaring as we step a little harder each time.
Jan 17, 2015
Jan 17, 2015 at 9:53 AM UTC
Love her like
She's the raging sea,
Unrestrained and dark and deep.
And you crave her touch
Through aching pores
As you slowly drown in sleep.
Love her like
She's the tender storm,
A lovely shade of grey.
Like with every whiff
Of breath she takes,
She's taking yours away.
Love her like
She's the silent clouds
With calmness floating by.
Like you'd want to make
Sweet love to her
Under the moon's apocalyptic eye.
Love her like
She's the blazing fire,
And you lust the candied pain.
Like she's the disease
That swallowed you whole
And you'd like to die again.
When her gentle touch
Makes your chest explode,
And your addiction is your girl.
Promise you'll love her
Through hell and back,
Or don't you dare love her at all.
Jan 11, 2015
Jan 11, 2015 at 12:10 PM UTC
Regained space was easily adopted
A night so frosty for a cold departure
Don't stop imagining
The thoughts of me were once so clean
I've went and dirtied them
Replaced your body
With the bones of him
Conceal your anguish with her broken lips
Words that don't fall are the ones you'll miss
She's a well dressed faux impressionist
Of the love you required
But lost on a night so frosty for a cold departure
Jan 3, 2015
Jan 3, 2015 at 1:08 PM UTC
Confusion,
Mammoth depth to your words,
In my head,
Shallow as they were intended,
Different meaning was sensed.
Amend to simplicity and concern
yourself with me.
For now dearest continue freely
Through uncomplicated mundanities.
At Once, At last, if never,
We will pass swiftly,
Quick grins,
Sweating palms,
Confusion.
Dec 28, 2014
Dec 28, 2014 at 4:17 PM UTC
You were born on a day
Where the oxygen in the room
Was thick and far from humble.
You were too perfect,
And I was shining with way too much pride
For the suggested serving size.
And you were gasping right before
You took your real first breath.
And I saw myself in you.
Gasping, trying to cry,
Trying to release and experience.
But lungs are made of wood sometimes.
Then you finally breathed in
And started crying hysterically,
Like babies do.
And that was the first thing we had in common.
Wooden lungs.
Our blue eyes were the second.
Sorry about your father,
He was less of a father figure
And more like a father figurine.
Too breakable, and far too easy
To put in the back of closet.
He never had to struggle for the air like we do.
He doesn't know how good that unhumble air tastes.
He didn't have wooden lungs.
And his eyes were brown.
Dec 24, 2014
Dec 24, 2014 at 1:55 PM UTC
sprinklings of soft flour
scattered upon teal green kitchen tiles
well wishings and moving chairs
make soft background noises
I look up at the deep red of your apron
the business suit of the old fashioned woman
you pick me up and place me on the tiles
Usually cold, they're warm in the kitchen's heat
I smile as I draw a tree through the flour
you look down on me and laugh
such warmth and happiness in your smile
that split second of attention, all I needed,
to progress through the cinnamon smelling household
on a day perfect for lying.
Dec 17, 2014
Dec 17, 2014 at 3:32 PM UTC
We are slaves of the night,
thinking,
forever may not exist.
I failed, I stumbled,
but you were there
to remind me of tomorrow.
I may not be perfect,
but my heart
burns like ice.
We are slaves of the night,
you and I
are living stories.
Dec 13, 2014
Dec 13, 2014 at 5:00 PM UTC