she counts the stars
above her head
they shine bright,
they gleam and they glow,
but her future grows dim.
the tunnel closes day by day
her skin turns dark
her lips turn pale
she thinks on dreams and empty promises
and sweet nothings.
but somehow, she lives.
her heart beats, second by second
a hot, molten heart
It stretches her skin
pounds further and further out of her chest.
What would you do with a molten heart?
Her heart grew too hot for her body to bear
It burned her hands and feet and face, so
it turned cold. she turned cold.
it chilled her. It chilled her veins and
her bones and
her mind, and it set her free.
Sep 30, 2015
Sep 30, 2015 at 12:01 AM UTC
people are coming and
i am not ready;
my chest will pop
and my hands will bleed
i need you to
help me forget about home
Jul 31, 2014
Jul 31, 2014 at 6:55 PM UTC
perfection is defined as
being free of all flaws and
abnormalities.
but i would beg to differ
some people might
bottle up your imperfections and
your beauties and
create their own concoctions,
but i have never felt the need to
do something like that.
your beauties are your
imperfections,
sweetheart.
Jul 23, 2014
Jul 23, 2014 at 12:38 AM UTC
ambrosia and crystalline stardust
of yours in my senses
in my nose and my lungs.
breathing in and out is
intoxicating
and being around you is
without anxiety, except for
the butterflies in my stomach for
tomorrow.
you rid my body of the scars and
fill me with wonderful empty
thoughts and you.
you are polar and intense and
you are
close.
Jul 21, 2014
Jul 21, 2014 at 9:33 PM UTC