a woman once drowned from lonesome fear:
the kind of sickness
you cannot hear.
she toiled with the time she'd lost
willing to take the brunt
of their cost.
the last word that parted from her lips
was "the fire burned my heart alive,
a pain that I cannot survive."
and the tiller came to take her away.
when the tiller comes to grasp your hand
what will he take from you?
what will he demand?
there is no value to devotion
if you're the only one
swimming in the ocean
so whatever sets your chest aflame
there is no fire
you cannot tame
Jan 13, 2016
Jan 13, 2016 at 12:42 AM UTC
Sometimes I feel like I'll die on this page
My penmanship falters, my life in the ash tray.
My soul coiled in to paper and ink,
Where I sat and I thought, where I sit and I think.'
Nov 24, 2015
Nov 24, 2015 at 12:47 PM UTC
Today was one of those days that started in a torrential downpour of hardship and discernment which scattered my mind whole with confusion and resentment. As I woke, a hole began to form in my chest. One that would surely be the death of reason and the atonement for hours spent in silence, letting my throat fill with the blood of my unspoken words.
Nov 5, 2015
Nov 5, 2015 at 9:40 PM UTC
“I think I shall dig a hole and when it gets deep enough I will lay down and die as every other dog I’ve known has done.”
Nov 1, 2015
Nov 1, 2015 at 7:14 PM UTC
Alexander pushes his mother's hand away and retorts, “It is bad enough to have his name, let alone to be his son.”
Oct 25, 2015
Oct 25, 2015 at 1:57 AM UTC
Whatever it may be that sets my chest aflame with a whole desire, lay within the confine of your deep, beautiful form.
It rings, it rings!
How I long! How I long! How long have I longed for this? How long have I wished to be realized as some feminine form? How long have I silently wondered on my own time?
Simply, I haven’t. Simply, it is you. Simply, I must be your woman, for you birthed that which is: this woman.
You: You have brought me to my womanly purpose. You have brought me to the radiance, which lingers in the eye of every loved mother.
It rings, it rings!
Whatever it may be that sends me to my knees in admiration,
That shakes me with such force,
That brings me to this earth- that rises and falls with your breath.
How I will be your metronome,
Your ageless home,
Your careful host,
And Honest Wife.
It rings, it rings!
Whatever it may be that leaves my hands in locking, longing for your sweet taste astounds me within some crevice of this mind:
Where I find myself beneath your greatness,
Where I find myself kissing each stretch of skin,
And crying to you:
Oh, my love, how I long! How I long!
How I desire to be pressed, fermented,
And enjoyed over ice…
How I will sweat and gain moisture: I will be the condensation dripping desperately down your wine glass.
Oct 25, 2015
Oct 25, 2015 at 1:56 AM UTC
The candles burn at both ends,
When love and life come to an end.
Sitting now I know I tried,
To swallow my heart
To swallow my pride
Oct 25, 2015
Oct 25, 2015 at 1:49 AM UTC
I was encouraged to begin,
The life of a wife;
One drenched in sin.
Not lust nor greed
Could tempt my eye
But deep inside, I longed to die.
Oct 25, 2015
Oct 25, 2015 at 1:49 AM UTC
Today was one of those days that started in a torrential downpour of hardship and discernment which scattered my mind whole with confusion and resentment. As I woke, a hole began to form in my chest. One that would surely be the death of reason and the atonement for hours spent in silence, letting my throat fill with the blood of my unspoken words.
There is something particularly damaging about communication. Though it can bring two people together, it also the one thing that can tear them apart. This particular miscommunication has left my heart aghast with the thought that it will not be communication or the lack thereof that will sever our relation.
All things must die. All things will die. For those of who are comfortable with that idea, it becomes difficult to see the merit in staying when many different factors join together in a chorus to sing: The horror! The horror!
Oct 25, 2015
Oct 25, 2015 at 1:44 AM UTC
We fall once.
We fall hard.
We hand our hearts off like a playing card.
We will take you to parks,
And fall to our knees,
Revealing the pain that grows with the trees.
Never Fall in Love with a Writer
We will take you to monuments and museums,
Holding the world in ours hands,
Ready to break in accordance with your demands.
Never Fall in Love with a Writer
A writer is fragile.
They’ll bare your pain from every angle.
A trait the common man hadn’t thought possible.
Never Fall in Love with a Writer
We will dedicate each word to you,
Until dreaming will never do,
Because it can’t express our love to you.
Never Fall in Love with a Writer
We are not like the rest,
You’ll never die in our mind
We are why love is blind.
Oct 2, 2015
Oct 2, 2015 at 11:10 AM UTC