to the nights where tomorrow looms bright as star graced eve
and glimpsed from sight, into obscurity and then
out of reach
where we make amends with the moonlight; so hesitant to outshine the sun
or rouse the sleeping child from bed
until dawn
our boats float down the riverbed where we watch them slide through black streams
and water cold and brilliant, passing timely
never stagnant
moving in and out of luminance with the cadence of age
following the maps in the sky there for those seeking though
never quite at place
carrying along the breeze, that shifts through the night
and the kisses of the rising sun before long, tall days
that feel like many
and into that daylight where tomorrow wanes and ripples and rises
like the edge of the horizon, against all that is
still
Dec 3, 2020
Dec 3, 2020 at 10:50 PM UTC
more of us
more to miss
the more the merrier
more guests
more of you
more like this
more of the same
more or less
more of the life
more with you
more of a home
more like I knew
more of it all
more for me
more of the dark
no more to see
more of everything
more and more and more
until its more like nothing
anymore
Nov 13, 2020
Nov 13, 2020 at 10:26 PM UTC
Je vivrai toujours avec cette tristesse
qui va et vient avec une telle vitesse.
Je suis les feuilles qui se cachent dans l'hiver
et ne se souvient pas du printemps d'hier
Oct 19, 2020
Oct 19, 2020 at 10:22 AM UTC
Don't follow the wind when she blows by your cradle bed.
She'll pick you up and leave you lying dead.
And you won't remember the view
because you were too young to notice she grew bored of you.
We became the ants trapped in the sky.
The ground as our witness; building clouds to pass the time
Feel the cool of the rain
but do not imitate the droplets fall between your eyelid pains
or tie paperweights to your kin
before the knock lets herself creep in
As years grow heavy, your conscious will slip
to the ground that you kiss with dry, blue lips
And the chimes will sing a lullaby
Forever spent flying, but you only have so little time.
Oct 8, 2020
Oct 8, 2020 at 8:29 PM UTC
she led me down the ocean green
that whicker in my last nights' dream
fingers trickled down like spray
sweet voices linger the next day
oh seaweed mistress make my bed
make sure that I wake up dead
send me to the ocean queen
let me wake inside her dream
Sep 29, 2020
Sep 29, 2020 at 11:18 PM UTC
the rust on these walls
has begun to beckon and call
me back to a state
of wanting never to look back
so young and obscene
my cold brought by warmth
is stagnant as times shuffles forth
to new chateaus uphill
where the numbers live in safety
on beautiful screens
I'm still there when its storming
listening to the bells and ghosts swarming
as echos in these halls
still alive in the ways of this building
growing old and mean
Our tears have solidified to rust
now far too late for most of us
to reclaim forgotten comforts
cast aside with indifference
in that foolish scene
but those walls still stand in concrete
rotting away in summers heat
still guarding the memories
cast aside for sake of forgetting
ever being thirteen
Sep 25, 2020
Sep 25, 2020 at 9:54 PM UTC
The glass walls shield me away from a world contradicting the one in my journals. My experience is limited through generations of filters designed to rid me of challenge and deprive me of ambition. They have prevented my escape with their attentive care. When I step outside my throat closes at the smell of flowers, eyes water when its sunny, legs tense up inclinations. I could burn myself inside of this townhouse and I'd still be freezing. The uncomfortable is as foreign to me as the tops of trees. I am only exercised out of obligation to the billboard queens and anticipation of physical intimacy. I breathe out of habit. Fresh air tastes like money. I can't walk outside when it's raining, for fear it washes away my face. I am sanitized until numb. Educated until dumb. Holding my breath so I fall out of consciousness and into a blanket of stars. Each of them brighter than ours. Meant to remind me of the sky hiding behind my glass walls. Neither waiting for, nor needing me. Simply having the autonomy to be.
Sep 22, 2020
Sep 22, 2020 at 9:13 PM UTC
i dont remember writing your birthday on my calander
but i don't see why i should
when the point of having it there in the first place
is so i don't have to remember these important dates
rather, just how to read a chart
but August 27th was always your square
even before i drew candles in the corner
and i dont need a flipbook to tell me how to remember
the anniversary of someone like you
still i wish you'd remember mine
maybe you should try writing it down
Sep 5, 2020
Sep 5, 2020 at 10:39 PM UTC
An existentialist sat quietly outlooking the garden,
offset by the noise of a steady heartbeat
and the warmth of his skin.
He was dismayed by the smell of dirt
writhing with worms and pumpkin seeds below his porch,
so he kept distance from the steps for fear of collapsing;
letting them rot back into the soil.
He began resting his eyes against the midmorning breeze,
for his nights were spent awake, listening to lonely calls,
feeling their whispers reverberate in his fingertips,
unable to satisfy them with reason
so never sleeping out of fear of submission.
Only now under the prying sunlight
does he understands the need for light at both ends of the tunnel.
Letting the rock of the chair run lose momentum,
his thoughts run through a stream of finite silence.
Sep 3, 2020
Sep 3, 2020 at 2:25 PM UTC
Did you **** him?
That depends.
You slit his throat.
Well, I guess.
So you admit it?
Might as well.
Why'd you do it?
Never tell.
Aug 27, 2020
Aug 27, 2020 at 11:33 PM UTC