Let the pulse of your unrelenting heart fill Heaven's concert hall as it beats the tune of courageous joy against an anxious world
Jun 10, 2022
Jun 10, 2022 at 7:11 PM UTC
I see that you've made peace with the chaos of your mind. You scrawl out your passions like a genius pours out their mind onto a napkin. It is chaos. It is no longer about being understandable or approachable but about letting your mind breathe fresh air outside of judgement.
Jun 10, 2022
Jun 10, 2022 at 7:10 PM UTC
Joy written over your face like graffiti on a brick wall. Sinks into the lines and grooves. Corrosive joy. Inescapable and forever tattooed in loving memory of your survival.
Jun 10, 2022
Jun 10, 2022 at 7:09 PM UTC
The voice given to a story
Perhaps a narration of a memory
Speaking as an art form
Giving a face to the soul
with nothing except sounds and imagery
Painting a scene with only enunciation
The tongue making a perfect expression
Carving a timeless masterpiece
In the minds eye
Incarnate imagination
Oct 25, 2016
Oct 25, 2016 at 1:54 AM UTC
Roses are red
And a little bit brown
Their silk edges curl
Falling soft to the ground
Oct 13, 2016
Oct 13, 2016 at 2:17 AM UTC
Roses are red
The sky has turned gray
I'm just here, naming colors
Who likes flowers anyway
Oct 13, 2016
Oct 13, 2016 at 2:15 AM UTC
Violets are purple
Roses are red
Just petals on gravestones
Where loved ones lay, dead
Oct 13, 2016
Oct 13, 2016 at 2:10 AM UTC
When I call something a "work in progress"
it just means I don't know when to stop.
Oct 4, 2016
Oct 4, 2016 at 4:03 PM UTC
I am captivated by the freedom of a dream
My imagination locked behind bars made of cotton
Hidden in darkness as my eyelashes weave into the pillow
My legs wrapped in sheets like a ball and chain
That I must carry off to sleep
Made of the same lead that keeps heavy eyes closed
I have fallen head over shackled heels
For this bed frame fortress that holds me
The soft edges that leave creases on my face
The warm blankets that melt my will to fight
In love with the captor, Sleep, itself
I give into the abuse of exhaustion and accept my fate as a slave
it has me under its twisted Stockholm spell
I am sick
I don't want to escape
Sep 23, 2016
Sep 23, 2016 at 11:23 AM UTC
supposedly a time of rest
but instead
I am greeted by a dark room
with the flickering of bluish light
coming from somewhere overhead
a figure of grey stands tilted
trying to meet my gaze
with empty sockets where eyes should be
I must not look at it
it claws at the ribbons of skin that hang over its cheeks
ripping at it with ragged nails and fingers of exposed bones
it's face twists in agony
I cannot hear a scream
there is only pain
it did not say a word
it paints a picture of suffering and anguish
it speaks no lie of impending doom
and has no message of reckoning to deliver
it simply stands in silent torture
I no longer fear this nightmare
now I feel pity for it
because if I am afraid I can wake up in the darkness
feel sweat dry on my neck
wipe tears from my face
and grip my soaking pillow while the image fades
but when I slip into the depths of slumber again
it still remains
it has no escape
so it haunts me to pass the time
in its never ending unrest
Aug 26, 2016
Aug 26, 2016 at 4:00 AM UTC