I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I
I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I
I I I I I I I I I I
I I I
U U U
I fall, infinitely
bursting onto the ground,
into splashes of U
Oct 4, 2013
Oct 4, 2013 at 2:51 PM UTC
You're a house in a field blanketed in snow
Your doors are locked and windows are closed
The chimney takes foggy breaths,
Drawn by your fireplace, fervently ablaze
I can almost feel the glow
emanating from your windows
How they look at me,
so enticingly, invitingly, I could almost mistake it as lovingly.
But I am forced to stay, deeply rooted into crystals of cold
Although your doors will never open for me.
I am incessantly yearning
for your warmth.
Sep 21, 2013
Sep 21, 2013 at 6:17 PM UTC
Days drift by, our pillows collecting dreams and the mind dust that trickles off during sleep.
I fulfill my needs every day and forget to do slightly more important things -
like making sure I have enough time;
time that I don't spend worrying
on not having enough time
It is five in the morning, maybe a little later.
The clocks stopped working,
or perhaps it is just that I stopped reading them.
I forgot how far away you were until
today you pulled at your side of the string
And I felt the years of distance it took to reach me
(how many things one can lose in a year never ceases to surprise me)
I can only write when I am
sleep-deprived, and the silver dust
seeps into my mind like an hour glass
that wasn't meant to be turned back around just yet.
I watch the sun tear into the darkness.
The horizon smiles at me. "You'll never reach me," it taunts.
I know I'll still keep trying.
Today my pillow is emptier and my heart is fuller.
It is so quiet now.
I can hear my heart beat against everything;
knocking on every door, hoping for someplace to be let in.
It is so quiet now that I can't ignore how lost I am.
It is so quiet now, that I can't pretend I don't hear myself.
Sep 5, 2013
Sep 5, 2013 at 2:21 PM UTC
Every night (without her) he watches the sun set on his ceiling. Warm tendrils of light seep over the white paint like a high tide rushing onto the beach.
(He) keeps forgetting to replace the curtains she took with her.
The bed feels soft but (is) too warm; over-used.
His body leaves a crescent-shaped depression
(constantly) reaching out to the cold side of the bed
where she used to sleep.
life stretches on slowly
the previous rattle of scenery sliding past his eyes
has been reduced to a static hum
– like the sound after a rainstorm –
(falling) asleep is easier now.
Aug 3, 2013
Aug 3, 2013 at 5:36 AM UTC
I remember when we wrote our names on each other's arms.
the ink sank deep into our skin,
enough to seep into our veins, tinting our bloodstream
I felt your presence within me.
…But eventually even permanent marker fades away
When the black curves of your signature chipped off of me
and your name washed out of my body
– that's when I realized you wouldn't stay
Jul 10, 2013
Jul 10, 2013 at 8:45 AM UTC
red taillights graze the asphalt,
shaving off whatever we thought
was now.
the violent bloom of neon sanguine
dissolves into the thick darkness,
the dense night sky that the moon slices through
straight onto you
(so piercingly it could spark a fire)
just as the silence envelopes me into
bitter and total solitude
I forget to let go, I forget to forget.
Time wraps itself around me and ribbons me with memories, maybe this is all you see when you look at me. Maybe you are waiting to unwrap me. Constellations uncoil and stars dance on the polished marble floor
freely.
effortlessly,
closer.
Closer now.
Just as reclusively as the moon, watching the stars occupy her room
as undefined as the horizon swallowing the foggy spheres of red light
and as nostalgically as the night
I wait for you.
Jun 24, 2013
Jun 24, 2013 at 6:44 PM UTC
Instead of a bell jar
I am trapped inside an hourglass
Sand scrapes my skin
unsurfacing memories of
your voice, your eyes,
faded images of me looking into them
Dust rains on me incessantly
eroding the shield I worked so hard to maintain
Drops of you grasp tightly onto me,
your nails are grappling hooks in my skin
The past swells with each dropping grain,
becoming heavier, until
your pulling weight unravels me.
Jun 23, 2013
Jun 23, 2013 at 5:32 AM UTC
I had my heart broken
By a boy who likes to pretend
That he never liked me
-- except my heart didn't really break,
because it was never his.
It was more like I was lonely, and he was there
so I let him hold me and, he let me hold him
-- and explained to others that
"this is my way of showing I care, but I don't really, truly care,
I don't love her"
"I don't have feelings for you" --
he told me after he had picked up the phone
this girl called (maybe another me)
I just said I didn't care and stared at the ugliest leaf I've ever seen
So I didn't really have my heart broken
But it's easier to say I did
and more exciting, tragic
more romantic to say I did
Jun 20, 2013
Jun 20, 2013 at 4:15 AM UTC