tomorrow seems so distant
but the sky above our
heads is blue
and although my
flesh may not
be the same shade
that's the way
i'm feeling too,
pale knees bruised
by past transgressions
band-aids slowly
peel off from the skin
and even my bed isn't
a safe place to sleep
when i'm standing
in the face of
self destruction
Mar 1, 2019
Mar 1, 2019 at 6:57 PM UTC
ghouls roam the cemetery at midnight,
and the witch does her spells at three,
dead souls and hollowed bones merge
out of the soil, all this alacrity in a place
seemingly empty;
old man with his graying headstone,
and murdered woman under an angel
caught mid flight,
along with the others they awaken
and yawn as day slips into the night;
there are spirits at peace
alongside ones filled with rage,
then others who have forgotten
their hate, wandering calmly
in this place;
sipping upon the tea of sorrow,
they do a spring dance with grace,
crypts and graves closing as
the sun rises golden in the morn',
praying to slip past the final gate.
Jan 10, 2019
Jan 10, 2019 at 12:04 PM UTC
[an omen of a better age]
to wish a good morn' to the sun, to the sea, to the birds with songs that greet the residents each day set out yonder for each dwindling lifeline. ancient stone sculptures slowly cracking beneath golden light, woven basket filled to the brim with fresh bread loaves as she meanders through the streets-a walk she seems doomed to repeat for the rest of her lonely days. but as the sea waves crash against the rocky shores, salt suctioning against barnacles, she sees him. standing upon a balcony, paintbrush balanced perfectly between finger and knuckle, dark hair and light eyes just as gray as the sea. her red dress sways enticingly in the wind, as if to say yes, yes, go. walk to him. for he is the sea to your sky. meant to become one in the very end. but she does not summon enough courage within her beating heart to make the steps over the mossy stone tiles, and she continues on her way. it takes her one year. one year of looks, of smiles, of fantasy and reality for them to mutter any words out between lips to one another. but after the first are spoken, they begin to seek each other out as often as can be made possible. even with the hardships to endure, the money to be scrambled for, the work to be done, they fall for one another. madly, deeply, forever in love. he paints her during their days of freedom, oil paint stretching over a once blank canvas-dark hair, eyes, and bright cloth. sometimes, she wears nothing but the hair spattered over her skin like thunderclouds. she becomes his beloved muse, the only work of art he shall ever focus his undivided attention on for the rest of his short life. when the sun falls behind the sea and the moon reflects her silver glow upon the surface of the earth, this is when the couple makes love. feverish, heated, sweat glistening on foreheads as their bodies mesh together as one, all sound, moans of pleasure, splitting into the silence of the night. but these moments between the lovers do not-will not-last forever. alas, a death beyond what anyone could have perceived as possible befalls them, a shipwreck near the port of their very destination. drowning together, hand in hand, murdered by the sea that they had once looked upon with such adoration. but even in death, their love remains unparalleled to any other of its kind. a romance so intricate and timeless, deemed by the gods to remain in the paintings hung upon walls as history embarks undisturbed journey. this romanticism pertaining to art and blossoms, lovers meeting in a bed of roses / nectar / lust / freedom, praying for endearment and immortality. until the very last breath escapes these lips of passion, and the souls residing within the fragile beings slip in between the veil, fading into the dark at last. bones resting in peace beneath the glassy surface of the ocean as the spirits rejoice in the arms of angels. auspicium melioris aevi.
Jan 5, 2019
Jan 5, 2019 at 12:33 AM UTC
life is a journey, and it’s just that. it just is and we just are. threads weaving together and apart as life goes on, an unending timeline of salt and sugar, home and joy and pain and blood. we fall and fail and fly too close to the sun, land on the moon, kiss our lovers and tell the stories of the past. nostalgia is a burial ground for memories and we unearth them often, we feel their bite and dwell on that feeling. the feeling we had in this exact moment of time, the place where we decided to remember it forever. and we will not be forgotten. even when our bones turn to ash and our bodies are in the ground, headstones weathered with lichen and a whole new world moving without us, we will prevail. in words and stories, in that very feeling we once carried to our end. it dwells in the hearts we touched, the places we changed, the hands we held. because we are never truly alone, only lost in ourselves. but our ghosts will remain as memories and warmth and immortal voices-the sounds of cries and laughter. for we may one day bade all goodbye, but the souls of our history live on in newfound wonder, they shall never fully die.
Nov 28, 2018
Nov 28, 2018 at 12:10 AM UTC
there is a sensitive innocence
in the way you touch you hair
the thoughts held underneath
and the words that simper there,
i wonder if you’re still breathing
or whether you’re already dead
i trust his cruelty has you seething
why don’t you cut off his head?
there are no more angels here
they’ve all decided to fly away
across the moon & into a grave
we have nothing more to say
no–not even a goodbye song
will be muttered in his wake
for he’s already left you empty
there’s nothing more to take
Aug 27, 2018
Aug 27, 2018 at 1:57 AM UTC
o love, tell me, where did you go? you adandoned my bones here ages ago. centuries past, a ticking time bomb. broken clock, two blinks, blood, it drips in awaiting. no home, sharpened teeth, empty gaps lie underneath. take me anywhere, get me crazy. i am suffocating underneath this dirt. derealization is a coffin made to fit my exact measurements. swallow the worms, choke on the maggots, taste the filth in your heart. pain rots the membrane. decomposing, a corpse girl within. but still breathing, still abandoned, all alone again.
Jul 13, 2018
Jul 13, 2018 at 1:29 AM UTC
shattered glass
and empty pill
bottles are
scattered cross
the floor, blood
stains and the
realization that
he’s never going
to come back
for more, an
angel in disguise
as peach puke
skies litter her
crossweb veins,
sadness drapes
her eyes shut
as home becomes
a shallow grave
Jul 6, 2018
Jul 6, 2018 at 12:26 PM UTC
young love, have you forgotten to remember me? i am miles away from happiness and still dreaming of your lips. the cigarette taste, hands wandering the soft curves of my skin. but it seems that i’m alone again, and you want her instead.
Jul 5, 2018
Jul 5, 2018 at 4:36 PM UTC
i think that love has been lost on me. all things that begin blooming in potential seem to fall into waste these days. soil and ash. dust and death. and it’s not fair because i miss you, and i want you here by my side. i watch the others-smiling, happy, glowing-and wish that could be mine.
Jul 2, 2018
Jul 2, 2018 at 4:37 PM UTC
perpetual happenings, like rain sliding down my window and discarded filth on city streets, is what i often akin us to. our daring hands and youthful eyes got too caught up in the carefree dosages of first love. perhaps our parents taught us otherwise, but to this day i cannot remember. because when you entered my life like a revelation, it split into two parts. the before, without you. and the after, all you. the saddest thing being, i no longer know the girl who never worried about seeing ghosts after people left.
Jun 28, 2018
Jun 28, 2018 at 4:36 PM UTC