When you left my head
to reckon on its own,
it parted from this world to be alone.
Nothing laughed and all I saw was grey,
all the things I loved seemed to float away.
I was moving around,
but not seeing a thing,
Kept my head empty to keep from thinking of you.
And so I walked with a vacant smile, took far too long to reconcile.
Everything has a time - hearts will stop and people cry.
But clocks will tick away until the good comes around again...
Living, waiting.
Apr 2, 2014
Apr 2, 2014 at 1:39 AM UTC
I want to melt into your chest
to be closer to your heart,
sit right beside the beating chamber where your blood runs hot,
so I can hear the steady pulse that makes you breath,
and think of things to say to me
and think of things to say to me
Aug 12, 2013
Aug 12, 2013 at 11:07 AM UTC
I think about your hands -
or what they'd look like, still, in a painting -
Do you still talk to me in your head?
We don't talk now,
our once tattered line has crumbled into silence.
And I miss how I could have missed you,
and I long to have longed for you -
I dream of all the daydreams
I could have wasted on your eyes.
All of this -
and now you are just silence
at the end
of a thought.
May 17, 2013
May 17, 2013 at 12:42 PM UTC
If skin were just another dream
we'd spend our lives holding insides in -
lungs and veins and vital things,
keeping our eyes safe from the wind.
We'd speak with tongues not covered by lips,
and in the midst of love, our minds would touch
making the softest sound...
And everyday I'd endanger my heart,
dangling from my hands like fruit
And everyone would see it race
beating twice for you
Jan 24, 2013
Jan 24, 2013 at 12:01 AM UTC
You, my dear, are a work of art -
you are both the poison and the cure
for my easy heart
And no rain will come for my burning soul,
I'll burn until my heart is dust.
Alas, how I wish to hold your soft hair
and be the last whisper in your ear
as you drift afar into your dreams
my dearest dearest darling
Jan 23, 2013
Jan 23, 2013 at 11:39 PM UTC
Bargaining with yourself
lungs beating back and forth
like wary eyes
scared someone might see
and know you've lost it
gone so subtly that
not even you knew
(until this moment).
Not even you noticed
your anchor's been dragging for miles
But still, a bargain.
Self, I will act as though I'm sane
and in exchange
please illuminate me as to
what the hell has happened.
We'll shake on it.
(I am afraid neither side
will stay its promise)
Apr 17, 2012
Apr 17, 2012 at 5:18 PM UTC
Make every word count
I waste space with every bad sentence I write
every nonsensical, unfruitful thought
I must think now that I am just
no good at introspection despite
calling myself "artist"
(a self-given title I suppose)
But, perhaps with some work I could
improve? - learn more, wonder more, conclude more
than emotional blubberment, which is of course
entirely dim and disgustingly consuming
I want to challenge it
step over it to a place where I
understand, where I hold
the spark in my hand and
marvel at its beauty and Know
how things are
Apr 17, 2012
Apr 17, 2012 at 5:04 PM UTC
Looking down on clouds above
The atmosphere,
I let my eyes close and
Hear you whisper to me
From a dream of a night we spent
Kissing and passed loving and
Holding tight.
I told you
I was yours to keep
And you said you'd hold on to me.
Now I glance up: in the aisle
Waiting eyes for watered down
Coffee and a pleasant smile;
I oblige.
Out the window
Pillow clouds, cotton white
And blue below my eyes,
Below my thoughts of you
Soft by deception, not the truth.
Though part of me would like to be fooled.
Feb 25, 2011
Feb 25, 2011 at 9:14 PM UTC
When I look at the moon, I feel someone looking back.
He, something, knows how lonely I am.
I turn around; I cannot shake the sense
That standing
Just to my back
Was someone watching me watch the moon,
Helping me to hold you
In my heart.
Aug 21, 2010
Aug 21, 2010 at 9:00 AM UTC
How do streams decide
where to go?
I guess they just
follow the mountain down
until the down
is going up.
And when this is true,
you cannot call it stream,
for it no longer moves.
It is still and calm,
and ripe for swimming.
So let's disrobe and
celebrate the death
of stream,
now turned placid,
forgetting it's dream
of meeting the ocean
in salted praise.
Is it strange
to pity a lake?
Jul 17, 2010
Jul 17, 2010 at 6:21 PM UTC