I never believed in a god.
I've never even touched a page of the bible until I saw heaven the day I looked into your eyes. Now I have scars and color on my knees from kneeling on holy ground for too long pretending to beg for forgiveness, pretending to beg for absolution when all I'm begging is for you to come back.
Last year in physics class we talked about the theory of duality. Now I understand why the moment you showed me heaven, my skin anticipated the scorching heat from the fires of hell.The only time I screamed god's name was under white sheets and clenched fists and a tangled mess of limbs, the only time I opened a bible was when I tried to look for salvation someplace other than your arms because it didn't feel right for me to have found everything in you.
I never believed in answered prayers until I tasted the one in your lips. Now the pews are drenched in holy water spilling from my mouth as I try to cleanse away the taste of the demons you left lingering on my lips the day I woke up next to an empty space and cold sheets on my bed. The statue of mother Mary is spilling tears from all the lies she's heard you say, the ones you told me right in front of the altar.
My mouth is dripping red as I try to brush your name away, I'm trying to convince myself that these bleeding gums taste better than you do, trying to forget how your lips looked like lust and sin but tasted like salvation.
Please come back. I think God doesn't listen to false prayers.
Sep 14, 2015
Sep 14, 2015 at 6:40 PM UTC
tell me about your first love,
when it was all about soft kisses and rough kisses and sweaty palms.
remember that time when it was all about looking in each other's eyes and promising to never say goodbye,
when you walked it to places to pass the time?
oh god, you watched movies but didn't pay attention to the screen,
all you ever wanted was each other's company
and everything in between.
tell me about the day it all fell apart.
how it ended with not two, but just one broken heart.
tell me how the tears flowed relentlessly,
how your hands were shaking and you kept being on your knees.
tell me about how begging for him to stay never worked out,
how you felt so stupid and ******* it,
how could you live without him now?
where were his sweet words and false promises?
where were his "i love you's" and "there's no one else's"?
all you ever wanted was the only thing he could never give,
you knew it from the start, but **** it,
you never thought he would actually leave.
he sounded so sincere with his rhymes and letters
and handwritten poetry,
but first loves always felt so real til he says,
"i don't love you anymore,
i'm sorry"
Apr 25, 2015
Apr 25, 2015 at 11:21 AM UTC
i'm tired of reading between the lines.
i'm tired of digging through the dirt with my fingers,
trying to find something that isn't there.
you were never black or white,
and i used to like living in gray
but now it's the color on my walls
and the paint inside of my eyelids
and I'm getting sick of it.
we used to visit art galleries just after the sun sets
because we didn't want to miss the orange light spilling over the clouds and covering everything up.
it was a masterpiece that was always there but is never the same.
but maybe we liked its absence better -- you'll miss it more if it's always gone, right?
despite the paintings and art pieces we breathed in, there was never color in our story.
we were children's coloring books that never got touched, left to gather dust in an uninhabited nursery of broken dreams.
we were unpainted swing sets that no one bothered to start, let alone finish.
we were clay bars that no one wanted to mould.
we were meant for something more,
i told myself over and over again.
now, it's past the usual bed-time and i'm still digging.
this is why my nails are long, you've always wondered about that.
i'm digging our past back up,
i've tried burying them to fool myself there was never anything there.
i know I'm a fool for trying to get them back,
but these are the only places I could see a hint of color.
i'm tired of living in gray.
i'm tired of treating you like a work of art that needs to be figured out.
you're only with me after the sun sets.
where are you in the morning, except inside my head?
i'm starting to think this is not about absence making you miss me anymore.
i'm starting to think you only ever see me as an art gallery --
a place to visit, but never really stay.
are you happy?
it's the middle of the night and i'm screaming in pain --
my fingers hit something hard.
i'm bleeding red.
i look through the dirt, muddy with my tears, and found the thing my fingers scraped on.
hey, tree roots somehow look like veins.
but they don't drip color when you cut them open, right?
i found a bit of red in my nails, now.
i've been searching for a while, but always in the wrong places.
i think i know where to find color now.
i don't even need to dig.
Mar 4, 2015
Mar 4, 2015 at 6:00 PM UTC
do not fall in love
or you will wake up and find yourself
having ink on your bedsheets
as you try to write their names away.
do not fall in love
or you will end up screaming confessions
to treetops
because at least the trees listen.
do not fall in love
because you'd carve their names on your skin
and your toes will bleed on your broken mirror
and still think it's poetic, anyway.
do not fall in love.
you'll end up wandering the streets
because your home has a first and last name.
do not fall in love
or you will fall
and fall
and fall
and fall
until you realize
those books aren't true.
you neither fly nor hit rock bottom.
you just continue falling.
so please, for the love of god,
i'm begging you.
do not fall in love.
unless it's with me.
Feb 13, 2015
Feb 13, 2015 at 11:59 PM UTC
i've searched for love in all the wrong places.
i've looked for it under your sheets and over your kitchen counter.
i've crawled down your bed and felt the inside of your closets.
i've tried searching for it in flower petals falling to the
ground one by one -- "he loves me, he loves me not".
i've tried digging through the dirt looking for every feeling we ever buried.
i've tried quietly drinking to see if love was at the bottom of a bottle.
i drank a lot more, just to make sure.
i looked for it in broken mirrors and smashed plates and overused wineglasses
on the dining table where you used to sit.
i've tried looking for it in your eyes that were almost always empty.
i could look in a lot more places and tell you about a lot more.
i haven't found it yet, but one thing's for sure:
i don't know where it is, but I know where it isn't.
love can't be found in you.
Feb 7, 2015
Feb 7, 2015 at 8:28 PM UTC
God must've painted the sunset in your eyelids
and the stars in your eyes
he must've made a jungle out of your heart
that everyone keeps getting lost in,
drowned by a forest of wildfires.
he must've tucked sunshine in the corners of your smiles.
he must've patterned the oceans and seas with your words --
i keep drowning in them.
he must've tried to recreate the softness of heaven in your lips.
blackholes may have been named after your eyes --
they keep ******* me in and I can't help but see the birth of stars in their edges.
you are a whole universe of your own,
and I like exploring the corners of it alone.
Feb 5, 2015
Feb 5, 2015 at 6:14 PM UTC
i heard that the wind
can do as much as
turn skyscrapers into dust and rubble
and whisk away green vegetation
as it surges on unsuspecting cities.
ethan,
my heart is not a city.
and you are not the wind.
don't turn us into a catastrophe.
Jan 18, 2015
Jan 18, 2015 at 1:53 AM UTC
and yet another soul lost the battle
and succumbed
to the cruel kiss of self-destruction.
"she was so pretty"
"he had such nice eyes"
why didn't you say it when they were alive?
then maybe, you could've saved a life.
Jan 1, 2015
Jan 1, 2015 at 8:14 AM UTC
lately, everything's been about you.
i'd see "closed" signs on antique shop windows
and eviction notices on apartment doors
and remember how it felt when you slammed the door on every possibility of us.
i'd see pens and papers and stop myself in the bookstore from throwing them on the ground and screaming "i used to be the one you write about". now i just find spare ones in my room that i can cry onto when no one's around. the ink seeps through my fingertips as i break the plastic case of every pen i lay my hands on and it's supposed to make me feel better but it doesn't. it just reminds me of the ink you injected in my veins and no matter how deep i cut *i can't get it the **** out*.
you grew something inside of me and i swear they're not flowers because they've been flourishing when i water them with *****
i'd stare at streetlights and remember that one time you told me you'd kiss me under every single one of them but here i am brushing my teeth so hard it bleeds every night because the only time i taste your lips now is when i'm dreaming.
and now here i am trying in vain to paint the sunset with the color of your eyes. i didn't want to forget how they lit up when you said "i love you" but maybe it was just a reflection of how bright mine were when you finally said those three words.
well, to be fair, you only told me you loved me. i guess it's my fault i assumed it meant you'd never leave.
Dec 27, 2014
Dec 27, 2014 at 10:30 AM UTC
he walks by me
his scent lingering in the breeze
seeming so innocent--
oh so innocent--
in his faded jeans and white muscle tee.
the soundwaves fills with his voice
as he sings along
to the uncountable stares
prevailing in his presence.
our eyes never waver
as he fades out of our view.
but as we look back
at our unimportant,
insignificant,
unnoticeable selves,
all our chests had were gaping holes;
empty and desolate.
for he had cruelly,
but unintentionally --
out of fleeting impulse --
stolen our hearts.
Dec 23, 2014
Dec 23, 2014 at 11:15 AM UTC