Behind the door you can hear it
But you can’t touch it
Or at least you shouldn’t,
They say
Shattered on the floor cries shards of broken glass;
Remains of that night
Where god captured the last fighting force
And redirected the force through the panel of
Black, sleek darkness
Leaving those shards
Scattered across the marble tile, once clean and pristine
There is red.
In the morning there on the floor spilled red
Stealing the air in which the recrystallized
Carbon minerals
Metamorphose limestone
Before the heavens unleashed its wrath below
the room was drenched in sin
So heavy in moisture that the glass,
That had known the wall for perhaps too long,
Gathered steam and blurred the image
The image is what drove this.
What drove this elegance to calamity.
What went wrong? The chorus sings, prying the claws from their chest that originate in the most sinister place.
Hell. Hell arose through the virtuous stone
And that is when he had no choice but to
Rid this room of the transgression that built
And built
As Lucifer slowly,
Yet strongly,
Invaded the last inkling of purity
As she took her last white bath
Aug 1, 2018
Aug 1, 2018 at 12:35 PM UTC
I was dropped into a universe that hated me.
The night time cascades over the city,
Spattering a lifetime of stars evenly across the deep blue canvas, swelling to fit the picture beyond the frame that secures it
While the lights below the horizon glimmer,
tumbling and blinking, rolling through the atmosphere, each flash a new life and a new soul
My right hand is raised straight above my hand, clasped onto a thin thread, while my legs dangle and I am a rag doll
On the end of the thread opposite of my fist is a balloon that is transporting me down,
Down, so that my soul can join the flocks of strangers
Swaying like lovers found alone in a crystal ball room
I let the night breeze tickle my toes and plant goose bump kisses on my skin
In 3, 2, 1 my feet are planted into the soil where I will grow like a **** but meant to bloom like a bud
I was born from the seed of a rose,
Sprouting all the thorn
but never birthing a petal
I was dropped down into the world
Holding hope in my left hand, gripping as tightly as I can
Only to realize that my course had been set incorrectly
The oxygen too thick for my tiny lungs
And the people too cruel for my swollen heart
I was dropped into a universe that hated me.
My brain was a train track where the wheels were always spinning
Untamable locomotion
And motions make me sick
My body was never my friend, rebelling against my brain in a chemical manor so harsh that my heart experiences third degree burns
Soon, it hurt to love
Shortly after I landed here the mechanical properties of my body were unstrung from my soul
Before my pulse was harmonious with the rush of Oxytocin that was produced in my mind and flourished through my veins
But the pressure of the heavy atmosphere locked the loving hormone within the constraints of my skull
I landed in a universe that hated me
And soon the citizens of this world hated me too
Their spit darted at me like bullets
Loaded into a mouthful of hatred
In a land where everyone was the same
Acted the same
Dressed the same
My differences was despiteful
Everyone was looking for a corner piece
But each edge of mine had a unique fixture jutting out
How cold
And how lonely
Is it to be trapped in a universe dousing me with misfortune
How dreadful to never escape
A universe that hates me.
Aug 1, 2018
Aug 1, 2018 at 12:33 PM UTC
Walking ahead of me you open the white picket gate, the paint peeling from the weather worn wood, and gesture that I enter the garden.
Along the walls that enclose the gallery of natural perfumes holds roses.
Thousands of them, in vibrance unimaginable.
How do I explain to you the affliction that I carry in which these roses fall from my mouth after they have grown within me
Their buds fill my stomach, a soft tickle as they grow
And as they turn and tumble in their acid bath they wither and eventually their thorns will claw their way up, gasping for air as I gasp for freedom
Scars are left along my throat and blood trickles down, feeding the seeds that were planted years ago.
When they fill up my mouth I am unable to speak and I bite into the withered petals my body has produced
By some degree of magic
Some degree of optimism,
Of hope, of art, of love
I chew and I speak words of kindness and as they spin across my tongue they are revived
I produce a flower in full bloom and it falls into your hand
This is my affliction
From my heart comes flowers that have died and are reborn through my imagination
Your response to this secret I have been hiding is a question
How can I rid myself of this poison?
How can I stop the development of these flowers in the first place, so that I don’t have to taste the bitterness
So that I don’t have to work tirelessly to produce something beautiful from a place of such despair
My response to your question will not spin around my tongue or soak in harshness but will come directly from my heart, bandaging the wounds across the path that the barbs too take.
Before you came the roses came up and came out dead.
Weak, withered, and brown.
And so I have reason to believe that if you take my hand and continue to lead me into this garden, soon the seeds that were planted years ago
Will bloom directly through my heart and I will not
taste the bitterness in my mouth, but will exude the
perfume of the dozens in my heart
Naturally
Aug 1, 2018
Aug 1, 2018 at 12:32 PM UTC