I remember the first time I laid my eyes upon your dark, golden-highlighted ringlets siting haphazardly on your nimble head. They were positioned above your flat, south Asian face, as if some wayward artist took his paintbrush and, in a fit of creative chaos, splattered and sputtered paint across a blank and endless canvas. Your hair represented the kind of sweet, quiet entropy that people needed in their lives. The great offense the artist had committed by being so reckless with such a delicate subject could be forgiven, however, because he surely acted as such simply because he had previously exhausted himself whilst meticulously creating your enrapturing eyes. Round cerulean orbs, speckled with bits of yellows and greens with a péridot ring centered around a pitch black pupil that represented the contents of your dispassionate heart. This is not an accurate description of the man who holds my unrequited love, however. You have achieved this sort of romantic, majestic rendition of beauty through the bias of my foolish heart and through my patronage of the arts. A typical person would do much better to portray you as nothing more than a hellish brute who is in desperate need of a haircut and a perhaps a larger assortment of clothing rather than torn, raggedy jeans and hand-me-down heavy metal t-shirts.
Apr 20, 2014
Apr 20, 2014 at 2:50 AM UTC
From my rotting body, flowers will grow, and I will finally be beautiful.
The marigolds that will bloom will not flee and vanish from the glow of the sun
They will aspire and capture its power, ever basking in its majesty unlike all that I have done
For they are enduring and evergreen, quite a contradiction to someone always on the run
Helianthus will burgeon from my corpse in the Autumn, cordial, acquiescent and jolly
Luminous hues of gold, superiority in the form of a blooming seedling, free of worldly folly
Irresistible to butterflies and feathered creatures, who shall evermore adore the perennial dolly
Snowdrops with delicate pedicels will pepper the frost polishing over my long corroded flesh,
An impeccable ability to synthesize with the world effortlessly, so that I may at last mesh
Nevermore will I acquiesce to let the world negligently toss me about, instead the world will thresh
Irises in the spring will be next to transcend, ripe with nonconformity rooting from their eccentric peridot petals
For the world encompassing them may be wrapped in blissful ignorance, but they will forever hesitate to settle
They realize that life is for naught, putrescence is inevitable, so why even make a vain attempt to mettle
As sure as the sun will ascend, the summer will materialize, and the sun's glimmer will rage from dusk until dawn
For the world will strive on, long after I am gone, and my effulgence on the Earth is perpetually withdrawn
I am not fearful of death because in death there is ignorance and blissful uncertainty
From my rotting body, flowers will grow, and I am in them and that is eternity.
Feb 11, 2014
Feb 11, 2014 at 10:56 AM UTC
You messed with my head
My head is a mess.
You messed with my world
My world is a mess.
I am a mess.
A mess of mindless self-indulgence
Minus the indulgence
I am the essence of egoism
The epitome of selfishness
The
upper
echelon
of arrogance
The meaning of ignorance
I have
become
you
But still
I wait
for you
Because
I
adore you.
Jan 18, 2014
Jan 18, 2014 at 2:24 AM UTC
I have become the essence of depression.
I feel nothing, because I am nothing.
I am overwhelmed by the beauty of the world after being crushed by its cruelty.
I look around to see humans, but no humanity.
When you're this close to ceasing to exist, you start noticing everything.
Red is no longer just red.
It is maroon, mauve, ruby, and as many different hues as my vacant mind can imagine.
People are no longer people, they become art. I notice every color in your cerulean eyes. Aquamarine, verdant green, with a cobalt blue ring around a pitch black pupil reminiscent of your heart.
As of late, I have taken pride in lacking a soul mate. When two people are soul mates, they share a heart and soul. When one of the soul mates dies, their soul mate dies in some ways, too.
I don't have a soul mate.
Lucky me.
Oct 6, 2013
Oct 6, 2013 at 10:58 PM UTC
To be a human being is to be riddled with thousands of imperfections.
Full of flaws; scrapes, spots, and scars cover broken and bruised skin.
But robots need not fear and fret about fixable, trivial defections.
Humans perpetually throw themselves at cold, apathetic, greedy clinicians
Only to be given terrible news and told there is no cure for a horrid death.
Meanwhile, robots bask in the glow of love from a passionate technician.
Humans can never agree when it comes to the dealings of the heart.
Always one-sided, they take turns ruthlessly destroying each other.
Robots, oblivious to the issues of any and all feeling, live freely.
Naive humans will work tirelessly, only to see nothing but certain failure,
But life has never once benefited those of us who are currently living.
So, humans crafted robots, to always succeed where they could not.
Sep 10, 2013
Sep 10, 2013 at 9:22 PM UTC
It was yellow like the sun
And dandelions by the pond
In the middle of the new hope of spring
It swallowed me whole
I let it steal all of my control
Until I had become positively nothing
The blood trickles down
Across lips frozen in a frown
Broadcasting the sad signs of suffering
Anything just to get to sleep
Just be mindful not to cut too deep
Or the side effects will start to become troubling
Making sure that nobody suspects
Your friends don't know what to expect
Barely able to just keep on living and functioning
I need help, I know I can't keep this up
I feel my will being drained, I'm out of luck
Trying to survive, nothing but constant struggling
I have keep going, I have to at least try
If I don't fix this soon, I may just possibly die
My life is slipping away, my condition is worsening
I have to live to see another new day
I can't just let the beautiful gift of life slip away
I will persevere, I will succeed, no matter how challenging
Jul 2, 2013
Jul 2, 2013 at 8:26 PM UTC
How can somebody who is regarded as being so fantastically creative, destroy so much?
Perhaps it's not that I'm creative, perhaps it's just that I have a talent for picking up the all the jagged, crumbled pieces.
Nostalgic for familiar feelings and guilty pleasures, still so keen on the awe-inspiring rush.
When you awaken in the morning with all that dried blood in your nose, you wonder how much longer you have until life ceases.
Resisting the gruesome yearning for ripped flesh and the cold feeling of the blood gush.
How much longer can I persevere alone? How many more days do I have to survive till my quality of life is increased?
These emotions are weighing me down, beating me up, my heart is literally crushed.
I can see the rays of light peeking out behind the clouds, and I'm so terribly desperate for any sort of peace.
Waiting and watching, begging for a sign that this world is even capable of being just.
I used to wait for you, because I knew you'd be there. Now it seems I'm just waiting for any form of a release.
Jun 24, 2013
Jun 24, 2013 at 12:51 PM UTC
Rays of sunlight hit the thick lens of your glasses and illuminate the golden frames
Every single ray is completely absorbed into your perfect skin through the sunrise.
Resonating within the inner workings of your mind, igniting an inferno in your soul
I wish to become those sun rays, surrounding your body, penetrating your eyes
Warmth flowing throughout your tender body, surging through your inner being
You radiate joy, the after effects of a splendid moment marked by an influx of pleasure.
Laying on the damp, dew-stained grass parallel to your your delicate boyish frame
Like a sort of unseen force, the happiness we've shared here is unable to be measured
You open your mouth, and suddenly ideas of the future trickle out and run down your lips
Destroying the perfect, serene silence of the moment with your unachievable fantasies and plans
About the mansion you will build her, about the children you will have with her, about your bed
You turn your head towards me, your eyes are fixed on my face, you tell me you won't be my man.
I stare back up at the sky, expansive, free, a light, playful shade of blue, not too dark
I realize that I'd much rather prefer to be the sky above your head, free and independent
Seeing the world, but not affected by the pressure of mankind, not affected by pain or lust
So when you look upon me, you covet me, you realize that without you, I'm still transcendent.
May 17, 2013
May 17, 2013 at 8:00 PM UTC
She's got it all, creativity and intelligence
And like a fish to water, you squirm towards her
I hope she breaks you down, rips you up, **** benevolence
Watch her seize your heart, squeeze it tight
Till all your blood gushes out, watch her paint with it
You can be her tragedy, just fuel for her "creativity"
When you caress her lips it's like an inferno, but her eyes are like ice
Watch her paralyze and destabilize you
Sweetheart, don't you know that artists never place nice?
I want to see you come crawling to me, aching and pathetic
So I can bleed out whatever is left of you, watch you wallow in pity
Revenge is a ***** and I can't promise she'll be as quick and easy as you like.
Baby, I loved you, but you denied my affection
The nights we spent, so much time wasted...
So don't you dare come around looking for my attention
I want her to slaughter your ego, till it's all gone
Like you've done to me so many times before
I want to see it waste you when she does you wrong
May 7, 2013
May 7, 2013 at 5:10 PM UTC
You said that, if things go as planed, then you'll have her.
And according to you, she has it all.
So, does that mean I have nothing?
Does that mean I am nothing?
All of those nights I spent, whispering my secrets into you.
Giving you everything.
My everything is nothing.
I spent hours, we talked of everything.
But that everything means nothing to you.
Because I mean nothing to you, too.
But, she's so amazing to you,
She could sit perfectly still,
Her smooth, pink lips pouting upon her face in their usual position
Not saying a word.
Her gorgeous, soul capturing eyes, penetrating the inner workings of your mind,
Glancing at you a few times
But looking straight through you, dreamily gazing out the window towards the rain.
And that would mean everything.
Simply because her nothing is your everything.
Just like my everything is your nothing.
May 4, 2013
May 4, 2013 at 9:49 PM UTC