obscured by the now dreary slow melancholy
I had not noticed the lighting day of the bare outside
the outside
oh I how I ache and mourn in its wake
Jun 29, 2013
Jun 29, 2013 at 5:31 AM UTC
The silence is tight and creeping in
it is thick with a permanent taste
it's perpetually there on infinite levels of volume
Death dances along its borders
death echoes along,
chanting the vibration
over and over
it is there
stuck in white space forever
it's the open, unread letter
it's the absolute absence
left when the summer subsides
when the sun knows
it's leaving it's flowers out to die
Jun 9, 2013
Jun 9, 2013 at 11:14 PM UTC
upon the edge of my mind
on the view of the void,
flowers will flourish
to the simplest joy
Where faeries can dance
to the silk of their voice
But forget the things
children will wish for
Jun 3, 2013
Jun 3, 2013 at 2:42 AM UTC
*There is a flower that stands atop of my grave
that sits patiently for water
every Saturday
I inform to you that you remove it;
and its silent melody
before I decompose
into something more beautiful
than the dirt I've grown to be*
May 24, 2013
May 24, 2013 at 1:07 AM UTC
I think I may get better
I remind myself as I should.
as I should remind myself of those who would cry the oceans to sleep
and those who whisper to the wind the heaviest burdens to let them burn free
and flying seagulls that can not reach the
aching shore.
May 6, 2013
May 6, 2013 at 12:37 AM UTC
*I'm the silent metaphor
from sunny, Sunday afternoons
after calling each one of your friends, and
laughing about how you're going to die today*
Oh how the flowers are giggling in dragging days
Yes, I'm going to die today
The things a blank canvas does to my mind
is something even books will not confide
with these things drawing into my head
there are ways to die
but not without a silent metaphor
to take your place
but not today.
Oh the silent Sundays on a Saturday
Apr 27, 2013
Apr 27, 2013 at 2:19 PM UTC
stay afloat
try to
Just--
no matter
how easy it appears
to
Sink.
Apr 20, 2013
Apr 20, 2013 at 4:47 PM UTC
in the hum of the tv, in a place as if it could be our company
there is a silent emptiness in a paled light,
a vacancy found only in a stark dead man hanging on the rope
that he could once hold onto so tightly
where the hum of the tv is bluntly buzzing,
no words really filtering;
in a silence with blurry contrasting
Things that fill the empty space
are white lines shaded in
slow and
heavy
darkness.
my tiredness seems to sleep
in heavy breaths that cannot sooth me
breaths that keep the tv turning.
the sun could rise so easily,
but it's too tired from watching too much tv
Apr 19, 2013
Apr 19, 2013 at 2:06 AM UTC
*She was like the wind;
the only way she could have been seen
was by looking at the way she affected gentle things*
Apr 13, 2013
Apr 13, 2013 at 11:04 PM UTC