phobial - Hello Poetry

If you fall in love with someone and you're just falling in love, you're doing it wrong. You need to fall into them in every way possible. Fall into every crevice of their soul, every nook and cranny of their skin. Fall into every thought as if they were your own. Sink into their hadal zone and realize that their darkness is different than yours. Don't swim back out. If the pressure is too much for you, you're doing it wrong. Fall into their ****** up mind and maybe, just maybe, they'll fall into yours too.

0

Oct 16, 2014

Oct 16, 2014 at 9:39 PM UTC

falling in love is not enough.

If you fall in love with someone and you're just falling in love, you're doing it wrong. You need to fall into them in every way possible. Fall into every crevice of their soul, every nook and cranny of their skin. Fall into every thought as if they were your own. Sink into their hadal zone and realize that their darkness is different than yours. Don't swim back out. If the pressure is too much for you, you're doing it wrong. Fall into their ****** up mind and maybe, just maybe, they'll fall into yours too.

1

It's not my fault that you're a catastrophe that outshines entire galaxies, and that the remnants from your explosion lies within my own body and the bodies of everyone who has the privilege to experience your beautiful tragedy. Felt from light-years away, you exceed the amount of love the sun provides everything in its wake, and you're a burst of color who's shades travel at record speed impaling everything in your path in a flash so blinding that even my heart can't see straight. You're the most violent event ever known but I'm anything but destroyed. You can blow yourself apart as many times as you want but I'll never see you as simply the death of something beautiful. Instead I see you as the puzzle pieces that create universes you'd never imagine when put back together. Long story short, you're cataclysmic to life as we know it, but you're everything I need to feel together again.

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Sep 14, 2014

Sep 14, 2014 at 12:16 AM UTC

He's a supernova but he doesn't know it.

It's not my fault that you're a catastrophe that outshines entire galaxies, and that the remnants from your explosion lies within my own body and the bodies of everyone who has the privilege to experience your beautiful tragedy. Felt from light-years away, you exceed the amount of love the sun provides everything in its wake, and you're a burst of color who's shades travel at record speed impaling everything in your path in a flash so blinding that even my heart can't see straight. You're the most violent event ever known but I'm anything but destroyed. You can blow yourself apart as many times as you want but I'll never see you as simply the death of something beautiful. Instead I see you as the puzzle pieces that create universes you'd never imagine when put back together. Long story short, you're cataclysmic to life as we know it, but you're everything I need to feel together again.

16

Being in a large dark room with nothing but rows of emptiness was the least lonely I've felt in such a long time, with the ends of your hair poking at my temple and my eyelashes fluttering against your cheek, I caught a glimpse of the entire world without ever setting foot outside of that room. It probably wasn't the world you're thinking of, though. In you, I saw streams for veins and earth for eyes and entire ecosystems in your pores. I want to rip each of the hairs out of my head one by one because my hands don't know what else do to when you're not around and when your fingertips lightly trace my jawline you tell me I'm the most beautiful work of art you've ever seen in your entire existence. Your existence is such an important thing though and my brain can't wrap around how it possibly came to be considering so many flaws were thrown together so perfectly that something astonishing was created, but what's even more astonishing is the fact that I love every bit of it and being so ******* happy is about to drive me insane (in the best way possible).

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Jul 11, 2014

Jul 11, 2014 at 11:56 PM UTC

You, As The World

Being in a large dark room with nothing but rows of emptiness was the least lonely I've felt in such a long time, with the ends of your hair poking at my temple and my eyelashes fluttering against your cheek, I caught a glimpse of the entire world without ever setting foot outside of that room. It probably wasn't the world you're thinking of, though. In you, I saw streams for veins and earth for eyes and entire ecosystems in your pores. I want to rip each of the hairs out of my head one by one because my hands don't know what else do to when you're not around and when your fingertips lightly trace my jawline you tell me I'm the most beautiful work of art you've ever seen in your entire existence. Your existence is such an important thing though and my brain can't wrap around how it possibly came to be considering so many flaws were thrown together so perfectly that something astonishing was created, but what's even more astonishing is the fact that I love every bit of it and being so ******* happy is about to drive me insane (in the best way possible).

8

The first thing I do each morning is wonder if you had a better night's seep than I did. I don't sleep much these days, and I know you don't either, even though you don't want to admit it sometimes. I know, though. And each morning when I lay there in a daze I think about how strongly I long to know that you were finally able to experience the "sweet dreams" I told you to have the night before. I've never longed for anything as much as this.

0

Jun 9, 2014

Jun 9, 2014 at 11:19 PM UTC

Untitled

The first thing I do each morning is wonder if you had a better night's seep than I did. I don't sleep much these days, and I know you don't either, even though you don't want to admit it sometimes. I know, though. And each morning when I lay there in a daze I think about how strongly I long to know that you were finally able to experience the "sweet dreams" I told you to have the night before. I've never longed for anything as much as this.

5

They teach you in school that the building blocks of life and matter are atoms filled with subatomic particles But believe me when I tell you that they're lying. "They" are claiming to be your saviors from what is actually fueling your bloodstream. Protectors of your sanity But believe me when I tell you it's fraud, a scheme of words that are meant to prevent you from discovering the actual monsters buried beneath your fingernails and hidden in the cracks of your bones. You see, what the evildoers trains the neurons in your brain to understand is that the demons in your skin cells are atoms filled with subatomic particles. This is what you know and you know it for a fact until the time comes for the poltergeists within you to attack. They line up and pluck away at the petals of your once "protected" sanity one by one until you're convinced he loves you not. Your defense has been destroyed and the demons flood in with no intention to come back out. The swarms of beasts taking over every aspect of your being is what is now going to cause a new feeling called "numbness." Your last memory of peace is permanently shattered. This is called growing up, kids.

0

Jan 28, 2014

Jan 28, 2014 at 6:40 PM UTC

atoms don't exist

They teach you in school that the building blocks of life and matter are atoms filled with subatomic particles But believe me when I tell you that they're lying. "They" are claiming to be your saviors from what is actually fueling your bloodstream. Protectors of your sanity But believe me when I tell you it's fraud, a scheme of words that are meant to prevent you from discovering the actual monsters buried beneath your fingernails and hidden in the cracks of your bones. You see, what the evildoers trains the neurons in your brain to understand is that the demons in your skin cells are atoms filled with subatomic particles. This is what you know and you know it for a fact until the time comes for the poltergeists within you to attack. They line up and pluck away at the petals of your once "protected" sanity one by one until you're convinced he loves you not. Your defense has been destroyed and the demons flood in with no intention to come back out. The swarms of beasts taking over every aspect of your being is what is now going to cause a new feeling called "numbness." Your last memory of peace is permanently shattered. This is called growing up, kids.

12

In that moment, every neuron in my brain was perfectly aligned. They knew something I didn't, and I don’t think they wanted to tell me, either. I had to figure it out on my own, hoping to not be mislead. You whispered to me that you enjoyed stealing the moisture from my lips and I whispered back that you took the oxygen from my lungs in the process but I liked the crushed, suffocating feeling in the pit of my chest as I secretly long to feel it again. I tolerated the bags under my eyes as my face buried in your neck became more and more important to me (it started to feel like home) and told me not to be ashamed of them because they were proof that you had gotten the attention you deserved. My sleepless nights resulted in page after page of the notes I took so I would eventually know your soul like the back of my hand. I only like to write when I’m suffering from insomnia anyways, because that’s when things start to make sense. (Like you, you made sense to me) Just like things only make sense to you when your breath reeks of intoxication. I studied the veins on your wrists until I knew them well enough to see the picture with my eyes closed as you studied my fingertips and made me believe that you could perfectly connect the dots of my pores and still know it was me even if you went blind. You wanted to know me as well as my worn bed sheets, which gently caresses every part of my exhausted being each night, inch by inch. I can’t help but smile as I write this, no one was as determined as you. I was pretty **** determined as well, if I do say so myself. I longed to know everything about your insanity. You must have been pretty insane, smoking on the back porch with your friends and still making sure you didn't forget to ask me how my day was. Again, it makes me smile realizing someone was so hell-bent on knowing me. Tell me what you remember. Every detail. I want as many memories to flood back into my brain so that maybe in some way, I can feel it again. I was used. Your back-up plan. You were lost, and you wanted to feel loved temporarily until a better offer came along. I was lost, and I wanted to feel loved permanently, so I fell for it. The closest thing to what I had been searching for for so long slipped away like sand through the cracks between my fingers, not leaving a trace behind. In a way, I should be thanking you. You've gotten more poems out of me than anything else in the longest time and now you’re good-for-nothing except curing writer’s block.

0

Dec 13, 2013

Dec 13, 2013 at 4:16 PM UTC

The Cure

In that moment, every neuron in my brain was perfectly aligned. They knew something I didn't, and I don’t think they wanted to tell me, either. I had to figure it out on my own, hoping to not be mislead. You whispered to me that you enjoyed stealing the moisture from my lips and I whispered back that you took the oxygen from my lungs in the process but I liked the crushed, suffocating feeling in the pit of my chest as I secretly long to feel it again. I tolerated the bags under my eyes as my face buried in your neck became more and more important to me (it started to feel like home) and told me not to be ashamed of them because they were proof that you had gotten the attention you deserved. My sleepless nights resulted in page after page of the notes I took so I would eventually know your soul like the back of my hand. I only like to write when I’m suffering from insomnia anyways, because that’s when things start to make sense. (Like you, you made sense to me) Just like things only make sense to you when your breath reeks of intoxication. I studied the veins on your wrists until I knew them well enough to see the picture with my eyes closed as you studied my fingertips and made me believe that you could perfectly connect the dots of my pores and still know it was me even if you went blind. You wanted to know me as well as my worn bed sheets, which gently caresses every part of my exhausted being each night, inch by inch. I can’t help but smile as I write this, no one was as determined as you. I was pretty **** determined as well, if I do say so myself. I longed to know everything about your insanity. You must have been pretty insane, smoking on the back porch with your friends and still making sure you didn't forget to ask me how my day was. Again, it makes me smile realizing someone was so hell-bent on knowing me. Tell me what you remember. Every detail. I want as many memories to flood back into my brain so that maybe in some way, I can feel it again. I was used. Your back-up plan. You were lost, and you wanted to feel loved temporarily until a better offer came along. I was lost, and I wanted to feel loved permanently, so I fell for it. The closest thing to what I had been searching for for so long slipped away like sand through the cracks between my fingers, not leaving a trace behind. In a way, I should be thanking you. You've gotten more poems out of me than anything else in the longest time and now you’re good-for-nothing except curing writer’s block.

29

Welcome to the world, baby girl. I can tell by how you’re wiggling your tiny fingers that you won’t be able to keep them still in the future no matter how hard you try. A painter, a writer, perhaps? I can tell by your big blue eyes that you will be breaking hearts left and right because those eyes are so deep that all the boys will be so lost in them that they won’t realize there is no way out until it’s too late. You are giggling and smiling already. You’re a happy one, aren’t you? Mommy’s comforting arms around you will only go so far, my darling. You’re going to have to find your own, and find ‘em quick because your pretty little smile tells me that you aren’t prepared to find out how ugly the world is. Your pretty little hands do not know the harm they will be capable of doing. Your pretty little heart doesn’t know how many times it will be broken. Your pretty little mind doesn’t know how far it will be from the breaking point. And your pretty little lungs don’t know that they will stop breathing by your 18th birthday.

0

Dec 9, 2013

Dec 9, 2013 at 8:44 PM UTC

Pretty Little Endings

Welcome to the world, baby girl. I can tell by how you’re wiggling your tiny fingers that you won’t be able to keep them still in the future no matter how hard you try. A painter, a writer, perhaps? I can tell by your big blue eyes that you will be breaking hearts left and right because those eyes are so deep that all the boys will be so lost in them that they won’t realize there is no way out until it’s too late. You are giggling and smiling already. You’re a happy one, aren’t you? Mommy’s comforting arms around you will only go so far, my darling. You’re going to have to find your own, and find ‘em quick because your pretty little smile tells me that you aren’t prepared to find out how ugly the world is. Your pretty little hands do not know the harm they will be capable of doing. Your pretty little heart doesn’t know how many times it will be broken. Your pretty little mind doesn’t know how far it will be from the breaking point. And your pretty little lungs don’t know that they will stop breathing by your 18th birthday.

24

Well, it’s that time of year again. Your dreams become longer and the air seems to slice through your lungs like razor blades. Sounds like a painful sensation when you think about it but when you actually feel it, your ravenous heart craves more. You witness your newly visible breath begin to form paintings in the air around you that you swear a canvas could never be worth enough to display. You walk across the grass and hear faint crunching sounds as the soles of your shoes are flattening the small crystals blanketing the backyard. Those leaves over there? They were green yesterday Now all you see are shades of red, orange, and gold conquering the green until it has all disappeared. It’s all so breathtaking. ...Literally… A few days pass and you see the first leaf fall. The color has faded, its the color of death. You see another begin to freefall. Another. And another. What is happening to the beauty that was present only hours ago? It’s dying. These leaves aren’t breathing anymore! How’s that for breathtaking? Isn’t it ironic how as everything is slowly becoming beautiful it’s slowly dying as well?

0

Nov 9, 2013

Nov 9, 2013 at 10:56 PM UTC

You still die, even if you're beautiful.

Well, it’s that time of year again. Your dreams become longer and the air seems to slice through your lungs like razor blades. Sounds like a painful sensation when you think about it but when you actually feel it, your ravenous heart craves more. You witness your newly visible breath begin to form paintings in the air around you that you swear a canvas could never be worth enough to display. You walk across the grass and hear faint crunching sounds as the soles of your shoes are flattening the small crystals blanketing the backyard. Those leaves over there? They were green yesterday Now all you see are shades of red, orange, and gold conquering the green until it has all disappeared. It’s all so breathtaking. ...Literally… A few days pass and you see the first leaf fall. The color has faded, its the color of death. You see another begin to freefall. Another. And another. What is happening to the beauty that was present only hours ago? It’s dying. These leaves aren’t breathing anymore! How’s that for breathtaking? Isn’t it ironic how as everything is slowly becoming beautiful it’s slowly dying as well?

28

I want to know if your eyes mimic the color of my favorite sweater and if your embrace feels just as warm. Maybe it's the kind of embrace where you squeeze just a tad bit tighter right before you let go. The kind of embrace that coaxes the oxygen from my lungs for a few seconds. I don't mind not breathing, if it means I get to stay in your arms just a few moments longer. I want to know if the spaces between your fingers are meant for mine to fill them as if they are they are the last two puzzle pieces completing your greatest masterpiece, us.

0

Oct 25, 2013

Oct 25, 2013 at 10:52 PM UTC

Us.

I want to know if your eyes mimic the color of my favorite sweater and if your embrace feels just as warm. Maybe it's the kind of embrace where you squeeze just a tad bit tighter right before you let go. The kind of embrace that coaxes the oxygen from my lungs for a few seconds. I don't mind not breathing, if it means I get to stay in your arms just a few moments longer. I want to know if the spaces between your fingers are meant for mine to fill them as if they are they are the last two puzzle pieces completing your greatest masterpiece, us.

11

What if our paths never cross? What would we do then? I don't know exactly who or where you are, or if you're even looking for me. But what I do know is that I really, really hope you're trying.

0

Oct 25, 2013

Oct 25, 2013 at 10:48 PM UTC

How can I find you in a world so huge?

What if our paths never cross? What would we do then? I don't know exactly who or where you are, or if you're even looking for me. But what I do know is that I really, really hope you're trying.

6