my sun is a cutout of yellow paper, stars too small in their wrinkled sky. im existing in a universe crumpled and
left to dry– no wonder i’ve got crooked seams. cheap thread and cheaper whiskey will sew up sutures just as well, though, and
the scars last twice as long.
Jun 20, 2018
Jun 20, 2018 at 11:13 PM UTC
at times, i wish my eyes had only seen
horizon's haze of darkened clouds instead
ignored the sirens calling so serene
and burnt the bridge that carried off the dead
but i did not, and borne from what we hate
come roses blooming, bloodstains on the dirt
in time, they reach the same destructive fate
and we, the lowly seekers, reach the hurt
the heart we wear upon our sleeves is broke
with every tear, the stitches hold less deep
as time moves on, we try to quell the smoke
of fire raging just before we sleep
at times, i think we're better off as friends
but god, i hope the tempest never ends
Jun 15, 2018
Jun 15, 2018 at 10:50 AM UTC
oh
i’m so tired of your lovely eyes
and your heartbreak and the holes inside of you
of course love hurts, of course love hurts
did you think cracking yourself like a coconut
upon the sandy shore
wouldn’t hurt?
how else can you drink the sweet nectar inside?
love is pain, and to love is
to be pained
the most glorious way
Jun 14, 2018
Jun 14, 2018 at 10:14 AM UTC
it’s a vagabond heart
roaming, sticky-tongued through
valleys of boys and girls:
all can be bled for, just take up the sword yourself.
i’m a
traveling postage stamp scar collection
turned love story
Jun 13, 2018
Jun 13, 2018 at 10:11 AM UTC