fear of a name only increases fear of the thing itself
so maybe that's why i
hide
your identity behind a cloud
of prestigious synonyms and
truthful lies because
i'm scared
of you and
scared for you
and if
i'm not scared then i don't feel
anything
at all (when your fingers are
wrapped around mine
or wrapped around my neck) because
i feel like i'm suffocating, your
skin
used to be on mine but now my
vocal cords have been
snapped, strained, broken,
so maybe your lips
are like electromagnets;
they took away my steel strength
when
you pulled them away;
like tectonic plates evoking
an earthquake in my core, in my mantel,
maybe i am a planet
but you made
me inhabitable;
my atmosphere poisonous,
i am impossible to breathe around yet
you
had the audacity
to sheepishly hold up a second hand
gas mask
and say someone else
will one day finish
project "love"
on a tiny planet
who's name
begins with m
and ends with e
Oct 18, 2014
Oct 18, 2014 at 8:08 AM UTC
When I was a young girl, I'd view this world through a lense
of awe and amazement,
and with outstretched arms I welcomed all it could give.
All the hurt so I could learn
contentment,
all the love so I could feel
shades of red and pink,
all the heartbreak so I'd acknowledge
my heart
and all it was capable of.
Nowadays, my arms are just wrapped around my own core so I don't fall away,
and burn marks litter my complexion,
other people's fingerprints pollute my heart
from where it was grabbed too tightly,
and no matter how much money I throw away on plasters
and aspirins,
I can't make the hurt go away.
Oct 2, 2014
Oct 2, 2014 at 5:08 PM UTC
I was the tides and you were the moon,
you brought me too close all too soon
and just like the tides all I can feel is the cold
we suddenly came crashing to a unfortunate halt.
You shouldn't have said you revolve round another
my voice sounds so dull when before it was thunder
if these words were lies I would surely paint them white
because honestly baby, I just don't wanna fight.
So please won't you stop rubbing salt in my wounds?
I wish what we had could again be resumed
however you are the moon and no doubt you'll move on
I barely even had you and you're already gone.
So your words are like anchors and I'm helplessly drowning
my heart was so strong but you stopped its pounding.
Sep 24, 2014
Sep 24, 2014 at 4:30 PM UTC
self destruction like burning bridges you know full well you'll drown without
being reckless with your rafts and your lifesavers
and feeling the heat of the fire prickle your forehead,
beads of sweat teasing your skin
and making it impossible to ignore the deep water already lapping at your feet,
clearly prepared to completely engulf you in liquid darkness.
self destruction like inhaling the fumes of a hundred toxic promises,
made to you by old would-be lovers;
sugarcoated words and lies roughly covered in white,
feeling the poison seizing up your struggling lungs,
fingertips flicking through dictionaries with cracked spines:
desperate to find a word that isn't even there.
self destruction like breaking hearts that aren't yours for once,
just to hold the power of corruption and allow it to make you bloodthirsty,
much like slaughtering ants beneath magnifying glasses,
watching them struggle and turn to unrecognisable ashes,
whimpering half hearted apologies whilst trying to convince yourself
that you are not a bad person, but simply a broken soul.
Mar 24, 2014
Mar 24, 2014 at 5:58 PM UTC
we think that angels are such wonderful and whole creatures
and as humans it is only in our nature to look up to them; to be as they are and achieve such perfection that we are mistaken for something
ethereal and otherworldly
with pale complexions and flowing golden hair, wings fluttering in the wind makeing us forget every single worry we have had,
every single sin we committed,
and every heart that we broke,
because we'd be perfect,
and when you obtain such beauty people overlook all your evils and
wrongs
as their pupils dilate and their hearts race
at the mere glimpse of you
but little do we know that in truth, angels don't have it easy,
they too, view their reflections as unclean and wrong
and spend all eternity, which they hold in between their feeble fingertips, scrubbing away at invisible dirt
until their wings are broken,
silk robes torn at the seams and covered in blood,
and the once-enchanting figures collapsed on the concrete,
drunk on rose-water and
half-hearted apologies
I guess in that aspect, you are just like an angel.
Jan 7, 2014
Jan 7, 2014 at 3:08 PM UTC
alcohol drowns your sadness
cigarettes cloud your thoughts
cutting enables your demons to seep from beneath your skin
drugs blur your consciousness
there are all these remedies
for sadness
but unfortunately
none of them are permanent
however
if you continue to overdose
and paint fresh lines across your skin
you might just end up dead
Dec 25, 2013
Dec 25, 2013 at 8:27 AM UTC
there will be no miracles here;
no out-of-body experiences
that change your outlook upon life and the universe
nobody will do you any favours
as everybody is too concerned with themselves
there will be no miracles here;
no sudden epiphanies
or realizations that you are worth more than this
no sudden stops when you are crying
that make your tears suddenly halt
there will be no miracles here;
you have to do this all by yourself
find all the missing puzzle pieces
and superglue them together
in fear of them falling apart once more
there will be no miracles here;
you will have to depart on a quest to find yourself
whether it means dying your hair
or letting the person who made you sad realize
that they lost the most precious thing they had
you have to create your own miracles.
Dec 23, 2013
Dec 23, 2013 at 5:08 PM UTC
When I met you, I was merely an average girl who used her pen to scribble the words that couldn't ever leave her lips.
I hid behind slanted handwriting and poorly structured sentences, rusty metaphors and my pathetic namelessness. I could paint snow-frosted trees and lakes that reflected and distorted your face without even touching a single paintbrush, and make people's hearts feel as alive as if they were ten.
But you didn't fall in love with me, not in the sense I wanted you to.
And so began my obsession with you. I hated you and wrote about how your eyes were bloodshot and how your smile was slanted and how you made my heart physically hurt. I loved you and wrote about your body perfectly slotting into mine. I made you my muse, and created dozens of metaphors and made up various words; to try to describe how you made me scared and nervous and warm and fuzzy.
I hated how I loved you and loved how I couldn't hate you.
Months later, I'm still smitten over you, unable to get over your sad smiles and witty comments, so I beg you, just let me have a chance to show you how together we could be king and queen of the endless words I can create with my pen, how we could wear upside down crowns and dance along to the beat of my half-broken heart.
Dec 19, 2013
Dec 19, 2013 at 3:24 PM UTC
You can fix broken bones
and mend glass souvenirs
you bought in various countries;
you can fix broken nails
and patch holes in your clothing;
you can rekindle feelings
and put two broken lovers
back together
but no matter how hard
you try
and no matter
how many plasters
or painkillers
you may have,
you will never, ever,
be capable of fixing a person.
Dec 18, 2013
Dec 18, 2013 at 3:31 PM UTC
there was once a girl who had a heart made of stone
you might think this is tragic and most unfortunate
but this girl was intoxicated by the smell of a certain boy's cologne
despite the empty promises she had made to herself
about not ever falling in love or anything of the sort
she decided to take into account all the tales of love that sat atop her bookshelf
so she followed the boy with the striking green eyes
and the strong scent of cologne
and to her paranoid and lonely ways she said many goodbyes
she fell desperately and hopelessly in love;
such love that made her insides fuzzy and warm
her heart of stone becoming lighter and lighter, fluttering not much differently than a dove
but as it turns out having a heart of stone is far better than having no heart at all
although she found this out the hard way;
for the boy she had changed her ways for, had a heart so incredibly small.
Dec 16, 2013
Dec 16, 2013 at 4:11 PM UTC