mannerisms containing grace and beauty vanquish
when conquering the internet's cruel anguish.
feeding sins with apples that bloomed in the evening
of february to survive in a fast world unreal to the underachieving.

in solitude, her essence blooms despite her
bruised virtuous soul that screams her damnation.
in isolation, the substance of his being thrives in the
waiting room of circumstances that bring prosperity.

reprise a revolution for the modern age of devils,
let them build e-tombs for the sensational forgotten.
encourage the death of language for the birth of a new culture
where the muted can still share words for the world to publicise.

beware of trolls lingering between the lines of text fonts
for a new plague has occurred with no treatment found to cure.
the heat of a blush from "i love you" absent from the screen,
the streets are a little too quiet for the comfort of elders.

do not be frightful for a generation
made from a future a past had conceived.
do not be hopeful for the undoing of the internet.
believe in amor fati, my dear, for this was inevitable.

a cadaverous memory laid with tranquility despite its
foreshadowing fading existence from the nook of a silhouetted mind.
the flesh had become transparent, though this occurred long ago when
it was led astray from a path made from wild exuberance.

to lose a memory, is that a man made disaster? when we lose
a relationship with an identity of the past, are we thrusted into a state
of mind in which memories are tangled and weaved with bias emotions
since everything we are is merely passing in the realm of our universe?

still, what is more terrifying to the point where the unsound minds of
society develop a taste for being the causation of melancholy
is how easily people can leave us and be nothing more than a mere memory.

my undesired youth has become riddled with a curiosity
that accepts a maddening desire which is irreplaceable.
I dream of nightmares that bring me pleasure.
of abuse like no other. of limitless pain.
I seek a sensation that brings chills to hell.
so allow me to learn about the terror within you.

clenched fists, teary eyes and a smooth, slender body scarred from
the truth of caressing insanity's body with regret.
a bruised heart paired with blood stained teeth and a smothering
fragrance named cigarette smoke worn by a black eyed individual.
oh how I wish I was there to see your demise.

how laughable, how have you not realised?
you're my aesthetic, darling. never will I let this beauty
become part of sweet recovery.
I'll hang your body on my white cream wall.
cherry red rope grasping your delicate neck.
handcuffs cutting your slender wrist.

I'll take your pretty thoughts from that bitter mind.
ensnarling it then taking the entirety of
your existence with my bare hands.
everyone will see you displayed but never
shall they take you from your frame.
you're my masterpiece, a creation like no other.

you ****** yourself to hell, where the divine flames of the devil
dance upon your wicked body and divulge into
the true nature of where your madness lingers.
you fell from your place with the angels
I'm here to make you burn.

The solar system that keeps us in its grasp,
shall never let us go or allow us to meet the past.
I watch through the windows and look to the sky.
But between memories of stars that night collects,
And of gloom that hides in moons;
I have yet to find Saturn whose gases weigh more than my worth,
and dress with diviner rings that I could bear.

But Saturn,
I fear that one day my search for you will end
without us meeting and having a nonsensical conversation.
"How have you come to a place like this?
Your state, your existence, how can it be?
Would you like some tea?
No? That's fine,
everything is perfectly fine with you."

Saturn,
I have watch that moon and seen those stars shine through darkness.
It has been lonely but I now wish for you to be reflected in my eyes,
I promise,
I swear,
I give honor on my words,
I will not let you leave my sight.
Let me find my place in the universe,
one where I can see you.

I often wonder what I would do
if someone like you
asked me to ditched school.

I don't smoke cigarettes;
my eyes hold a perilous look when I look at them.
I stopped sneaking bottles of beers
after my mom caught me with two.

But perhaps, if it were you,
I wouldn't mind sharing a smoke
or drink a glass that you poured.

If I am being honest, however,
I'd prefer to not do those things.
Could I propose a suggestion? Possibly a few?
Ones more meaningful than what is common in this town.

We could guard the suicide bridge
from those who wish to part from this world.
Let's convince them that they have a place amongst the stars,
that their existence was not made to satisfy others
but to find a happiness within themselves.
We could become beautiful beings who protect
those from their sorrows.

Or maybe, we could disappear into the forest,
our existence vanished from reality.
You could lead me across rocky rivers with a smile
trying to convince me that we aren't numbing from the sensation
of society's pressure holding us in its grasp.

Perhaps, we could just talk.
Share ideas and thoughts never revealed
but repeated in our lonely minds.
Laughing when we realise how wonderful the world could be
since it brought us together.

But I will never know,
because someone like you
wouldn't ask me
to skip school with you.

I feel odd.
No, odd couldn't possibly describe
how I feel at this moment. Its frustration
mixed with gleefulness. Tears paired with a smile.
My muted lips listening to my screaming mind.
I feel a joyous-sadness, like I could dance at wakes
or mourn for a birth. Beating hearts seem to have stopped
as I shriek for undying love. The stars glow a colourful darkness
and the planets rotate in a square. I ascend from
hell's cotton-candy clouds and climb from the depths of heaven.
To love is to sin and to hate is what they praise.
My trees uproot themselves to find a place to drown.
The weeds are what I desire and flowers are a disgrace.
You, my dear, have caused earthquakes to
shake my sturdy world
and nothing is as I thought it was.

{if only you could feel this unease too.
but alas, this cannot be.
even if the brazen skies overhead became a maddening red
with the ocean of darkness made from our galaxy's shadow
spilling between newly found holes in our atmosphere;

even if the laws of gravity made us fall from above
and down towards the dark soil of this earth
whose seeds are planted with the intent of dishonesty
plaguing the lives of all those who dance on the ground;

even if our bodies ceased to exist from this reality,
so that you could no longer see my nervous glances and flushed cheeks,
and the thoughts of each other were the only ideas that drifted
between the turning planets and flickering stars;

you will never love me.

i know that there is no love that you can give to me.
that there is no unease when you think of me.
kisses from my desperate lips will never smother yours
nor shall our fingers adore how they entwined perfectly
between the spaces of our rough hands.

yes, you bring a certain kind of wonderfulness to my life,
one that allows me to carry a radiant smile
but you have brought a certain kind of pain too,
one that is the cause of clenched hearts and
glassy eyed teens trying to keep the darkness from their minds.}

I wonder, {i wonder,}
is this what first love feels like?
{is this what an unrequited love feels like?}

I hope {i truly hope that one day}
you feel this love too. {you'll feel this pain too.}

She fears that she'll drown in her tearstained diamonds,
or expose her rough skin to find no more vermilion rubies.
She becomes a ruined landscape as she
brushes the black jewels out of her matted hair,
even if her emerald eyes aren't tough enough to withstand that pain.

She dreads for the moment when the world
will not accept her own beauty.
Why can't she understand? Why can't she realise?
Though she holds the rare jewels of a king,
no one shall buy those cursed gems.

Her cries shifted to become a harmony
and her words were swept by the reckless wind
to combined with the other broken voices
of souls who lived in the land without gods.

Their sorrowful melody becoming faint
as gun fires and screams played along
to the songs of the breeze.

She will sing for her mother and her father,
for the dreams that only stayed with the clouds
and for the schemes that killed her mind.

For the brothers and sisters that have lost their warmth,
for the grief she will never receive when it is her time to part.

She will sing her broken ballad,
And she will never be heard.

Those star-stricken skies that once watched
our world now begin to flicker away as
my skin begin to age, my eyes find more to see
and I realise that I have grown old enough
to miss something from the past .


There were once
grassy plains that stretched across the land and grasped the edges of the sky,
wooden fences that I waited upon for neighbouring friends,
and flowers that mixed with weeds but still looked content;
those visions are ones that cannot be seen.


I remember
the relief of jumping in large lakes on a hot summers day,
the times were I would inhale the mellow dewdrops after a storm,
the blissful sinning of drinking from my father's glass bottle;
I remember those times but they are fragmented with cracks
lining the center of its core.


The sounds
of baby birds weeping for their mother's warmth,
of crickets chirping at the burning sun,
of children whose words had grins;
those sounds are a distant memory that I wish
had remain fresh in my mind but are only a collection of
wilted, quiet, languished noises occurring in silence.


I often question
how the city lights block my stars that shine through its own darkness,
how machines have become friendlier than the people here,
how the winding roads never end at one place but now conjoin with each-other,
how the pavement plants can only grow between flaws of concrete;
the town I once grew up is nothing like this city.
the sight I only recognise, the one that has never changes,
is the bottom of the beer bottle;
but it's more bitter than I remember.


Everything is different but at least I have working hours.
But in those lonely times like these,
I'll miss those country roads.
The roads that once ended to show rolling hills
with the sun glowing underneath creamy clouds
and the scent of happiness blooming from flowers.

in my fairytale that appears when the sky loses the sun,
the cursive words written were with a silver quill dipped in moondust.
the accounts of my journey to righteous freedom
were engraved amongst the stars on a dark night where obscurity
lingered even in places where flames were lit.
set in the cosmos where children slept in trees
and adults smelt like the salty sea;
where pretty boys could grasp the light found between snowflakes
and flashes from girls were because of bombs chewed in their mouths;
where monsters kissed the sinless lips of innocence,
fairies were created from a single emotion of a human,
and everyone loved the first prince who lightly held their waist.

I live here,
I always have.
and I think that
for evermore will become my blood as I lay among
the wild grassy plains just beyond the barrier of the forest.

in my fairytale found in between the alignment of planets,
the phrases stains the sky when perused and
the waters reflect a fantasy that shows
sleepy children who ruffle green leaves the illustrations of my life.
you will see all that is past.
adventures trapped in a memory.
catch a glimpse of my youth clinging onto my skin.
look into daring eyes that flicker with uncertainty.
listen to songs honeyed with sweetness.
witches may snicker at my innocent self
and creatures of the northern winds could howl at my ignorance
but I will remain timeless in rocky streams, pools of puddles,
wide empty lakes, and the vast ocean that takes the horizon.

they hold
my story,
my words,
my life.
they hold me by sealing my soul's existence in those rough waters.

but if my life was a blissful fairytale,
why are the shades of my tale only in darkness and not light?
if I gaze into the sky during a time when the sun shines,
the body of the sky is made of the brilliance of blue,
or perhaps a stormy gray,
and sometimes, completely clouded in white.
before my story, when the sun begins to fall from its place,
I see the vivid colors of
purple, orange and yellow
painting the waters
before becoming a shadowy hue of blue? of me?
why am I not made of a beauty like that?
why am I made from darkness?
I wonder,
what were the stories written before me in the sky?
how is my story told by those in trees?
why is it that my story darkens the world?

although I have overcome obstacles to my dream,
fought my demons who caused so much pain
and finally lived my perfect happy ending...
perhaps,
I am not the fairytale that I was told.