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Aniseed Jun 2016
I was the sparkle in your eye;
Now you're the dull ache in my heart.

The world could not contain us both, I guess.
I missed your birthday, dad. Sorry.
Aniseed Apr 2015
Look at this fool
Who writes of not knowing love
And yet here she stands
Heart in her throat

She fears it's temporary;
Litter skipping across asphalt
On a windy day

How it's always been

Look at this girl's farce
As she claims "Not I!
My head is too filled with
Numbers and ruined paint
And things much too cumbersome
To carry such a heavy load!"

But oh, oh that face is
Something special

Look how it ruins her even now
And how blind it is
To her stumble

Whatever it is

She feels her pulse in her
Very fingers
Just wondering what it is

Look at this silly young thing
Always blind sided
When she's made up her mind
I sometimes contradict and argue with myself. Humans are such fickle things.
Aniseed Jun 2016
There is a hunger I can't quench,
An addiction I can't subside.
An itch that burns under my skin
And I've tried scratching it.
I've tried.

I want that pretty silver tongue
To match pretty porcelain hands
Hovering over ink wells
And candle stands
But I can't have that.
I can't salvage
From the depths of my mind
A poem to wrap around words like

Art is a circle
But I am a line with crumbling architecture,
My thoughts linear and grit;
My prose stuffed with an hour-long process
Of charm and wit.

I write these words to feed you;
Please you;
Fill you with the sense of understanding
That I can't come to.
My art is a lie with a rainbow
And I stand smiling in an empty room,
A vacant audience in a ghost of a show.

I write because I need you.
I write because I want to dance for you.
I write because I want to seem wise.
But all that it amounts to
Is a high that always dies
And a candle that burns out
Far too quickly.

This is not a cry.
This is not goodbye.
This is me.
And I hope, for me,
That this is enough to satisfy.
We are all troubled and we all have our faults.
I'm eager to please you all.

Also, what even is correct punctuation in poetry?
Aniseed Mar 2015
What in the world is a ten word poem, anyway?
Aniseed Jun 2015
Let me dream
In a bed of ground ivy
And not be afraid of
The bugs scurrying
Through the earth.

Let me speak
In effervescence
So that I may believe
In the truths I tell

And let these truths
Be sweet and firm
In their nature
Rather than weigh
Me down and wrap
Me in barbed wire.

Let my spirit be free
Of past transgressions.
Uproot my feet
So I may follow
The wind.
Let me find my strength again.
Aniseed Jun 2015
Hair trailing like jet streams
As tiny shoes skim the grass.
Don't know where she gets
The breath in her lungs to
Keep her going.
She'll need it for all the cushion
It'll give when she crashes into
Her daddy's arms to have it
Squeezed all out of her.

                                                It's always the moments few
                                             and far between

Keep low, her momma said,
When the sirens wail and they're
Shining that light through the blinds.
She keeps real still when red flashes
Blue even now.
Holds her breath and waits for
The light to blind her again.
Just a habit.

The drawings looked so funny
When they were done.
A sort of dark humor with the
Look of shock scribbled on her face
In cerulean blue.
Never liked blue but the shade
Always caught the girl's eye.
Her momma deserved that color.
Her daddy's car was colored orange.

They thank heavens it wasn't red.

"You can't Change it.
You can't Control it.
You can't Convince him.
But you can Cope."

Told her to repeat it like a mantra;
Post it on a wall
Let it spill like a holy verse
Until you believe it.
She wasn't one for God anyway.

                                                But what if I wanted to try?

Air around him isn't so stale now.
Frowned upon to have a beer
At an alcoholic's wake.
She wondered if this is how it would
Have smelled.

She barely knows the people in this
They're chatting about church and
How he was so great.
But she'll bet her last dollar
That they hadn't seen him sober
In years.

Hell, neither had she.
                                                *All I can do now is cope.
Figured I'd rework this, since it needed refining anyway, in celebration to the holiday.

Here's to you, dad. I'll toast a drink to you, I guess.
Aniseed May 2020
Did your heart stop
From the alcohol
Or the memory of my disdain?

Did it shatter
Or freeze in motion?

My mouth turns into cotton
And my eyes into glass
At the thought that I may
Have been the cause of your
Broken heart.
Thinking about you lately.
Aniseed Nov 2016
Forsaken soul
Taking root in a land thought barren
Or hostile
Or uninhabitable

Where the water is poison

The air toxic

Will your vines slip through the cracks,
Will you be the ****
That blossoms in the summer
And leaves yellow stains on
The palms of our hands?

Will we cut your roots down?

Will we shut out the sun?

Do we shake the earth with cloven hooves
And break the stone?

Maybe you'll **** the water supply dry

Or maybe you'll just **** the poison out
A turbulent family member is apparently expecting. The emotions are a mixed bag.
Aniseed May 2015
Life, I
Always just
Seemed to notice
Patterns and
Things like
The left turn
Blinker in a
Movie scene;
Slight shift of
Symmetry in
Someone's face;
Straight lines
And it's so hard
To keep track
Of it
Aniseed Jul 2015
Words of deep love and longing
Are lost on me, today.
I've no whimsy to feed my prose,
No form of coherency in my head.

I'll write for the sake of writing.

Rustling trees swelled with song birds
Are mere echoes of a life outside
To me.
I feel like I'm suspended in zero gravity -
My face tingles,
My head is sluggish
Like a hangover without the nausea.

We've got potholes in our hearts
And the construction's lasted for months
So we just fill them all with sand and
Call it a day.
Integrated into a system
That's forgotten the welfare
Of the human soul.

There's a trickle of sunlight
And it's getting warmer.
Summer's blossoming and
I can't stand it.
The beautiful solace of winter
Melts away with my silence,
While summer months boil blood
And chaos chokes the air.

These words I write are read
Aloud in tremulous whispers -
The only proof that they're real.
Recited every night
When I lay my head down
And wonder about the difference
Between what is evil
And what is just a misled notion
Of Righteousness.

And everything else in between.
Sometimes I just wake up so ungodly early.
Aniseed Mar 2015
Rocking, rocking
Back and forth like the conversation
Muttered between plumes of
Cigarette smoke.

"They owe me twenty three hundred,
The hotels and motels -
Eight in all."

He's said it about eight times.
Eight in all.

"And the surveillance systems
In the rooms.
The guy in the FBI lobby
Was talking. Said things.
Better have my money
'Cause it's messed up to
Take a man's money like that."

I nod, agree.
It's all I can do.

He's talked about some officer,
The white female down at
Cherry Street Mission.

He talks about the white male
And the black male
How they pass out cigarettes
And one's a mean *******
Who kicks people while they're
Trying to sleep.

I wonder who else has kicked him
While he's been down.

He's checking the clock again,
Doing the math -
Takes about an hour to walk
To get to the kitchens.
Good to get there early to
Get a bite to eat.

"'Cause man, they owe me
Twenty three hundred dollars
For the hotels and motels -
Eight in all."

Nine times, now.

"You get what I'm saying, though?
Isn't it messed up?"

Isn't everything?

Let him *** another smoke,
He's down on his luck
Though the FBI's got nothing
To do with it.

I've seen glimpses of coherency
Here and there.
Mentioned a brother who
Couldn't give a ****.
Mentioned working in a
Restaurant once.

But all the while he's rocking
And losing himself again in
His head and the imaginations
Of ****** plots and FBI contracts.

I wonder what his last name is.
I wonder if he remembers what
His last name is.

"And the guy in the FBI lobby
Said they'd scrap up an extra grand
For the trouble.
Just takes time.
Don't you think that's messed up, though?
Don't you think that's ****** up?"

*Do I ever.
His name is Richard and despite everything, he's very nice.
Aniseed Jun 2015
This dismal face softens
And flushes with just a touch
Of life.

Turmoil broke like a fever
And trickles of security
Bled through the cracks.

I lit a lamp instead of sitting
Here in the darkness I've become
So accustomed to.
Lukewarm light isn't much
But it's enough to go on.

My heart never stopped but now
It's beating with a purpose.
Not one of affection,
Not one of intimacy,
But for the pursuit of living
I've been putting off for so long.

Maybe I'm fine. Maybe everything's fine.
Aniseed Jun 2015
There's a sting in my chest.
There's stiffness in my limbs.
There's a grimace on my face
I can't wipe clean.

How did you think this
Was going to happen,
Silly girl?
All it was, was a
Summer breeze.
Just like litter,
After all.

Please understand that
This sorrow is bitter
Yet brief,
And I will shake off
These idyllic whimsies
And fruitless endeavors
In search of a life
More savory in its rewards;
Shake off the numbness
In my fingertips to
Burrow them deep in the
Earth so that they draw
Energy to the very marrow
Of my bones.

For there is still
So much to learn
And so much to see
That fickle lapses
Of romance have no
Room to interfere.

And I will not be deterred.
Aniseed Nov 2016
Your hands are probably cold
Holding that "Anything Helps" sign

At least I hope it's the chill shaking them

Sitting at this glaring red light watching you;
Waiting while this red light is judging me,
Condemning me as I squander time
Sizing up the hunch of your posture
And the vacancy of your expression

Thank god you didn't look at me
I couldn't have taken it

And as the light turned green, I realized
That the shower waiting for me at home
Couldn't possibly clean the grime I accumulated
Just by driving away.
Homelessness is a serious issue here, but so is theft and drug addiction. Self preservation and guilt often go hand in hand.

While striving for human decency, I never claimed to be a good person.

Better title pending.
Aniseed May 2015
She's a hurricane,
A billowing chaos.
Streets away, you'll hear
The howls at her presence.
For miles you'll feel the air
Choke up.

Girl's dynamic in ways
Unique to this world.
Prominent in a way
I'll never be.

She's a tense muscle
That never relaxes;
A gun with a hairline trigger.
Longs for affection
And intimate hands
But shrinks away
In times of crisis.

For her, everything's a crisis.

Found her on the floor one night,
Lips blue,
Arm belted,
And the voice beyond the veil
Gargling in her throat.
She told me it was nothingness.

Certainly sounded like nothing good.

I've never known a darkness like hers,
Not really.
I don't think she's ever known my peace.

Not really.
I needed to tell someone. Because she refuses.
Aniseed Sep 2019
Wrestling with this hourglass
Trying to bring back
All the times that we fought
And all the times I lost
With you

There's a lifetime of moments
We still had to share
But the dust of your bones
Settled before the dust
In your veins had a chance

These days I've lost all sense
Of what's worth it

I haven't listened to music
In a month.

I've never known a darkness like hers.
Not really.

You went in a hail storm
And I don't know if that's poetic
Or just the crescendo of what
Your life led up to.

You always were chaos incarnate.

A gun with a hairline trigger.

The only blank left in the barrel
Is the one taking space in my head
Since you left.
I never knew how many facets
There were to grief.
I don't think they make numbers that

There's a pinprick of nothingness
In the world
And most people pass it by-
But some eyes, they haven't
Let it out of their sight.

I have grey hairs you'll never see.

She told me it was nothingness.

The anger on my tongue died later
Than you,
But so help me,
Give me one more day to relive it
And maybe I won't feel so empty.

Just one more.

My younger sister passed away from a ******/fentanyl overdose some months back. This is a collection of thoughts that also I threw lines in from an old poem also about her.

I'm not over it.
Aniseed Sep 2018
There are days where I sit on my porch
And watch the sun hang in a low,
Lazy bauble with
Spun sugar lacing the sky

There's a day I've set up a lamp
I've bought for myself
And then wash the dishes
Where pomegranate scented bubbles
Soak my rolled up sleeves

Days I force myself to do laundry
Because I hate the monotony of it
The necessity of it
Even though it's a breath of fresh air
When done

Days of filling the silence with
Gentle croons of blues and jazz
And the feeling of wet, cold paint
Between my hands and a canvas
Or the stickiness of cookie dough
Between my fingers
And the wash of heat against my face
When the oven door opens

In these small ways, somehow,
I am healing,
Though I do not know what from

Just that these scars are paling
If only a little
And the pain in my chest settles
Into something like an echo
Or a memory
Something tolerable

Something bearable.
Obligatory note.
Aniseed Nov 2015
It's been three hundred and sixty five days,
Twelve hours,
And eight minutes,
And all I've been able to do is try
To wrap my head around the fact
That it's been that long since you've been

For months my world was surrounded by
Pictures of you,
Videos of you,
People talking and talking
And talking
About how they felt about you.

I was always talked over.

The gust has died down
But I'm still not over it.
"Take a step forward,"
But there's a fence
And I've never been
A good climber.
Remember the tree
Behind your trailer?

Three hundred and sixty five days,
Twelve hours,
And twenty two minutes.
There's a white box here
That I'm itching to write in
With all the anger and the regret
That's constricting my chest,
But the words escape me.
These are hollow.
These are ghosts.

Guess I've gotten too good
At keeping it in.

Called you selfish the
Last time we spoke.
Hell, you hung up on me
On Christmas.
But there hasn't been a day
Where I don't see a child
Smile up at their daddy
And my eyes don't glance away.

Three hundred and sixty five days,
Twelve hours,
And twenty nine minutes.,
And I'm still as sorry as I was
The first second I knew.
This doesn't really feel like a poem. I just needed to share with someone. Anyone.

Hope you found peace, dad.
Aniseed Dec 2016
You once said that home was wherever you make it

I found my home in the comfort of our secret language
And the way you knew when I needed to run
And the way I knew the meaning behind every syllable
In your music

I remembered your birthday
You forgot mine
But that's alright

Our relationship has been stretched hamstrings
Since you've been gone,
And these songs are the hollow boneyard
I fumble through

Strings of smoke
Slipping through my hands

You're missing Christmas

I'm missing your life

Sometimes I wonder if you remember the brother stars
And the trees
And the whales we sang about in the kitchen
And the mulberry pen ink

Sometimes I wonder if you remember me
As the shore you greeted each morning
When you rolled in

If the whisper of these words
Ever carry through the wind
And reach you
Please take this and know
That the shore will still be there
When your wave washes in

I will still be here
It's been months since my best friend cut ties with everything in life.

She's okay, I know this. But I don't know if I am.
Aniseed Sep 2015
The world cries
For the mother, who works
And works,
And had dreams
That did not involve
Cement walls,
Cement floors,
Cement ceilings,
Torn muscles,
And numbness in
Her hands.

Those beautiful,
Calloused hands.

There's a guy out there
With no home
Or family to claim,
But he'll rob her
For all she's worth
If it means to damper
The hunger and

He knows a "doctor"
That'll take care of him
So long as his palm's greased
And the supply is good.
Sure, it's not love,
But after his dose
It won't matter.

The guy would mourn
If he died;
Not for him, but for
The loss in demand.
Hard to make a buck
Around here, nowadays.
Guess you have to do
What you can to
Aniseed Jul 2017
The door in my mind
Has been locked for a very long time;
Probably from the smoke drifting
From the alter I've built to my misgivings

There are tally marks on my stomach
Counting how many times I just stopped
And I feel my chest turn to stone
With every breath.

Sometimes I wonder what the fear
Of a storm at sea feels like,
And if it's anything similar
To the paralysis I feel when
Someone is screaming.

There are days when I wish
I could speak in color.

When a shiver goes down my spine,
I wonder what you're saying about

Maybe life was just an accident God made
When playing with dolls

Sometimes I wish everything made sense,
And that my mind wasn't so faceted
And tangled like string
But maybe Everything is a jigsaw puzzle
With missing pieces.

Maybe we're not supposed to understand.

Or maybe there's not anything we're supposed
To do.
Maybe life is screaming and color and a storm
At sea.

Maybe God is still playing with dolls.
Incoherent rambling.
Aniseed Dec 2019
In Pantheon roars,
We shouted
And threw boulders
In the night
Where the sirens
Were our only witnesses


Give me back the mornings
Of quiet snow and soft music

The yawning sun, not quite

Give me the solitude, the
Fleeting moments of sanctuary
So I may find myself a saner
Sort of clarity

There is peace in snow


I once wrote on unrequited love: "This is going to take some time."

It's felt like lifetimes.


If it hurts to hear
Your heart beating,
What was it that
I wanted, then?

If I ran away again,
What would happen then?

What would happen, then?
Recently moved, combing through old journals for inspiration. For... something.

I hope anyone reading this is doing well and to remember that they're good enough.
Aniseed Jul 2018
Advertising loneliness
Highway hypnosis
Always staring at this white ceiling
I can't paint

Aspirin doesn't take away the ache in my soul
That spreads to my mind
That spreads to my words
That stain my fingertips
And seizes my ankles


27 times I've been reminded that
These bones aren't going to hold me forever
And these feet will forget how to run
But I told myself they never found a need to
Instead simulating a universe
Where they had power


There's a cruel joke in there somewhere
That playing House as kids
Didn't include a guide on how
To reach that threshold in the first place.
Learning that hands were made to be used
When cooking
And compromise was the cornerstone of love
When cleaning

I haven't really sat down to compose something that sounds coherent. Have some recent thought rambles from the last few months, instead.
Aniseed Nov 2015
Sky's caged in bars of wire
But my God, it's still so

Slumped against a city wall
In this ghost I call a

Moldy bricks and jagged cracks
And gasoline rainbows
And construction orange
Mottling all the grey.

Keep writing, she thought;
Keep writing and eventually
You'll find something
Some thoughts while at work.
Aniseed Mar 2015
Madame Salamander
With her small, speckled spots
Spread smoothly over her
Skin, similar to the sun.
Tiny toes tip tapping long treks
Through tough terrain.

Madame Salamander
Grand and glamorous, great gales
Of green-eyed ganders give her
Gosh awful grabs as gifts, gabbing
Gleefully of gross gourds.

Madame Salamander
Feel her filmy eyes on her
Flat facade furrow into a feverish
Gaze as her words fan further
And farther whilst she fabulates.

Madame Salamander*
Let her linger on her long legend
Of little lizards lipping to large
Lions and licked away from
Their lovely lives as lizards.
A very old poem I wrote.
Aniseed Jan 2016
It's safe in daylight, you know.

I drive through my crumbling suburbia
Over all of its bumps and cracks
And feel so small, yet so
Feeling loosely connected
To every signpost,
Every stray cat,
Every filled and vacant house.
Part of a chain that runs its course
Across the entirety of existence.
I am a spectator, an observer of
Humanity though, admittedly,
Not quick to a level conclusion of it.

Yes, days are safe. They are familiar.

But it's dusk where the malaise sets in,
A disturbance that unsettles the muscles
Under my skin
And has me toss and turn for hours on end.
It's night where I trip barefoot
Over every folly,
Every small tick in the course of my life
In a path strewn with broken glass.

It's where the realms between your sanity
And where your demons sleep
Grow the weakest,
Churning your head with static and poison
And constantly reminding you
How easy it is to find your own faults,
How difficult it is to say,
"I love myself."

I wonder most nights when this all started.

I wonder every night when it'll stop.
Better title pending, maybe.

Sleep and I have an on-and-off relationship.
Aniseed Jun 2015
Hazy summer dreams of Independence Day,
Sitting in a field and an alcove of trees
Watching fireflies and fireworks
With nothing but a peace pipe and the pleasure
Of each other's company.

Four in the morning blues
Writing music inspired by
The light reflecting off her box wine,
Bird feathers and new frontiers.
Four in the morning band practice
Where the kitchen was filled with
Jaw harps and nose flutes and ukuleles.
She hated the fact that the string bassist
Parked right in front of the fridge.

Sun-drenched days of exploring
And picking mulberries from the
Fallen tree at the creek.
They tried to make pen ink from it,

Dreams of open mic nights with
Milkshake stouts and summer sweat
But never once complaining
Because the air felt so electric
And full with the sound of kindred souls.
Place closed down since then,
But she won't forget the time she was
Asked to stay on stage when her set was done.

Maybe they're all romanticized, but
These memories stick like push pins
In her mind, in her heart.
There was something more authentic
About it all -
All those days of watching
Fireworks and fireflies.
Something real, and true.
Something changed, shifted in the universe.

Maybe it was her.
Guess I'm stumbling down memory lane, tonight.
Aniseed Jun 2015
My life is slipping past without me realizing it. Moments are passing with a blink of an eye.

I am writing because I will never remember when I wrote this. I will not remember what I had for breakfast, what book I read, or where I went out to eat. I will never remember what colors the sunset was composed of, what song was stuck in my head. All that I will have of this day is this piece of writing - this one thought. And even then, this will be erased eventually, and I will forget everything I wrote.

I will forget everything.
I recently uncovered a journal I kept during my senior year. A book of mind garbage to dump thoughts in, instead of doing homework. Thought I'd share.
Aniseed Jun 2015
I lie with eyes
Stinging with a lack of
Sleep, open with a
Burning gaze boring a hole
In my ceiling.

I had woken from a dream
Of a man with the skin tone
Of my morning coffee, and
A stare that stripped
My body from my
Quivering soul.


Moments of slipping
Out of class to take
A peek at the dense
Fog rolling in.
Hovering above
The skin of our
Heads like a smoky
Halo of water

The thick, grey air
Has probably never
Seen such a
Beautifully dead


With rooms shrounded in
Undertones of dull grey, what
Can I do but conceal my
Own color so that the walls
Don't steal it away?

I wish that this
Tension underneath
My skin could just
Seep out of my
Pores and alleviate
My soul from its
Unbearable pressure.
Let it trickle
Down and evaporate
Into the warm,
Sunny air.
Another installment of poetry/prose from my senior journal.
Aniseed Jun 2015
Somedays, I'm not
Sure why I come.
Strings of my feeble
Heart coming undone.
Frayed ends throbbing
Like the nicotine craving
In my head.

The sober call of
Loneliness from my
Drunken soul.
I speak to this here
Ukulele to feel a
Bit more whole.

But in the end, it's
Just an object that
Can't think or speak
Or feel,
And I wonder if
Anything I believe
In is real.

Some days, I'm not sure
Why I stay.
Something tells me I can't
Express myself, anyway.

Not in the way I
Want you to understand,

Sitting in these crowded places,
I'm a face in a sea of faces.

A face in a sea of faces.
Not my senior journal, but one after. Technically, this was supposed to be a song. Supposed to be.
Aniseed Jun 2015
Just a wind that blows
On a fair summer's day.
No rhyme or reason
To my lovely, restless way.

Gentle sky filled with blue
Got my head stuck in a cloud.
But when the sky loses her light
And the dusk turns into night
Is when I'll finally speak

And I'll wonder,
"When will it be
'Til the silence
Finally sets me free?"
And I'll wonder,
"When will it end -
The bittersweet memories
That only time can mend?"

'Cause time passed
Me by, instead.
Like the birds flying
Over my head.

Another day passed by.
Man, the air's sure getting warm,
So I'll wait by my window
For the oncoming storm.

That's when the clouds roll in -
A dusky grey that calms my soul.
And when the rain stars coming down
From the sky's cumulus crown
Is when I'll finally feel whole.
Technically, this was a song. And look, it rhymes. It rhymes!
Aniseed Jun 2015
This Colorado song
Means nothing without
You here.
I'd give back
Every mountain
Just to hold you near.

I may be silly
And my head may be
In the clouds,
But I feel I'm
Lost in a crowd
Without you around.

This Colorado sky
Seems pointless
Without your song,
And smiling at
Every sunrise
Suddenly feels so wrong.

But I'm sure I'll forget you;
You'll be a memory
From long ago.
Like the time I spent
On a train
Breezing through Colorado.
The Colorado song

I was sweet on someone, once. He once told me to write a song about Colorado. I wrote this, instead.
Aniseed Sep 2017
And on these strings, I write a symphony of Eskimos,
Of love
Of regret,
Of sisters,
Of mothers,
Of happiness,
Of the unknown.
I write a ballad of rhymes, almost-rhymes
And nonsensical *******.
I spill a little of my soul
Drop by drop
Into a song that no one will fully understand.
Not even I understand these things.

But they just seep out of me like sweat from a pore.
Circa 2012
Aniseed Nov 2017
You didn't know I saw you
Watching my train rumble away

A perfect stranger
Arms draped through the barred gate
When everyone behind you
Heaved lumber in indifference

I saw you curious
And I wonder if it lingered
When we disappeared

You see, every time an
Opportunity leaves me,
It leaves me violently
Like a bullet
And it scars,

Then I'm left with purple prose,
And bitterness over what
Might have been
Prepping for a move and stumbled across one of my newer old journals (Is that an oxymoron?)
Aniseed Jun 2015
The food had no flavor to it.
There must've been a spice somewhere
But all it did was sting her tongue.

There's noise, talking and television
And dog snores that she can't tune out
Even if it all blends together

There's static in her brain,
On her palate,
In her ears.

And all the while she's screaming
While sitting silent in her chair.
Screaming in third person.
Screaming pretty words
Like a diary entry,
Saying, "O me, O my!
Look at these woes!"

Scorning those who build crosses to bear
When she's in the assembly line.
Hypocritical martyrdom.
Closet elitist.

Walking contradiction in every way.
This was private once. Then I figured, "Why not?"

I should start thinking about happier things. It'd probably be healthier for me.
Aniseed Feb 2015
Is quite
Certain to
Find that each one
Adds up so
Gosh ****

Has rained
For a week.
I cannot take
Another moment
Of this rain just
All my
Aniseed Feb 2015
Waking up to hazy mornings.
To the bitter cold days of
Early Spring.

I've never seen such a beautiful sunrise.

Nine o' clock cigarettes during
The morning rush.
Saturday morning cigarettes
That muddle my head.
The chilly air mimics the smoke
Spewing from my lips,
Toxins sticking to my lungs
Like glue.

It's another day in Paradise.

The dishes in the sink
Pile up in mountains.
Like the skyscraper laundry stack
Overflowing in the hamper.

Just another day in Paradise.

The street lamps glisten as strings of pearls
Their light reflecting off the silver glare of traffic barrels.

The flowers have not arrived.
The flowers have not bloomed,
And the anxiety is killing me.
Killing me like the coffee craving
Pounding in my head.
The flowers are missing,
Hiding from the stinging cold
Of early Spring.

I've never seen such beautifully dismal skies.

In the mild conversations about the weather,
I tell them that it's never been better.
In a way, it's never been.

I walk down the battleground of sidewalk
And tree roots, the slabs of concrete
cracked and marred by Mother Nature's
Broken etchings of hopscotch
Blur on the gritty surface, besides
The rose bush peeking out through the

They'll never fix these.

Because it's another day in Paradise.
Aniseed Mar 2016
I've always thought I loved storms;
Where the rain beats against my window,
Wind wailing, thunder rumbling,
Lightning painting streaks
Across the sky.
There's nothing like standing underneath
The angry clouds
And letting the cold rain
Wash all of your sins away.

I've always thought I was in love
With the sky;
The way it surprises me every day
In its spectrum of
Resplendent colors and soft greys.
Personified in my adoration
As maybe God himself,
If God even exists.
To this day, I'm not so sure,
But I know the sky and that's

But as I wonder about these things,
These forces of nature,
I wonder about the circumstances
Surrounding my experiences with them.
I remember that, in the midst of storms,
I always have a home to run into
And a towel waiting for me to dry me off.
I remember that while the sky is
Ever changing,
It always remains there.

So maybe what I've always loved,
What I've always longed for,
Is comfort.

Is... stability.
For lack of a better title.
Aniseed Oct 2015
Three little plastic tubes
Lined along the kitchen counter,
Orange and glaring
Against the floral paper
On the wall.

Since when did you need three?

You open your pill bottles
When everyone's left the room
So not to remind them
Of your mortality.

Your daughter leaves the room
Because she knows
And she can't handle seeing you
As anything but

The guilt gnaws.
The fear builds.
The air's getting thinner
As the thoughts grind
In your head.

Get it over with
And get on with the day.
Or maybe I assume too much. I'm sorry and I love you and you'll never see this.
Aniseed Aug 2018
It's a dance I've forgotten the steps to
An equation, a misplaced formula
A melody with lost lyrics

Forgiving myself is as easy
As putting my hand on a hot skillet

Loving myself might as well be
Rocket science


Bitter are the memories
That marr my skin
In unwanted scars
And paint my prose
In purple flowers

Give me an IV
Of rain-soaked November nights
Or dry heat against my skin
And fresh earth between my toes
Or the feeling of a hand
On my shoulder
Maybe I need to talk to someone.
Aniseed May 2015
Chisel silver into your tongue
And let words babble from it
Like a stream

Weave them into tendrils
And let them pull you gently
Into a dream

Silly girl, your loneliness
Knows no bounds in its

You snip the threads and
Let them drift away

And away

And away

Ghost of a memory
And that's all you aim to be
Aniseed Jun 2015
I must never lose sight of myself
Lest my heart churns thoughts
Into poison
And everyone into a villain.
Sometimes you see yourself much differently than how other people see you.
Aniseed Jun 2017
When I am old
And crows feet tickle the corners of my eyes
And silver parts the waters of my hair

When my knees crack like thunder
And my ankles somehow know it's going to rain

When my mind starts to slip
Like a camera out of focus
Or maybe like the water damaged photographs
In the attic

When I am ancient and beautiful
In the sunset years of my existence,
I hope to have achieved a life
Where I didn't fear walking through a war
For some semblance of peace.
Aniseed Feb 2015
In these days of routine chaos
And the stench of gritty gasoline;
These days of gross consumerism
And bland conversations
About the weather,
I am wracked with a sickness.

In the hours of the day
That fleet past like minutes;
In the minutes of the day
That drag on like hours,
I am spun dizzy by
The skull's own thickness.

The everyday dreams of
The common man that are
lost along with yesterday's
The sleepless nights of
The mothers of children who
Work as unfinished puzzles;
The puddles of melted slush piles
Spaced like land mines
Across the crackled sidewalk
Are things that I,
I am haunted by in moments
Aniseed Mar 2020
There are still nights
Where the frequency in my head
Pierces the silence,
And every face I thumb through
Looks like yours.

Your ghost breathes heavy
In this house
And you still manage to
Be the center of every conversation.

Part of me hated that about you.

There's something inside that says
Remembering the fire and the snow
Is both betrayal and therapy;
You were not,
In any sense of the word,
But the blood dried on your face
Once ran in your veins
And your heart beat with
How fiercely you fought
Against the world.

In retrospect, you were my
Biggest muse.

Part of me loved that about you.
Quite a bit of my writing had been - and still is, I guess - inspired by my late sister. It's been one year, three weeks, and six days.
Aniseed Mar 2015
Time ticks on and I'm standing still.

Motions of normality circle around
And I'm standing still.
There's a set of stairs right here.
An elevator.
An escalator.

There's a hole right behind me.
There's a rickety slide and a ladder climbing down.

And all the while everything circles
Round and round and round and round.

But I'm only standing still.
Aniseed Aug 2018
These words are fingerprints;
A momento of the fleeting seconds
Where I overflow with emotion
Like a glass under a faucet.

True, these portraits are usually
A collection of broken mirrors,
But let me write when I am howling
At the moon in my car
As the man on the radio makes love
To his microphone
And the glow of streetlights light
The path home.
Let me write when the floors are clean,
Lemon cleaner and sunlight pouring in,
And I'm trimming the ends of flower stalks
For a vase that paints these walls of mine "home".

I am not entirely fragmented.
My ankles may weaken
And my spine my stiffen
And static might overwrite my thoughts
When the sun retires,
But against everything, I stand.

I stand.
A moment of clarity.
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