how can a month paint my eyes
and turn my tears into a fountain of numb feeling?
yet i can still see this world
through the
layers
you spread with your fingers.
i can't find myself
in these april
showers.
it shows, oh it shows

Golden honeyed petals in a riverbank of lavender,
dreading the moment the daffodils no longer dance
swept off their feet, prisoners to a purple world
this is how flowers die

It is without snow, the roses do not become brides,
Without oceans, the frogs do not feel endless,
It is without clouds, the sun does not feel loved
Without birds, the bears forget nature's music.

It is without you, I feel alone.
It is with you, I love.

Forget-me-not,
spells the flowers in your eyes.

Do not be afraid. Do not worry.
I will Forget-you-never.

The morning will come soon,
do you hear the gossip of the stars?
They say the sun is angry,
the moon stole another,
and he weeps for his lover.
Morning will come soon,
I stay with the moon
but I wish you the best of luck.

The moon told me stories,
and I left to find them.

I won't come back.
Moonlight has brought me far
and I've lost too much to turn around.

Yet, even the moon says I'm not
good enough to find its treasured stories.

Not earth not sky saw me
the way I dreamed they would.

the way I dreamed I could be seen.
O what a dream.
And it was but that. A dream.

My life is worthless,
I don't have a single petal
to add to this garden
of darling scarlet roses.
I have nothing to give,
everything is dying
in my grasp
and soon my soul will be fleeing
my life to wither away
and never come back.

You'll be okay.
Lay down, tuck yourself in my waves.
Close your eyes, my budding flower, let yourself dream.
Your colours will paint the coral reefs,
Your breathing will rock the fish
back and forth in this blanket,
nestling next to you.
You'll be okay.

Smile for me, he said.
And I smiled.
He loved the lie...
Sometimes, I'd think to that moment,
after he left,
...and I'd love the lie too.

I never thought dreamers could fly,
Seeping through winds, kissing the sky.
Dressing their bodies with tulles of white silk,
Impersonating clouds in their suits of bone milk.

I never thought dreamers could fly.
I always believed they were a part of the sky.
Not seeping through, but one with the wind,
A cosmos in their smiles, stars breeding in their mind.

If beauty is pain why must pain be beautiful?
Are we to sin for our hairless upper lips?
Cloud the skies for our favorite lipstick?
Carve meaningless words into our hearts for our perfectly trimmed eyebrows?
You say you'll be alright in your mask. You say: "beauty makes me happy."
But still I wonder, how much pain have you suffered?
I face myself in the mirror, a battle in my eyes.
I am not beautiful and I still feel pain.
Beauty is pain, pain is everything.

If I lived to be a hundred,
Would my existence be already dead?
For living a year
Is but to exist for a hundred.

Unable to hear, I lay lifeless in my bed,
Poetry had distinguished like a flame in my head.
I tried to sing myself a lullaby to keep me company,
Yet the verses and notes dropped my hand and tried to flee.

I couldn't hear their music anymore,
I was trapped in an unlocked door.
The handle was free, awaiting my plea,
A victim whose escape was but a tortured sea.

Swimming in water, I couldn't see the bottom.
The depths were hard to picture, their ground lonesome.
I couldn't even imagine the silly creatures or rainbow snakes,
Unable to see anything, I lived in a soundless lake.

Unable to hear, I lay lifeless in my bed,
Imagination nothing but a loose thread.
I found myself crying in my pillow
Hitting a writer's block, bricks hiding my meadow.

Flowers were blooming in a beautiful garden,
Sea creatures dancing in their underwater garden.
I was in my room, tears dripping down my cheeks,
For an imagination I tried so hard to keep.

I am soundless in a busy world,
Echoless in rolling mountains,
I am hitched at the throat by the point of a sword,
I am no longer a poet.

I see my room,
Not a castle.
I see the sidewalks,
Not yellow brick roads.

I see the world,
Not the dream.

Soundless.
It came for me.

ruby slippers drag me home,
tin men clasping my hands.
they wish me goodbye,
pressing their lips on my skin.

glittering eyes cross into mine,
metal smiles sprout on their mouths.
they offer me flowers, petals of red.
a bouquet of my greatest desire.

returning home sparks a flame in me,
burning the metal flesh of the tin men's lips.
goodbye, I whisper into the wind,
merrily waving to my most devoted sin.

desir and darkness collide into one,
my ruby slippers exchanging touches.
the winter wind draws me away,
back to the place I was born to stay.

thank you, sweet fantasy,
sweet lovers of metal hearts.
thank you, flower poets,
serenading me in a homely perfume.

on the emerald arms of grass,
my body lays to rest, tilted up to the sky.
a rainbow waves me goodbye,
fastening its multicolored smile.

home is where I must be,
away from this supreme fantasy.
nothing more to say,
thankful for the magical dreams.

I see the tears falling down your face,
The feathers of your smile rustling like leaves,
Your lips tremble like suffocating lace,
I want to hold you till morning eve

Your death is coming,
I watch it from the lighthouse.
Time is falling like blood down your scalp,
Streaming till your heart stops, a crimson spouse.

I am a makeup artist,
Hiding tears behind my masterpiece.

I can draw you smiles,
Paint you laughter,
Doodle you little dimples,
Glue glitter to your eyes.

I am a makeup artist,
don't be afraid.

I do it to myself all the time.

I don't understand. Was I born to be a mirror?
To let the world see themselves through the shards of my broken heart?
To break into smaller and smaller pieces, cutting into the fingers of anyone who tries to help.
I am mirror, hurting and hurting in a endless pool of sharp edges.

I tried to keep my head high,
Looking at the clouds and shaping them into dreams.
One was a smile, the other was love.
Yet they left me to join the sun.

I was only there to reflect its rays,
I am only here to reflect smiles and love in monotone eyes of glass.
Vanity can't light up the dark without destroying the light in someone else.
Take away my light, will you? Just drown me in your continuum of black holes.

There are four babies born every second.
Two leave. Two live.
One of them is a mirror to reflect the other.
The other shines in full glory around a sea of blue.

I was born a ******* mirror.
A piece of junk thrown at the end of a driveway when it broke.
I am a mirror sitting at the end of the curb,
awaiting for the muffled roars of a garbage truck.

I am a broken mess that weeps
in the blood of your polished red pumps.
in the rust of your pre-made punk earrings.
in the tears of your pearl necklaces.

Oh mister, oh miss,
Can you see yourself in me?
Please, don't throw me away.
I'm broken, I know, but I can fix myself.

Please mister.
Please miss.
Don't leave me. Make me feel special.
Make me feel me.

Mister?
Miss?
Didn't you hear that?

No. Please. Don't throw me away.
Give me a chance.
My shards could serve for something.
Anything. Please.

Please.

I know I'm a mirror.
But I bleed too.

a blizzard of emotions,
twisting and turning,
pulled around a roundabout,
driving into love.

you seek to change gears,
your hands tempting to steer the wheel.
the tornado of your eyes
claiming the byronic charge of your heart.

you can't press the break,
love had cut it years ago
when you had stepped into the vehicle,
spun in a cold blizzard of time.

I rub my thumb against your palm,
The lines of your veins; my maps to the glittering armor of your skin.
Your hair tickles the bareness of my neck as you trail kisses on my honeydew paper maché,
Creating your fruit bowl with the painter touch soaring in your finger tips.

I find myself on you, seeking the location of your treasure,
Sweet old passion pouncing in my bag of bones.
You create yourself in me, coloring in my freckles with the ball point of your lips.
Gentle unfurling art blossoming in your eyes.

We are bones melting into our touches,
Harmonizing in our penmanship.
We are lovers leaping through the garden,
Finding flowers to call ours.

Today's reality is not the reality of tomorrow.
Who's to say we are going to wake up in the morning
Feeling the dew on our foreheads and the sweat in the crevices of our limbs?
Who's to say we'll feel our eyelashes flutter against our skin and our tongue against our lips?

The world is a constellation of lasts.
We never leave without closing the book, scrawling little notes in the margins.
Who's to say we'll wake up tomorrow?
Who's to say our lasts have not already been written?

She drove her spirits into the lake, the water dripping up her arms and wrapping her in a cocoon of silk made from the fine hands of the waves. The refine sown fabric blurred her vision, tainting her body in blue feathers. As she closed her eyes, she gave into the lake. It took hold of her skin like a bare canvas and moulded the girl into its desired wish. She felt herself falling only to realize she was becoming shorter, her hands unable to move from her body and her legs trapped in the silk waters. Soon the cocoon fell apart and her vision cleared, the girl's beautiful figure now the one of a swan. The feathers wrapped her like a hug, and she felt the freedom her other skin could not. It was with white wings and opal eyes that she finally found herself. Not the blue things on both sides of her nose and the brown curls covering her head in a cascade of judgement.

I'll have this dance with you.
Take me into another world,
Let me count the beat of our hearts
as our chests lay against each other.

Place your hands on my skin,
I'll wrap my arms around your neck.
Let us graze another world,
Love me in your alien heart.

There was a paper star he'd crafted from his birth certificate,
A golden tip where the half moon of the badge remained.
He glued the star on the ceiling of his bedroom,
Watching it glint and darken as he lay in linen blankets.

His wife ignored his strange art,
Unable to fix what had already been cut.
She laid beside him at night,
Watching the dark spot where the star was hidden.

"You see there," he pointed to the ceiling, waking up his wife with a nudge.
"Mhmm," she mumbled, rubbing at her eyes and staring upwards.
"I was born to do great things," he said, drawing the star in the air with his finger.
He retracted his hand and laced it with hers. He said: "in the dark, you see nothing. I am no longer there." His wife barely whimpered from fatigue, listening to his absurd lover.
"I don't shine when you're here because my star shines in you."

His wife shook her head, her mass of hair rippling on the ocean of her pillow.
"What about during the day?" she asked, squeezing his hand with hers like a heart pulse.
He chuckled, rolling over to face his beautiful wife. "Darling, you don't see me during the day," he tucked a piece of her hair behind her ear. "How could you tell if I shine then too?"

She watched his face blazed with curiosity, his lips parted the way he always did when she spoke. It was like he needed her air to breathe, which is in fact true. "Because," she started, a lazy half sleepy smile spreading on her mouth, "my star shines in you."

I'm the bluest of leaves and greenest of oceans,
the softest of bark and roughest of roses.
I might have the whole universe wrong but if I lie and say I love you;
I'd be twice as right as I am now.

I must spill myself on the road,
There's no such thing as a canvas for me.
No fresh blank board with a blizzard surface
Only tears and dirt stained ridges.

I don't have acrylic paint,
Yellows so bright it awakens the night
Reds so passionate it brings forth lovers.
The paint on the road is but dried up in corners.

There's no painter behind the painted.
No one watching its old and rusted creation.
I'm an art period with no semi-colon.
Rococo, classicism, baroque... they're not me.

People remember the names of long ago,
With curves of dead nature and spirals of pleasure.
Everyone recalls the beautiful old centuries,
Never someone will recall the painting of me.

I am no ship reck in the bottom of the sea,
There are no historians curious for me.
No lost treasure hides beneath the blue tapestry,
Where beauty had lied for centuries.

I am that road you overlook,
Driving on the one-way lane without thought.
There are rats and garbage and broken sidewalks.
I am the painting painted with regret.

I must spill myself on the road,
There's no such thing as a canvas for me.
I'm another crack in the timeline,
Lost in the hypocrisy of centuries.

Pain is a braid in a little girl's hair, tied back with the elastic of memory.
As long as we keep remembering, we'll keep suffering in our own personal black hole.

When nightfall paints the bedroom windows' black, mom removes the red band.
Removing the memory, we begin to remove the pain.

The little girl lies on her bed, her hair a puddle of hazel on the pillow.
No longer a braid, now waves of her hair.
Pain starts fading away but no matter how long it's been,
there's still some suffering wanting to stay.

Blindfold me with your words;
thick like paint they cover my eyes with lies.

Why must I be oblivious if I cannot see?

I still have my ears,
my touch,
my sense of smell,
my sense of taste.
I don't need my eyes to find the light.

The truth can be found without a steady gaze.
There are so many ways your ignorance will never figure out.

Let me show you when I give you my goodbyes,
untying the knot with my own two hands.

If I was trying to be funny, I wouldn't be funny at all.
If I was trying to be romantic, I wouldn't be romantic at all.
If I was trying to be someone, I wouldn't be someone at all.

Stop using the word 'trying'
And start believing in your aspired dreams.
Be funny.
Be romantic.
Be someone.

Don't just 'try'...

Become.

What hurts the most
is believing you can't write
So you let the demon, like the final wave
crash upon you and win the fight.

You love passion but you've forgotten its meaning,
searching for the bold letters in the dictionary like puzzle pieces.
You love something that doesn't follow the final print
So you let the ink tear away your paper mâché.

Stop feeling like one word can't mean another.

Love can mean cherished can mean adored can mean perceived.

We are lost in our meanings.

Every **** one of us.

Whether you like it or not, we are all lost.

Don't you realize it?

Wake up!

We are lost dolls scurrying in an open field trying to find the reality different from the one uniting us right now.

Look around. We are right there. You are here too. Beside us. That's you.

If you're alone, then the definition must mean we all are too. Alone together.

Unitedly lonely.

I walk around an empty room.
I scream at the empty walls: "I'm sorry for throwing away the pictures!"
I yell out at the locked door: "I'm sorry for slamming you too many times!"
I watch the ceiling with keen eyes.
The white plaster makes me think of my family.
I say: "I'm sorry for leaving you. I'm sorry for walking out. I'm sorry for spending after school hours by the bench outside the bar. I'm sorry for sleeping in other beds. I'm sorry for taking love for granted. I'm-" I see no more. I must be leaving. At least I apologized.

I apologized to the empty walls, the empty door and my empty family on the empty ceiling but no one heard it but me.
I screamed into nothingness, seeking forgiveness but there was no one there to forgive me.  
I was alone.

I gave a flame to the leaves,
and watched it caress the branch.
It burned through the hard green candy,
and fed its addiction with the peeling bark.

I couldn't understand how something could look so enticing,
yet use its power to mute the most grounded of screams.
Nature was a ****** and a murderer.
It replenished and destroyed.

The flame vanquished the poor shrub,
Eating away the hope of ever growing, and I realized;
We lived by nature, we lived for nature.
We are nature and nature is us.

We destroy ourselves with our combustible flames,
melting our bodies like wax candles in a wooden cabin.

Love is not a feeling. It is a universe in itself
With stars the colours of our smiles and meteors the textures of our embraces.
Stop telling me I cannot love you endlessly if we are to die in a thousand years.
Our hearts may stop beating but our love shall not.

My words roll out of my tongue; big bangs creating galaxies and galaxies of everlasting life.
I can love you forever.

Beyond my life is the lives of the universes we've created together.

All because of our hearts.

All because I love you too much to leave this world without giving you millions of stars and galaxies like roses in a bouquet.

All because I love you.

I can love you forever.

Why must we remove the darkness?
Why must we replace it with light?

Light does not have to hide the dark.
They can live side by side, glistening in their ethereal mine like dusty jewels.

Why must we remove something that could easily be the most harmonious benevolent colour in the world?

I saw you walk away from me, your eyes like burnt pastries
Tasteless was your gaze and tainted was your smirk.
I saw the last of your silk locks, saving themselves from my satin ruffles.
Useless was the lingerie I'd run my fingers through when you'd lean closer.
You told me my smile was the sun, yet you left in your spacecraft
Flirting with the stars, you left my glowing figure in a mist veil of polluted smoke.
You said I would drown in each lingering kisses, deep in a sea promised to never dry up.
You held me down with your addicting anchor; tempting was your touch and hopeful was your blush.

I saw you walk away,
Tasteless;
Tainted;
Useless;
Refugee;
Polluted;
Suffocating;
Add­icting;
Hopeful.

I love you.

I have demons,

The demons have me.

I don't know anymore.
They don't know either.

I have demons have me.

You were the canvas where my paint resided,
when you left, my masterpiece died.

The girl was a novel awaiting to be read,
Sitting on a oak shelf with endless colors in her hair.
She wore her scars hidden behind her parchment clothes,
Dreaming about a chapter that had yet to be exposed.

She spent her days between the pages,
Falling behind in the world's story.
She had read herself so many times,
that she had forgotten to read the world once.

The girl was a novel awaiting to be read,
by someone rather than herself.
She had been consumed in her own pages,
lost in a sea unfathomably alone.

The girl never once turned to look beside her;
at the row of books left untouched on the same shelf.
They had always been there in their rainbow sea of colors;
their binders tattered and titles exposed.

She believed herself to be a book,
never a reader.

The oak shelf did nothing but
support her.

The girl was a novel awaiting to be read.
The girl was a novel awaiting to be favored.

He was a masterpiece,
A dancer.

His movements created mists around me,
Enveloping me in a canvas of euphory.
I didn't need a ring upon my finger
For he gave me a veil with his dance.

He danced across broken ridges,
Jumped across broken bridges,
Lived asleep in his dreams
And dreamt awake of his life.

He was a masterpiece,
A dancer.

He didn't have legs,
But he didn't need them.

For he gave me everything with his dance.

We were the music, and no one heard it but us.

The drums were prancing in my chest, thumping in rapid fervour.
The violins carried the world on its shoulders,
The guitars brought him into the sky,
And the piano lifted me up to join him.

There was music in our hearts and music in ours bodies,
Spreading like a wave onto the shore,
His lips brushed against my skin, tasting like salt
I matched his beat with mine.

There was music in our hearts and music in our bodies,
Dancing around a hole of blue in a crisp nightingale's cry.
We sang with our crashing waves,
Yet, in the moment we embraced,

there was no music reaching our ears.

We were the music, and no one heard it but us.

It was dawn and it was beautiful,
Every shade of the sky drowning out your words,
Drowning out your pain.

It was dawn and it was beautiful,
You forgot the demons lurking
And woke up.

We lost the sun,
And we crawled through the caves.
Moons, empty globes
No falling snow, no silver glow

We lost the sun,
And the world fell apart
The star they never doubted
Shut away, now gone forever.