Cylia

Cylia Dec 2018

Untitled

I stand here thinking
crouching, non blinking
Up to the sky, my eyes they waver
Shades of blue and white, outside it's freezing.

Night sky, cold
Outside, I'm bold
Lights out, where
Night owl, scared.

I stand here thinking
crouching non blinking
One hand towards the stars
My mind is left chasing.

Cylia Oct 2018

I Know This Isn’t a Trick

Why does my heart feel so out of place?
Like the walls closing in, no room for space.
Not able to breathe, my hands on my face.
So wide awake, I can't even blink.
But is this a dream? I can't even think.
It's so cold, but where am I though?
Lost in a crate, nowhere to escape.

I know this isn't a trick.

My mind is corrupted, the pictures are blank.
Tainted, stained, I think I've been framed.
Nowhere left to go, I guess I'll just go with the flow.
Looking out below, while my life goes slow.
There's no door nor there are floors.
No back way nor front.
Looks like the walls have been torn.

I know this isn't a trick.

My life is like a roller coaster.
Plastered onto a poster.
Please, don't come any closer.
Cause this poem is far from over.
I don't believe in my mind.
All the words, they seem to want to bend.
All the numbers I find, always wants to stop at ten.

I know this isn't a trick.
So why not just end it real quick?
You think you are really slick?
My life not a movie screen.
There's nothing here that you haven't seen.
It may seem like a mess.
But mostly everything is clean.

Cylia Oct 2018

Why #2

I just want to get some air.
I just want to be in a different atmosphere.
I just want to clear my head and be less vulnerable than be critical.
I just want to let loose.
I want to be the one that you choose.
I want to be the girl that you don’t want to close the door to.
But you’re never going to change and that’s fine.
But that only tells me you’re too immature and blind.
You just wanted to flirt.
You never wanted me.
You just want to be the center of attention.
And then you say sorry?
Sorry for what?
You didn’t say a word.
All it was was silence.
Black coal.
Filling my soul.
What’s the point in being vulnerable.
What’s the point in sharing feelings.
What’s the point of even sharing my life stories with you if your just going to mistreat it?
I get it, you’re selfish.
You don’t have to explain it.
But tell me this one thing.
Why were you interested in me in the first place?
My heart has been broken so many times, I can’t keep count.
And you’re telling me to be vulnerable, but what’s the point in that?
I’ve been shed lies over and over again.
I’ve been myself, what else do you want from me?
I just want to be free.
I just want to be alone.
I just want to find my own that I could call home.

Cylia Oct 2018

Crazy

They sweet talk me, says lovely words...
But when will they’re words slowly become actions?
Texting behind closed doors isn’t what I want...
Closeness is what I desire,
but whenever I come close, you always run the opposite directions.
Leaving me on a high,
not wanting me to come down...
Why are you hiding from me?
Will you just come around?
Come on babe, I won’t hurt you.
Let’s take a trip to the circus and maybe say hi to the clowns.
Oh, ***, did I say something wrong?
Do you need a hug?
Do you want some protection?
I’ll give you all of me, if you promise me this one.
Don’t ever lie about your feeling or else I’ll cut you off.

First off this doesn’t relate to the poem but, who ever came up with the pretty ugly poem...genius! I love you! That is all. And secondly, I might have gone a little insane with this poem because of October...alright lol.

Cylia Oct 2018

Untitled

I stand alone,
thinking
Next to a wall,
that’s already about to just fall
And I’ll imagine myself,
flying
Out in the sky,
Beneath the moon,
out at night
And I’ll hear the wind,
saying
Everything is going to be,
alright.

Cylia Oct 2018

Do you ever just Feel?

Do you ever just feel like you wanna be alone?
With a ***** up mind that wants to explode?
That makes your body quiver at the sound of a loud bell,
Ringing in your ear waiting for life to recoil?
No? Well, I feel like that sometimes.

Cylia Oct 2018

Is It?

The face that I wear, is it real?
The smile that I put, instead of fear,
When I laugh all alone, is it me?
Or
Is it pain that I feel really deep?
The pain that I feel, does it ache?
The life that I live, will it make her happy?
Or
Will it shrivel up and die at my feet?
Will the ice crack below underneath?
Can I stop overthinking over things?
The face that I wear, isn’t me.
Hidden behind mirrors
The face that I wear, is it real?