When the day comes that I am asked, "what would the cure to all of your troubles look like?.." I will reply, " he wore eyes of green and skin tanned like leather. With a cushion heart sealed tight inside his chest. He is like a first snow draping across the pines, or a scrape made in an old oak. He's a sign, not that winter is coming, or if velvet sheddings. No. He's more chivalrous, a new chapter. When that day comes I know he looks like everything I've ever lost come rushing back at me.
I will let tears fall onto your shirt like rain. How I pray that the salt stains your skin, and reminds you of all the places on you I have been. My dear, there is a sweltering passion burning on the bones that are my ribs. And there is smoke clinging to the walls of my lungs, and ash caked in my throat. Pounding, my heart feeds the fire. I feel with all of me that I am a sinner in this sea of melancholy saints, I will strive with every essence of me to do good. When this world is full of sin. I feel with all of me that I am not fully deserving of this love. But I will continue to strive with every essence of me to keep it. Even when it has been my luck to lose.
New love gave to a hurting heart.
When I choke on my thoughts and spit pride in the dirt. You've planned me to gain and have planned me to lose. This war I rage on Earth, within my mind... if I stand in Valor let old beams fall upon my face. In this life I walk, and scramble. I collect feathers to build my wings through humble deeds and curious sacrifices. However,my demons stalk behind me closely, lunging at the opportunity I present in my falter. Blistering iron pushing back and silent cries of agony provoke them. Hungry flames burn and embers grow and growl 'neath my construction of feathers. They dare to rise, they dare to devour at my mistake. In my strength however may my bushel threaten to smother that angry coal to ash. May my good prevail in this life so that I might rise in the next.
This is about the struggle faced in keeping faith and doing what is right despite the wrong.
Maybe if I was better for you. If I could bat my eyelashes and stare into your eyes decitfully I would have you tagging in my wake. Maybe if I gave false hope to fill up the void in your heart till you were overflowing, spilling at the seems. If I could crack that million dollar smile or pout my lips softly. I could keep your love. But my dear for you, I cannot flutter my lashes, for I have trouble in the seconds we don't share a gaze. False hope has never meant much in my reality, and I know oh so well that it will not fill a hole for long without spilling and seaping through the cracks. My love my smile is far from perfection but it bares my tongue, that is where my words are forged. And if I were to pout, tell me, would the innocence portrayed be real. If I am not enough for you then at least I have offered all that I know.
I wrote this feeling as though fake gets more attention than the real. And I wish to be longed for in being who I am. Real.
Your desire is elsewhere. For who am I to be longed for. Aches echo in my hollow chest. Blood cakes on the walls and my heart, frightened, wonders why it is all alone. Like a dog on a leash it lunges and hungers so desperately for what it wants. Yet, here we are alone. You do not want me, for I would know. You do not want me, for your eyes would show. Each breath I breathe chips paint from my shallow beating heart. I feel the flakes fall to the pit in my stomach. You could not like me for if you tried the dog may be let loose leaving you no where to hide
— The End —