Paint to paper,
From a beating heart;
Bleeds like old acrylic
Dreams on the back
Of syncopated medium
As emotions
Pour uncontrollably
Because you never
Knew how to not
Feel so much.

They say,
"Good things
Come to those
That wait."

A Dream
Came True,
In a place
Hidden
From disgrace.

Is this
The end
Of
The escape?

Merely
Blinded
By walls?

Just as
The memory fades,
A sound calls
As if telepathic.

i hate all the things i have done so far
nothing feels right

in my stomach
a peach pit full of dread
a swift shock of fear
a perfectly placed punch
to the softness that sits at my core

listless -
am i lying to myself?
cowering in the corner
creature-like
with hands covering eyes

sorting -
separation of this feeling
from my true center
is taking energy
that i'm unsure i have

she never spoke

sat on the floor
and played

with silver stones
made them dance

in circles

sparkling under
the lights

her voice was
a melody

of soft sounds

she never needed
words

to make sense of
everything around her

and everyone around
her understood

People can be surprising
Even the ones you know best
For a boy I thought I knew pretty well
Turned out to partake in theft
I’ll admit I saw it coming
But I couldn’t stop it if I tried
You see, he stole my heart
And in turn I told a lie

just pick up
the pen
let it flow

just pick it up
and you will know

what needs
to be said
or rather read

someone
will read it
relate it
restate it

just grab
the pen
let it bleed

let it bleed
for you
for him
for her
for them
for us
let it bleed
altar wine
savior's blood
permanent ink