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Ciel Dec 2016
Whisper in my ear
                     -sweet velvety verbatim.
Caress my thoughts
                    -rose-petal fingertips.
Comfort me.
Ciel Dec 2015
A raindrop plops onto your lashes
and you blink it away,
it slides down your face
like the tears you should be shedding.
The sky is crying for you,
you have no tears of your own.
Why do I keep writing poems about rain?
Ciel Feb 2016
I keep falling
In and out
Of sadness.
Will the cycle
Never
End?
Will I constantly
Have to deal
With these
Emotions?
With these little
Whispers
That won’t let
Me think clearly?
These whispers that
Won’t let me sleep?
These whispers
That make
Me want to
Stay in bed
until the time
for bed
comes around
again?
These heavy
Thoughts
Keep me pushed
Against the mattress,
Sagging,
Like the teddy bear
Staring at me
From the ground
Near my bed,
Where I’d thrown it once
But I felt so weak
That the bear didn’t go very
Far.
It sits there
Staring at me
With it’s blank eyes
That I’d coloured in
With a black
Sharpie
Childhoods ago
When their colour started to
Fade.
Now their darkness
Pulls me in
And drags me into
Another cycle of
Depression.
I’m trapped again
In this colourless void
Where I float in the
Centre
Of my mind
Feeling nothing
Seeing nothing
Being nothing.
Ciel Nov 2015
Searing pain,
Flaring,
Pins and needles.
Pinch
Gone
Pinch
Gone
Pinch
Never ending cycle
Of stitching,
Like horrid embroidery
Embedded in my skin
That will forever be
Tattooed
Against my bones
Ciel Mar 2016
I envy you,
You, who has their future
all planned out
between the pages of the calendar
that’s been hanging on your wall
since December 31st,
changing every year with no delay
because you already know
all the important dates.

I envy you,
You, who has a dream,
the same dream you’ve had
since childhood
that’s changed or been tweaked
maybe once or twice
but that always becomes clearer.

I envy you,
You, who understands yourself
and who knows who ‘you’ are,
who understands your passions
and who knows what you want.

I envy you,
You, who knows what happiness is like,
and who has felt true sadness and despair
only a handful of times,
but who knows how to deal with it
and knows why it comes by.

I envy you,
While I sit here surrounded
by my sadness,
getting a glimpse of joy
maybe once over the weekend
and another if I wake up for sunrise.

While I sit here not knowing
who ‘I’ am
or what I love
or the emotions I feel.

While I sit here
without a dream in mind,
without a goal that I can run toward
Only sitting in a dark empty field
with no calendar in sight
because thinking about the days
that pass makes me feel empty inside.

So instead I sit here
on this bus full of people
that feels so empty and bleak.
While the fog from outside
clings to the windows
and blurs the thoughts in my mind,
thinking about ‘you’
and my envy
so green and so vast
it could be mistaken
for a meadow filled with grass.

I think about how I would
trade my life for yours.
But my mind disapproves
because then I would be
even less like the ‘me’
than I believe myself to be.

I know who I am because of
the emptiness I have
and for now it’s enough
and that’s all I need.

So instead I will sit here
and think of the many reasons why
I envy you.
It's been a while since I've posted.
Some parts of this poem I find a bit odd, constructive criticism is welcome.
Ciel Apr 2016
Fingers through grass,
Green.
Stained against flesh,
Guilty.
The water will never
wash away your crimes.
Rip it from the earth,
dirt against skin,
Brown,
Mud,
Crusting.
The water will never
wash away the sin,
Forever marked
against your
Pale
Plaster
Skin.
It's been a while since I've posted anything.
Ciel Oct 2015
Sometimes the world hands you moments.
Quiet moments,
Like lonely late night bus rides,
Where everyone is drooping in their seats
After long days at work.
Like hospital waiting rooms,
Where people are too tense,
Mouths clenched shut,
Only opening their mouths to whisper
Words of prayer.
Like early Sunday mornings,
When family is sleeping in,
And you lie alone
With your thoughts
Your body still too heavy to get out of bed
Like trying to run through water.
These small moments,
These little gifts can be wonderful,
Until the loud silence
Leads your mind to dark places
Filled with the wild hushed voices
You've always tried so hard
to keep untouched and noiseless,
Like you do late buses
Or waiting rooms
Or being awake early Sunday mornings.
But your thoughts drift towards them
And reach through the gaps,
Pulling and tugging at the monsters
And creatures you've tried so hard
To stuff away in the little boxes
In the corners of your brain,
Piled with forgotten toys and old socks
All of them covered in a thick layer of dust.
They've clawed out too quickly
For you to stop the probing fingers,
And suddenly you're trying hard
To stop tears from flowing,
But it's like trying to stop water from flowing
Out the gaps between your fingers,
You have no choice but to wait
Until there's no more water left to flow,
Or the bus ride is over
Or the doctor calls you over
Or you can't wait anymore
And you just have to get up
And go somewhere where the voices can
No longer be heard.
Ciel Apr 2018
Darling,
you wear your sadness so well.
I wish it would rain every day so I could constantly witness
the way your cheeks glow with the tears falling from your eyes
or the thunder of your voice as you sob through the night.
I love the way your brain tosses
and turns
and rummages
inside your skull
picking at old threads and littered notes.

I just hate cleaning up after a rampaging storm.
It's snowing in April
Ciel Jan 2016
I bare such useless emotions:
Sadness,
Loneliness,
Annoyance,
Jealousy,
Boredom,
Empt­iness,
This terrible feeling that I’m feeling right now,
This feeling that wants to rip me apart,
This feeling that’s clawing at me,
Tearing me to pieces,
Pulling at my flesh,
Pulling at my skin,
Pulling at my bones,
Trying to break me .
My soul wants an escape from this
Terrible
Useless
Useless
Useless
Prison that holds it captive.
Ciel Oct 2015
Rain
t r i c k l e s
             d
o
    w
n
the gutters into the
small
p u d d l e
collecting
        below,
drip,
drip,
drip,
plop,
plop,
plop,


water       into the
falls        puddle,
splashing onto your
stationary
        sneakers.
can’t make yourself
M O V E
[out] of the r   i
      a  n.
because you can’t tell
the
difFerence b e t w e e n
the t
e
    a
r
    s
from the clouds
and the t
         e
    a
r
                    s
from your eyes.
it ruined the shape of my poem, and i can't seem to change it. Maybe I'll try fixing it again some other time.
Ciel Mar 2016
I need to find a place
Where I can scream so loud
My lungs will sting,
Where the darkness arises
And swallows me whole,
Where the wind will embrace me
And hide me away,
And comfort me,
And whisper words that no other could,
And let me fall asleep in its dark and calming hold.
not edited
Ciel Oct 2015
You know those moments
where you just feel so
worthless
for no reason.
Like out of the
blue
the entire world
comes crashing
d
o
w
n
even though you were
feeling perfectly fine
the minute before.

All of a sudden
someone calls you over
or asks for you
and you realize you're so
angry
and there's so much just
bubbling inside
and it comes out.

Except it's not what you expect.

All of a sudden
you find yourself feeling so
tired
and
weak
and all you want to do
is lay down and
dig yourself a hole.

All of a sudden
you want to be buried
but not die.

Every time you breathe,
you feel all of this
anguish
deep in the pit
of your stomach and
in the centre of your chest
and it makes you want to
claw your insides out.

But you don't want to die
because somewhere
deep
deep
inside your mind
you enjoy it.

You enjoy
this sadness
and this pain
and these tears
and all the hurt.
The hurt that makes you
want to disappear
and hide away
and run
and sleep
and fall
and curl up
all at once.

All of a sudden
you're so worthless
so meaningless
and you...
You're not even sure
how you feel
you're just angry
and annoyed
and sad
and everything.

It's so much,
and you can't even register
what's happening.

You just lie there
and enjoy the feeling
in the centre of your chest
and in the pit of your stomach.

You lie there
and do nothing.
Nothing
because that's all
you can do
and all you amount to.
Nothing.
I was having one of those days.
Ciel Oct 2015
I wanna throw the dinner plates to the floor,
hard so they crack,
pieces shatter and explode,
across the tiles of my flat.
They’ll embed themselves in the wall,
or in the couches, or in skin,
They’ll embed themselves in me,
So I feel the impact, the sting.
The pain would register, I would scream
until I have no voice left to be released.
I would smash down all the others,
and won’t be satisfied until porcelain covers my skin,
glass blankets the floors,
and all the cupboards are empty.
My brain will feel so blank
that I won’t know what else to do but
slowly clean the mess I’ve made.

I've edited this one
Ciel Jan 2016
Do you ever wish

The bus ride would never
end,

So you could continue 

To stare blankly 

At the boring

Bland

Scenery passing by

On the other side

Of the horrid
scratched up

window

And not have to deal

With all the ******

Depressing

Empty

Thoughts 
in your mind

That contemplate 

Everything 
and
Nothing

All
at
once
?

Because,

Right now
,
I certainly don’t
want this
 boring 

Quiet bus ride
to end.

It’s much
better
than
the 

Noisy

Tedious 

Thoughts
that
keep

flitting
through
my brain.
Ciel Feb 2016
Zombie
Zombie,
Walking through life
Blindly,
Aimlessly,
Empty
Empty,
Feeling nothing at all,
Mind thoughtless,
Blank,
Like the chalkboards
Rendered useless
By the projector
And the small screen
In your hand.
Don't bother me,
Don't say a word.
It goes in one ear
And out the other.
The passage simplified
By an empty canal,
A boat waiting for your words
To be carried across,
To be left unprocessed.
Staring blankly out the windows
Whizzing,
Unmoving,
Landscape,
Portraits
Of youth outside
Laughing,
Foolish.
You come to me with
Arms wide open,
But
The only arms I want
To hold me are the
Outstretched arms of my warm
Welcoming bed
That will hold me forever
Like the dirt
Embracing the dead
In a coffin,
Like a zombie.
Ciel Jul 2016
The poison is in all of us:
Half-smoked cigarettes lay on the side of grainy gravel paths,
crinkly Dollarama bags and glass beer bottles.
We relax on trees
leaning
backs against the braille texture of bark
that tries to speak to us in a language we don’t understand.
We lean back and raise our faces
towards the sunlight dancing between
the leaves of the canopy,
listening to the tires
whizzing against concrete,
but think it similar to the smacking of waves against stones;
lean back and savour the syrupy smell of maple trees
against our tongues,
thinking to ourselves
how grateful we are for nature
as we sit in a paradise of tall trees
their branches intertwined in a space
smaller than bathroom stalls;
lean back and breathe in exhaust
and cigarette smoke masked
behind a layer of sweet antiperspirants
and coconut-scented shampoos
as the wind whips hair against your face.
We take peaceful naps against the undeciphered braille,
but the poison is in all of us
and one day this paradise will become
nothing.
A bed of dirt
blanketed by prickly store-bought
strips of grass.

— The End —