The bland cover of a page
acts as the gauntly lit stage
for the crescent moons
caressing the milk-stained rose petals
to dance upon,
finding that prosperity lies
in what seems to be left unsaid,
yet, as the stage gets brighter,
the paper fuller,
and the calloused dancers faster,
The unsaid tends to get
lost in the light,
and stumbles
down upon the
pit of the silent orchestra.

When
Relaying
Into
Tries, crying
Into
Nights, just
Give up

I had a dream.
There was a dachshund
sitting in front of me,
not just a dachshund
but also my family.
Looking, laughing, celebrating
me.
That's never happened before,
you see.

I had a dream.
There was a man,
no, two. Maybe three,
they kept lizardly eyeing me.
I knew they wanted to hurt
me,
but not hurt

me
That has happened before,
you see.

I had a...

Dream?
There was a dachshund
sitting in front of me,
yet eagerly running away
from my family.
Running towards the men,
not two, but three,
running to show me,
these men,
they came for me,
yet the dachshund stays.
That protection has never happened before,
you see.

I had a dream.
The pale-scaled men,
racing for the dachshund at my speed.
Trembling hands,
my family still celebrates,
but the main event's running away,
I leap,
jump
fall
to save the dachshund
as the gun crawls
out of their hand,
bullet seeping away from the barrel.
I wish this had happened,
you see.
As the men disappeared,
dachshund in tow,
the silver hit me.

I felt it all rush through my
fingers,
from that preppy piano recital,
to my non-existent prom suit.
dogs now silenced
to pens finally capped.
Muted I-do's
to the stage lights finally dimmed.
and I could call this ocean
that swept through my
fingers,
nothing but relief.

Yet waking up,
I can find no better words for it
than a dream.

When she was blinded by the dark,
she never knew what
she was capable of
or what she could ever accomplish.
When she was blinded by the light,
she was ashamed of what
she could never do
and who she would never be.

When she was submerged
in the emptiness of silence,
she was alone within herself,
never knowing if anyone would find her
tucked in the corner of her mind.
When she was submerged
in the absence of silence,
she was alone within the world around her,
never knowing if the people that came
could ever rescue her.

When her voice was taken away,
all she could do was scream for help.
When she held onto her voice,
she could never get the word “help”
to reach out and touch the person next to her.

She longed to let go
when she was stripped of a method,
while when all the resources
were laid out in front of her,
she could never let go herself.

Love is a disease,
you've seen the signs.
Sweaty palms,
Shaky hands,
your heart skipping
just about every beat,
With this frost
stuck in your head,
making it hard
to stand on your feet.

When you beg for your pen
to draw a scene
of the waves set aflame,
all that comes back to you
is the apple of your eye,
all you hear is her name.

Deny as you might,
you can't help but to twirl and swoon,
The only thing guiding your nights
are her and the moon.

Yes,
love is a disease,
and I'd love to stay
sick in bed
with you.

Open your mouth
to find
anything but words
come out.
It stings just the same
as any insult would,
yet see
there is a shape
to these anomalies,
sliming out of your mouth.
Please, for the sake of yourself,
leave the questioning
to the words
that no longer take place
in that mouth.

As you see the sun uphold your own gaze,
you can't help but look away.
Keep staring into that
hushed, blinding abyss
and you lose what you had
not but a second before.
Macbeth had the "Milke of human-kindness"
hidden within until he looked unto his wife,
who prominently stripped it from him,
same as Mrs. Dashwood completely swallowed whole
any forgiving sense of charity in Mr. Dashwood
upon "Sense and Sensibility".
Don't look to the sun, nor hold it's tremorous gaze
for these reasons.
Greed makes us think past ourselves
and into a part that you've never recognized.
It bubbles towards fear and turmoil,
yet you can't drive down this greed.
Therefore,
don't hold the gaze of the sun.

Trapped underneath
without the flow
of their words
to guide you.
Oh, there's a flow,
but the harsh cold
of what you feel
in these waves
will never compare
To their words

You're back.
Why?
Please just leave me,
you know I'll fall

all

over

again.

Please don't say
"Well, don't you love
that feeling of the wind
against your beautiful face?"

Though falling might be fun,
it hurts every time
you say you'll catch me,
yet all I see is the ground.

For all of the
Underlying
Creeps trying to
Knock down my door;

Only
Females
For me, sorry.

I miss going bowling
and watching my ball
spin into the gutter
every time it left
my hand...

My demons,
though quiet to you
are never quite silenced
in me.

waiting patiently
for a reason to wake,
they crawl through the walls
of sanity,
lighting matches
of the nightmares I see.

They grow their empire
within my soul
only working by candlelight,
never sleeping
through the night.

My demons,
though quiet to you
can never be silenced
in me.

Look in the mirror
and tell me
what you seem to see.
You see,
that girl in the mirror
staring back at me
customarily seems
to have the match
in her hand,
threatening to cease
what we perceive
as "me".
I could never tell you
about the match,
silently waiting
in her hand.