in sticky drops
ink runs down my
paper skin
blood-flowers grew
as I wrote by the
windowsill

a gloomy Sunday
more tainted verse
up and down
there was a stinging
as I wrote
and a drenched earth
peered through
the foggy windowsill

wind caught the
curtain
petrichor rests on my
tongue
as rusted pain
sat atop the windowsill

Delete every trace,
Disguise the lingering numb,
Retreat from the race.

Ten
Years
Added
To
An
Already
Short
And
Sorrowful
Life.

after 10 months, I saw you today
I swear when I heard your name, my heart fell into my stomach
and then when I saw you, my stomach was in knots, like how you feel when you're falling in love
you are so beautiful and charming
when I saw you the second time today, you were smiling at me
and I swear to god my knees were weak
I felt like I was falling in love with you all over again

and then reality came crashing down in a split second
I got really sad all of a sudden because I knew
I knew I knew you aren't mine and you'll never be
you are wearing the shirt that your girlfriend got you
you are happy now

we ended off badly but in that moment, everything was perfect
maybe I got too excited over nothing
and that smile didn't mean anything
but the choice of choosing to smile and ignoring me, you chose to smile at me
and even if it meant nothing, thank you
I've missed you and I always will
apart of me will always be waiting for you

all those months of trying to get over you..
I thought I was completely over you
but then
you just came out of nowhere
and suddenly I feel like I'm at square one
again

In the Door of Chains,
the invisible bird crashed into the water.
Nothing but tears with traces of blood remains,
as the sea boils and boils growing hotter and hotter.

The Door of Chains
asked for your biggest secret.
It's the crimson inside of you down shower drains,
but you would never say that to a snickering bandit.

Door knobs gave no mercy
to the raging mind with a fiery tongue.
The stars proved to you you weren't worthy.
So, you woke up beside the bird and made the plunge.

In the Door of Chains, you don't lead the hallways.
The hallways lead you.

Wind up that music box
Listen to it ****** away
Pass me a mink blanket
And all night I will stay
Play with my hair
What little I have of it
You don't need to do much
Just hold me, come, sit
Pass me a pen and paper
You know the deal
Listen to the music box
It teaches me to feel
Kiss my forehead soft
And stroke my arm slow
For these are the comforters
That help me when I'm **low

It must be nice to be a cloud; to get so full of what surrounds: all evaporates. It has no say, but then, when full, it relieves the pain. Rain pours down for what can seem, at times, to be eternity. Though it's dark, soon comes light, and the world is full of life.
To be a cloud would be a dream; instead I'm trapped inside of me. Like a cloud, I soak up pain. Overwhelmed, I wait for rain. It grows and grows until it hurts. Still in drought, I wish to burst. Skies turn dark, yet try as I may, my eyes refuse to precipitate. Alas--they do; storms pour down until my heels can't feel the ground. Overpouring flood waters rise; I'm drowning fast in my cries. At last, it stops; I look around--no life has grown upon the ground; instead what's left are puddles of strife to evaporate again into my life.