I know your aesthetic
better than
I know my own
not because
I choose not to know,
but because I'm
too busy
seeing
everything
and thinking of
you.

I feel as though
my lips have touched
Angel feathers.
I have kissed
the holy;
an honor
and a curse.
For no halo's glow
will live up to
her angelic prose
ever
again.

Sometimes
it is hard
to spread your roots
in shaky grounds.

You are not obligated
to stay,
for you still are just a seed,
that the wind
can take
away.

My mortality
I do not fear,
but yours...
I dread.

Overcoming your fears
smells like the scent
of dried tears.

Romanticize yourself.
There is no overconfidence
nor cockiness
nor pride
in declaring yourself
the ruler
of your kingdom.

There is aestheticism
in letting go,
but even more so
in holding on.

Will you let
your third eye
blind
you?

Cut the valves of my heart
with the thorns
of your flowers.

You put seeds
in my blood,

I watered it
with my cries

a garden grew
in my body...

that I never asked
to be planted.

I am moonskin
hiding in
sunlies.

Evangeline,
your words run honey
down my mouth,
dripping in the sweetness
your honeycomb hair
has left behind.

Evangeline,
your Angel tones
glow halo's notes.

Evangeline,
your smile is wild,
dangerous,
carefree.

Evangeline,
dandelion soul
sailing through the wind,
a girl I haven't met
but know
from
within.

Keep your honey tongue on your lips.

Evangeline.

I am the archer behind the moon,
shooting it into orbit each night,
glimmering stars lie in its wake,
as sunshine is no more.

I bathe in
lavender hues
rippling across oceans,
drowning sunsets
in their coolness.

Abandon me
in the house
so I may
learn to grow
on my
own.

You don't have to be their savior,
you don't have to forgive them,
you can just cut them out,
and be angry as you want
for as long as you need.

People like you,
put meaning behind
the word
Beautiful.

I wish I had the strength
to be
vulnerable.

Angel's act with purity,
yet crave demonic pleasures.
They turn to heaven to be forgiven,
and rot in Hell whilst losing feathers.

Angelecism is a pursuit
worthy of Gods
but taken up by
Devils
galore.

You've battered me with your silence
only to shatter me
with your words.

I hunger for this world,
unaware
there is another.

You are most angelic when your touch is far away from me.

You have scarred me
with your wings
and left me

for the Devil.

Tell me, Icarus,
am I the sinner
you dreamt of meeting
in heaven,

when you threw
yourself
to the sun?

Angel's wear
sinner's blood
in veins
that are
not
theirs.

There is aestheticism
buried in the depths
of this earth,
in the sun's heat
and in the moons rain.
However hidden it may
attempt to be,
I will always
pursue
it.

I throw ****** feathers aside,
looking for the fallen angel,
whose wings have vanished
into thin air.

I don't think
she remembered what it was like
to be holy,
but God,
did she emminate it.

Her blood held crucifixes,
gold chains,
still chains.

Eyes held heaven in their capture,
and she holds me
in captivity.

I found her above dark grounds,
but with gold dust of an old halo.

Am I blessed with her,
or cursed to admire from afar
for eternity.

Her pure soul,
not to be tainted with
my mortal hands.

To be simply in her presence,
is
heaven
enough.

He called her Holy,
untouched,
but in the way that
a wolf would call out
its prey's name.

He howled it;
before
devouring
her.

You owe the world
nothing
but the
spite
its given
you.

If the system is made
for us
to be put against one another
we will rise
and come together
in the dirtiest, most scandalous,
cheatiest ways,

to beat it.

Morality will not hold us back,
but be our compass.

Because at times,
one must be rebellious
against your version of "right"
to do the actual right thing.

Cage us and we will fly,
break us and we will  not die.
Believe me,

they cannot outlive nor outrun us.

Remember the fallen,
and when it is overthrown,
make them martyrs of
the new generation.

Trap us as you want,
but you cannot bind
a bird's wings
and
expect
obedience.

You cannot trap us
and not expect

rebellion.

Am I the monster that bore the gun?
Or just the bullet
that came
out
of
it.

Naked cherubs
lie vulnerable
with kindness,
and like the fool,
you approach
unaware
he is a soldier.

He is ripping out handfuls of himself
out from his own skin.
Icarus, the feathers you wore,
and spent nights crafting,
you now pull apart
in fistfuls.
The very freedom you worked so hard to
attain,
is the very thing
you
now
destroy.

Majority times
I am happy to be angry
because it gives me
just enough confidence
to
speak.

The ambience of your presence is one I treasure.

I woke up
with an argument
in a dream,
and a song in my head.
Is my anger
as fictitious
as I want it to be?
Or have I a need
to leave my words
in the dreaming realm
once more?

I hope freedom's gates
taste sweeter
when captivity
has been
this
long.

She was angel guarding the gates of Hell,
a beauty born in the wrong
generation.
Her dreams touch the sky
She sings
lullabies,
Yet Hell
remains
Hell.

My sins may outweigh yours,
but they are sins,
all the same.

I guess
what I fear
cannot be
founded in fiction,
but in reality
itself.

Another night alone,
and I am trying to scrub off
the bruises
with running tap water
and soap.
I scrub until the skin is raw,
and make a note,
to keep my hands out of sight;
others and my own.
I've been stained
with wounds
that cannot be
washed away.

I am sorry.

I have given up my summer
for whom?
Not myself,
nor my friends,
but for that beautiful
4.0,
at the end.

You are the chardonnay
on the top shelf.
Moonshine smiles,
let me stay awhile
and drunken sways
dare not break the bottle.

I take baby sips
worrying ***** gets me too drunk
too fast
too quick.

I get a taste of prohibition
and only you I think of.

You are top notch liquor
on the bottom shelf,
lowering your standards
so I can reach you.

You burn me in the best ways.

You are a drunkards dream,
and oh am I so happy
to have found
you.

I refuse to heal
from wounds that still bleed.

I owe you no more
then what you have taken.

I remind myself,
that its OK to be angry...

But for how long?

One day I hope
he festers and perishes
as badly as
he treated
me.

Hope is the enemy,
veiled with white wings.
It wears rose colored glasses,
and wears
sundresses
next to the moon.

Hope is a friend,
that you must not trust.
For in hope there is beauty,
but action,
there is none.

Hope is now a lover,
so close,
skin stained with my kisses,
ecstasy waits just below her
smile.
Cherry red lips,
I'm losing myself
in her
new
sundress.

Hope is a stranger,
an old love gone cold
to the touch.

Hope is the enemy once again,
but will you learn to tame her once more?

Or will she be your one that got away.

Moonlight pools at feet,
sunlight perfumes the air,
daytime sings of spring,
and night screams beware.

Flowers in the daytime,
thorns in the evening.

Beware those who are night and day.
They will capture you
in sunrises and sin,
but sunset calls,
and oh boy,
will they answer.

The milky way
is our milkshake.
The ocean
we eat in scoops
of sea breeze ice cream,
foam, whipped cream.
Sunsets we drink as tea,

And the beauty in this world,
we devour with quick haste,

before it spoils away.

Ambition is written in her silhouette.
Grace flows from her evanescence.
Her shadows are the key to her intellect.

But then again that's all she is,
isn't it?

A mirror of perfection
a voice with inflection.

The ghost of who she is
is all
that's
left.

I can afford the luxury
Of forgetting
When near a man so rich in
Personality and taste.