Stardust and luster puff
bloom in full petalled glory,
dancing decadently and delicately
in waves of motion
to the sound of the moon hitting skin.

Hues of lazy colors,
colors of royalty,
of lemonade,
of orange juice
of grape soda,
all sweetly mix together
in a concoction for auction
the eyes take it in,
every last sip of it is sold,
to the highest bidder.

The ocean the space of the earth,
a vast void that stretches like
an eternal blue blanket,
comforting in its view,
cold in its nature.

The aesthetical soul awaits, taking everything in through all senses...






































which drown her in their beauty.

Her eyes were that Heineken bottle green,
and her spirit bubbly,
a cold touch
to a warm soul
I got drunk in her love


















And I never regretted it.

I drink down the sunset
like it is tea,
a warm invitation
calling to me.

I inhale the sharp scents
of the orange of the sky.
Release a will,
a want to cry.

Beauty at its finest,
refined into purity,
I reach out like a child again,
all I want right now
to enjoy.

I watch fiery red,
a beautiful bloodbath
encasing the atmosphere.

Purple's and pinks
like sugar filled fruit gushers.

Ah yes,
the sunset,
relaxing,










drink it down tonight.

I'm listening to you speak,
playing that voice on repeat,
breaking my bottles
on my teeth,

chattering smiles,
loneliness bites cold
down to the bone.
Warm it up with a grin,
so fake,

but they don't see it.


Good.

Why would I want them too?

Angels run the chaos I've collected in my head, what's there left to see?
Their ashes pure and soft feathers, they fly high and mighty on their wings.
Angel tears are made of sugar, and your love, oh so sweet. You are the angel of my life darling,

playing this poem on repeat.

Gunmetal cold barrel to my head,
the smell of his slow suicidal tendencies
in the form of cigarettes hanging off the edge of
his words.

Cold Gray-ash eyes stare bullet holes into me.
The trigger ready to be pulled,
he's teasing me with a finger caressing...

Cologne sparks sharp scents,
the wind carries his essence,
pure ice scents,
into my veins.

My lungs encase the newfound delicacy
eating up the smell.
Hungry for more of him,
I bite my lip wishing it was his skin.



His aesthetic
Snacking on my soul
And I do not decline.

I reminisce in the days my knuckles
weren't covered in blood,
but Cheeto dust.

On the run from myself,
disguises a face I no longer recognize
staring back at me
in the
mirror.

Black clothes were gothic
rather than mandatory.

Moonshine was the way the sky looked,
not a drink.

Innocence is held most dearly by those who no longer own it.

Children do not know what they have lost
until it is gone.
Object permanence fun,
not a problem.


Cheeto dust,
finger licking,
orange not red.

orange not red.

orange

not




R                            E                            D.


An unsettling sort of ending, childhood,
you can't pinpoint an end nor a beginning.










Hey, at least it was fun while it lasted.

I will throw gasoline on my inner fires,
anger boiling bursting bubbling now ****** waters.
We will paint the revolution in the ashes of our sorrows.
We will fill up the absence of justice,
paint them red


p a I n t   T h E M        R    E    D.


Anger flicks flames licking tongues on vocal chords.
Hate filled speech but aimed at the right people,
makes all the difference.



Let them fight fire with fire,
it's their land they burn, not ours,
ah the treasures of fighting in foreign land.
If I can call my body that.


We're tired of being upset,
we're tired of being controlled,
we're tired, kiddo,


So let's do something about it.









The revolution is at midnight,
we rise with the moon,
for we are among the stars in the dead of night,
bright light when there is nothing but darkness.



























R                         E                            D.

My aesthetic is bike grease,
hands covered in slippery oil,
a night's ride full of fun,
adventure rolling like the wheels.

Music notes as soap,
wash away the dirt
of today,

Some melodies melicious in nature,
Mangle and Mark my mind with

Old memories.

Other melodies, clean cut chords
A chorus of nostalgia
Soap hitting the bathroom floor
Never sounded so peaceful.

Lyrics like lily pads on
bass boosted lakes,
I bathe in it's divine,
drowning devilish days.



I could scrub this ***** soul clean
with the purity of sound.
I long to be cleansed.
And sweet scented soaps,
do just that.










If anything is clean, it is not what we touch, but what we hear, admiring a beauty, without its destruction.

And the moonlight pooled at your shoulders,
stars framing a saturated, sapphire smile,
as if the heavens were getting ready
to bow at your feet.

Under your command, the sun should explode,
fiery bursts of anger fill the world,
they don't understand
how one man
can cause
this much
damage.

My dear, chaotic universal energy lives inside your moon pale skin.

Chaotic destruction or construction.








You decide.

You never really know how bad it was















































until it's over.

It doesn't have to make sense to the world,
just write it.

It doesn't even have to make sense to you,
just write it.

It's better to let go of a snip-it,
than hold onto the feeling
of incomplete work
in
your
mind.

I want to lose your memory,
in the archives of my mind,
and one day
your picture will flash across,

An old scrapbook, a picture on a phone.

and a nostalgic sense
of hidden memory
will overtake me.

Flower petaled bruises,
circle the iris of your eyes,
ivory colored smoke leaving lungs
that wished they didn't breathe.

"It's a slow suicide,"
a cigarette flicked to the side,
the ash like my mind,
falling to the ground.

Scents of smokes and blokes,
blood runs thick on the face
of a thin mind.


I open sixteen eyes.


Awareness gained with each year,
your senses awaking them.


I will remember.

My mind asleep, now awake, parched of knowledge.
I gulp down your image,
your name,
an address,

all in hopes of just that; hoping.

Hoping that you will not remember,
hoping forgiveness is not too far off...

Remember honey,
















I  A M    A L W A Y S   W A T C H I N G.

I bathe in his melancholy smiles,
Shy glances like sunrays,
Warmth forever fills me.

My sanity echoes,

wind moving past me faster than change.

Honey you and I both know things
are just...

not the same.

I bathe in the sound.

Music notes make good soap.

Wash away...

                           Whatever is still left.


Another day. Another day. Another day.


And my sanity




                                                is



washed








                                  
                                                                                                            Away.

100 minutes in the sky,
times flies by,

you are a temptation,
I let subside.

Being near you,
is like flying high.


So high...


The bedroom with you,
is like 100 minutes



in the sky.

Your love was like coffee,










a bitter wake up call.

The difference between you and I,

is that I am a women, and you are a boy;
although around the same age,

my trauma matured me,
while yours trapped you as a child.

Hear no evil,
see no evil,
do no evil,

I bathe in the sound of his voice,
vocal chords of purity,
wash out the evils I have heard.

Hear no evil,

His body refreshing to the taste,
eye candy so sweet,
he might as well have been made of pure sugar,

See no evil,

His soul too clean,
to be stained with my hands,
so I watch from afar,
and relish in what I can...





Do no evil.

Your love cuts like stained glass;
oh so beautifully
painful.

Sometimes illness
is a silent theif.

It slowly takes;
money,
time,
friends,
family,
joy,
childhood.


Illness is a silent thief,
but honey I'll fight it,
for you.

Your gaze are empty hallways,
made of marble,
elegant stone swirls like
your
eyes.

Empty like your promises, but oh so beautiful.

If our love is forbidden,
then you must be
a rose petalled crime scene.

My own special episode of Law and Order;
Special victims unit.

A chalk outline
made of rainbow colors.

Ink stains your skin,
just like police reports.

Knife sharp love
murders the bad,
while forever preserving
the good.

Emotions in full bloom,
bedroom,
now surrounded by police sirens.

You are middle of the night excitement.
Escapes and otherwise.


You are a law I am willing to break;
my rose petalled crime scene.

She was a flower growing on the dark side of the moon,
sunshine taken by greedy craters that didn't need it to grow.
Needless to say, she adapted,
turned her photosynthesis into chemosynthesis,
and grew.

Lavender kisses,
mister and misses,
their love was flowers growing on the dark side of the moon.

Memories are ruthless.

Old photographs drip, overfilled
with a nostalgic sense.

Bittersweet scents of herbs
punch my nose
as I remember...

The old pages of a book,
yellowing, curling up at the edges,
a messy note,
and I wither away between the lines.

Bullets hidden in picture frames,
batter my chest.

Knives concealed in music notes,
pierce my ears,
****** sounds, but not of screams.

Soft textures lay bare on the couch,
hands intertwined in them, not voluntarily;
muscle memory.

The taste fiery in my mouth,
make my eyes water,
Eating sweets made of leftover sorrow...









I spit it out.
But memories are irresistible.









Memories are ruthless.

My soul is tripping on aesthetical acid.

Star dust is my *******.

There's no way the moon
is not just a hallucination
wavering in the pond's ripples. 

I pop sunrays like pills.
Bathe in warm illicit senses.
Heat overtakes me,
on a high I refuse to come down from.

Beauty is a drug; it takes away the pain.

Heartaches are like knee scrapes,
they are either there for a moment,
or leave a scar that will last you a life-time.

Avert your eyes, sinner.
He is a God of celestial winners.
Golden crowns of power choke him under the pressure.

Goosebumps on pale, skin, flesh,
rise to the occasion like she does.
Anxiety may cover her body,
but courage encompasses her heart.

"You're just human." She told me

"Human" does not mean it's not wrong.

just...









normal.

I replay our memories like broken records,
because our music just doesn't sound the same anymore.

The CD I re-watch, is covered in scratches,
so it won't replay with the same images anymore.

The same way your emotions distort
my memory of you.

Hush tones now full grown,
she spoke louder than the hatred of her voice.
But ****,
she said it.
And ****,

She was good.

Aesthetic
(es-Thee-Thicc)
ADJECTIVE

1. When he looks at me with the eyes of angel, mouth in a closed line, eyes pleading for more.
2. Wind-swept hair, ocean sea breeze, cold yet gentle waves, remind me of his heartbeat.
3. Roses in the winter time, soft petals of a cheek blossom with rosy warmth.
4. Honey, you're so much more than an aesthetic to me.

My emotions are a pallet of monotone colors,
so I paint my world in Gray's and Black's,
longing for something more,
but not knowing any other colors,
than those dull
shades
of
beige.

I guess I just got distant.
One moment, I wanted to be as close to you as possible.
The next, I was running away from your
knife
sharp
love.

Her beauty cascades like waterfalls,
in blooming waves of curls upon her back.
Hair, black as night, bouncing to the beat of her soul.
She was the kind of 'different' beauty,
they never taught us to love in school.
So we burned the textbooks,
and I watched her plaid skirts and hair,
surf the waves of the wind,
and neither of us looked back,
as we ran from it all.

He was crying oceans,
while she was swimming in them.
The salty sea, pushing waves of pain onto his soul.
Seeing her happy,
without him,
makes him wanna drown in the sad blue hue
of the sea.

She felt like
summers memories
in
late
October.

He was the sun,
and I was the moon,
and our relationship,
was an eclipse.

I write from my heart,
let the ink be my blood,
this poem is my heartbeat,
and it has lost its rhythm.

Youth is filled with waterfalls,
everything is crashing down,
but at least we look
good
doing
it.

She was more to me than a soul in a body,
to me she was
sweet
sweet
ecstasy.

Veins crawled up her arms like vines,
leafy green eyes lit up the night.
Brown bark hair collided with nature.

Freckles danced like sparks from a fire across her face,
the warmth of the hearth kept nurtured in her soul.
The pale complexion was her own form of camouflage.

She was the beauty of the Earth intensified,
ten fold.
She was the sky, the heaven's birth,
and yet her beauty remained untold.

Let flowers bloom from memories, and call them dreams.

I have never lived without the fear of not knowing tomorrow's breeze.

Her laugh sounded like wind chimes,
her body holds secrets untold.

Her eyes shone like the moonlight's sky,
her story broken, left to unfold.

Her beauty was an ocean's depth,
and what's been done has been done.

To every line of beauty she has,
a broken one has begun.