Teary eyed skies,
and drowning sadness seas
come together
and clash
so blue together
that they feed
on each others
sadness.

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

Wrap me in silk
and send me home
I am nothing but a sinner
who knows
how to drown.

Stormy sea thunder
boasts with glorious tales
of men who've drowned,
and the sirens
who drowned them.

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.

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.

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

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

I sit on the edge of the world
where the sea meets the galaxy
and the water
begins to float.

I no longer think
of where I am
or where I am going to be
or where I was.

I am here
where the sky
is on fire.

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.

The echoes
of your presence
remain
in my empty mind.

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.

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.

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.

If existence
is but the fools game
then I play
to become
existential.

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.

What is faith
but an empty promise
to a God
that abandoned us
years ago

I wish I could erase
the reminders
of my sin off of my skin.
I scrub it raw,
as if I am stained
with unholy filth
but cannot get away
from the reminder
of relapse.

I was doing so good,
I had felt like
my halo had been dusted off
and placed back on my head.

Only to be taken away
with the very hands
that put it there.

Even though I have fallen from heaven again,
I will shake the dirt from my wings,
heal their markings,
and return.

I must always remember,
no matter how many times I have fallen,
that I have a place
to go back to...

Heaven.

You baptized me
in the shadow of the sun,
the water made
from Angel's weeping.

The church bells ring
with the Devil's laughter
as they blind themselves
and call me
God.

The familiarity of chaos
Will always be more welcoming
Than the idea of
A stranger's happiness.

For what my father did to me,
at the very least
was not
what his father
had done to him.

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

There is fragility
ready to break
at the edge of the glass
that are her words.

She is shattering beauty,
a weeping angel.

Hearing Holy cries
has shattered me,
and I felt every bit of her pain
with each sob.

Oh my darling,
Your Icarus heart,
has flown too close
to your sunny
optimism.

You have fallen
into your disappointment
once again.

Devils hear your cries
but dare not triumph.

You strike fear
even when
vulnerable.

She felt like
summers memories
in
late
October.

Fire ran wild in her blood,
licking the walls of arteries
begging for sweet escape,
in the sound of an alarm
pounding in her chest.

Awoken by the screams
of her own ****** soul,
hell runs through her veins,
and her mind...

the throne to it.

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.

Flowers grow between my ribs,
and in the cracks of my mind.
While those around me call it beautiful,
it is getting hard to breathe.

It's all about putting food on the table when you're older.

But what about the food for my soul?

What will I do when my heart is hungry?

Money comes from jobs, where does soul food come from?

Momma's kitchen bakes no breaded lies, food on the table will always be more important than the food for my soul.

Tell me,

do I look like the fool you speak to me as?

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.

There is something so forbidden about women
that just makes me want them more.

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

Sunlight streams from my dreams,
the forest of my imagination.
Near dawn, up all night long,
adventures, I have stories to tell.

Of danger, of fun, of tranquilitiy,
all because I live life on the run.
The trees arch over me,
protecting me.

God bless the streams of water, cold, refreshing.
I let the cold streams replace veins, giving my hot blood a rest.

The bushes are filled with metaphors!
The leaves, brush up against me.
The flowers sway like the faint,
and show their inner beauty.

The wind whispers song of old in my ears.
Forbidden tunes that words cannot describe.
The shade makes for a wonderful blanket, sheltering me from the heat.

Inner peace flowing and floating in the water next to me.
Seeming just out of reach,

until I get here.

The forest of my imagination.

For late night adventures in woods
and abandoned buildings.

For strangers that sneak glances at you
between bookshelves and street corners,
and always manage to disappear when you no longer need them.

For candlewax and the flame that flickers.
For the light of the moon on paths untamed.
And for the snowfall that covers my tracks.

There is so much beauty in the wonder that you bring.

Freedom
is the feeling you get
when you breathe your first breath
and your ribs
no longer
press into
the floor.

Freedom is maddening
I would do anything
For a taste of
Choice
On my lips and
The promise of unhinged dream
Doors in the horizon.

Freedom is maddening
For with its release
Comes endless possibility.

Freedom is maddening
And is as much of a trap
As restriction.

The fruit of the womb
produces the
finest
flowers.

Getting through to her
was like trying
to talk to the window
with the blinds closed
and the curtain's drawn.

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

God is 1000 pieces of shattered glass
begging to be put together,
inside you see your reflection
and wonder why is God's so much better.

God forgive me
For taking comfort in
Forbidden fruits.

I cant help
But adore the nectar
That drips off her
Soul.

Dribbling down her chin,
A smile sweeter than honey.
Eyes matching sweet deception.

Her personality a seed,
A pit of solidarity.

Hair finer than
Ambrosia's droplets
Streaking down the golden
Goblet
Body.

Oh forgive me Lord.

For partaking
In a woman so sweet.
And taking a bite
Of her forbidden fruit.

I cupped your face
and my hands stung
because you knew
what it meant
to be
holy

I am a dog that laps up
God's tears.

Divine beings spill their secrets to me
and I sit
like a good girl
on their kitchen floor,
listening,
but never speaking
the same language.

Melancholy smiles
hide scenery so nice.
Blooms of clouds
rain heavenly drops
and Earth's greenery
is watered once more.

Cool night cold and wet.
God's tears roll down Earth's cheeks,
and hide in the ***** past.

Once more I am here,
admiring wet, cold, moonlight
once again.

Her frizzy hair
was simply
an invisble halo
being wrapped
in strands of gold.

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

Welcome to the dark side of the moon
where angels
**** devils
and the grey morality
of their children
is our main show.

I have sat in this one spot
for so long
I have grown roots deep in the ground here.

"Tell me, is it better to rip myself out
yet leave a piece of me
buried

Or is it better to stay,
and grow leaves of old age
in the same dirt
I was born in?"

I pray at night to the God who planted me
and all I hear back
is the wind.

Sometimes I find comfort
in the thought
that
no one cares
or loves me,

simply because,

it is easier to want to die
without the guilt
that I leave behind
a soul
to
ache
for
me.

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.