Alyssa Rose Naimoli

Alyssa Rose Naimoli Jun 2013

Logic

There was once a girl
who thought words were
only ideas,
and that music was
only noise.

She spent long hours
thinking,
and trying to draw
hearts for the boys
she passed on the train.

They only stared at her
with empty eyes
and scars on their lips
from the cigarettes
and told her the drawings
were silly.

She rubbed salt on her cheecks
and threw away the
drawings.
She thought they were inadequette,
like she wasn't
good
enough.

She painted checkers
on her fingernails,
and threw away her pencils.
She didn't take the train anymore,
and she made herself
happy.

Alyssa Rose Naimoli Jun 2013

Silver River

Reflected in the silver
is my ghost of madness.
Lost in the etchings in copper
is the memories I have repressed.

I scratched the words in metal,
but it didn't change a thing.
Something made so permanent,
cannot be changed,
even with a cover or facade.

I threw the coins in the fountain,
but,
they were in my pocket the very next day.

It was change,
that I couldn't get rid of.

I made wishes on silver, and copper,
and even on the metal in my pockets,
and the gold in my earrings,
but they never came true.

Reflected in the silver,
is my madness that I suppress.
Painted dark in copper
are the faults I'd like to hide,
but I can't get rid of them,
and they're too much to carry.

Alyssa Rose Naimoli May 2013

Notes on the End Table

I closed my eyes, and,
left lipstick in your hair
while you drifted away from me.

I didn't mean to let you slip like water.

He said he had me like the rain,
I was real but, I always slipped away.
And that I was built like fire,
I was comforting at first, but,
I burned with every touch.

My fingertips were razor blades,
even when I touched you softly.
My eyes were sharp like daggers,
even when I loved you.

A mirror, my reflection,
wasn't like your own.
You were smooth like silk,
while I was a nail that only caught threads.

I was sorry, but
I didn't say that.
I opened my eyes, and,
left lipstick in your hair,
and tear drops on your pillow
before I drifted away.

Alyssa Rose Naimoli May 2013

Tension

Tap, tap, tap.
These repetitive little things
repeatedly annoy me.
They tap and tap and tap,
and my blood begins to boil.

Tap, tap, tap.
It's like it echos in my head,
like whispers that emit
in a room that makes no noise.
And I am tired of the-
tap, tap, tap.
It drives me crazy, and,
i cannot control it.
I have a problem,
with authority.
I don't like to be controlled.
And when the tap comes tapping back,
I cannot sit at all.
It stirs me like a coffee cup and
throws me like a switch.
It's like a faulty bungee jump
or a clock that only ticks.
TAP TAP TAP.
It's only getting worse.
I contract, with the-
tap tap tap*-
and I can't control myself.
So stop the tap, tap, tap,
or maybe I'll stop it for you.
Because once the demons rise in me,
the anxiety builds a wall,
and it won't control the things I'd wish to do at all.

Alyssa Rose Naimoli May 2013

May 16th

Something
like thorns in
my ribcage,
I'm done.

Something
like bullets
resonate,
I'm gone.

And something
like worries
in my chest,
I can't.

I'm falling,
like raindrops,
or paper,
or steel.

I'm weak
and
I'm breaking.
I'm fragile,
I know.

Something
like falling
no bridges,
I'm gone.

I faded,
like paper,
like notebooks,
like songs.

I broke like
a mirror,
like tears in
old paper,
I'm broke.

Still fragile,
with hairlines,
and fractures,
so long.

Like something
still broken
with no chance'
at all.

Alyssa Rose Naimoli May 2013

False Devotions

Words like these define me,
when I haven't got a name.
Disaster hits me silently,
it's such a clever little game.

I pretend I don't see reasons,
I neglect them, like all of my feelings.
Then I bury my words with my ashes,
dirt gets kicked on them as each person passes.

Don't mistake my trophy, for
some silly piece of art.
It's just a little delicate,
of stone, or, you might call it,
my heart.

The scars on my knuckles turn silver,
when I lie through the gaps in my teeth.
My eyes turn to that of a sinner,
when I find there's a secret to keep.

The twine over wrists is pathetic,
while a Raven just pecks at my feet.
I can't fathom that you'd think your clever,
while I sit here, and "praise" you, forever.

Alyssa Rose Naimoli May 2013

The Carvings on my Wall

It's 12am and you're not here.
I don't think you ever will be.

I am a small collection of do's and don'ts.
I am way too fickle for you, I'm sorry.
But perhaps you were so secure that
I could sit here and worry and you might
sit there and read your paper, and sigh.

I don't think you'd really understand,
why I do what I do, or say what I say.
You couldn't possibly understand.

I don't understand either.

I know you care for me, maybe,
more than I care for you. But,
sometimes I think I care more deeply,
while you seem to care more completely.

Does that make sense? No.
No, I don't make sense.
But while you say that
you love me,
I am too busy
loving you.