Dark Circles beneath her eyes
The fire in those eyes
now replaced by sadness
of knowing too much
Of trying too hard
.
.
the more she saw,
the less she knew
the more she tried,
the less things worked
She kept *restlessly brooding
why the world is so raNdom
and what if the littlest thing that she did
made it fall apart?
.
.
tick-tock
(Restless brooding)
A girl of 17
never felt safe in her own skin
She comes in all the shades of self-loathing

(Restless brooding)
Living a life of mediocrity
Good, but never the best
not worth the change in your pocket.

(Restless brooding)
Centre of the group,
her smile was just that contagious
Chased by many, understood by none
Always loved mystery,
maybe that's why she became one

(Restless brooding)
Red is the color of rust that calms her
Jagged cut across her thighs
She comes with a self-destruct button and hence pushes away the very thing she likes
she wants to decrease the casualities

(Restless brooding)
Sleep won't come easily to her
so she writes and reads
that's pretty much her life
by the window she cries
for the characters whose brokeness resembles her life
but if you ask her why
she'll evade vaguely

(Restless brooding)
She increases the volume of her headphones
to mute the voices in her head
voices which try to drag her to the past
a past she'll never get rid of

(Restless brooding)
with every second that passes by
she pushes the world a little more far away
but she always smiles
so that must mean she's okay, right?

Dark circle beaneath her eyes
because *she spends her night
talking to the stars
and conspiring with the moon
against the demons she herself has created
trying to find the key
to the lock she has chained around herself

And one day she will
one day she will realise
*her light can't be contained
and those dim eyes will shine again
One day she will not be afraid of being herself
even if she does not know who she is yet

we want to say that we built this house with our hands
with our blood
we built this house and burned it down
we rebuilt this house and burned it down
we rebuilt this house and stayed
i want to tell you that my father builds houses for a living but i have never lived in one
i want to tell you that my mother still asks how you're doing
i want to say that we built this house and it's never abandoned and we are never waiting by the windows
that we always have wood for the fireplace
we never drink alone
i never fall asleep in the shower
in this house our love keeps the lights on
you can feel it through the floorboards like vibrations through a phonograph through the hardwood through your back
we sleep monday through thursday and get paid on weekends to drink whiskey and slow dance in the kitchen
we roll around in bed trying to catch the light
our bodies become curtains or sponges
you soak me up like sunshine and nobody asks where i went
we always finish what we start
i become welcome mat, welcome back, come back,
come home
i turned the basement into a music room
when it rains for you it never floods
we built this house with our hands, with our love, with our blood
there is wood for the fireplace
the flames never spread

i. when we die,
do our bodies become lighter?
do our souls fly away,
taking with it the weight our lives have carried
and leaving our skin and bones to drift in the wind?

ii. the other day i held you in my arms,
your eyes hollow and your voice a whisper;
you said it was just as a bad day,
i knew better than to believe you and i was afraid—
then suddenly, you were as light as a feather

the world turns quickly;
you and i are on different highways,
you are meant to be on silver screens
and i am meant to live normally, never to be seen

i could keep falling for your eyes,
i could keep admiring your pretty soul,
but this is the truth,
hidden in between the lines of my longing:
*i can't love you forever
but i'm going to love you for a long time

He was my sun, every single planet in my body revolved around him.

The days seem so much longer when I don't meet the light of his gaze.
It was agony.

Every moment we are together,
an hour seems like one second.
It was in these moments wherein I knew what happiness felt like.

I hope I don't grow old like this:
depending on the few days I'd have by your side.

Everyday I'd pray
for a chance that gravity
can grant me my one wish.

My wish of being in his orbit,
and he in mine,
for eternity.

i thought

i was more his
than my mother's

as he shouted at me
as i shouted
to him

lost
behind angry.

the girl with the blue hair
bled outside of the lines
like the overdose of colour in the
comics that she read.
big eyes and
big lips - the girls on the pages
had hearts for eyes and tears
of fat diamonds.
their sadness so precious.
their affection spans shaped
like rainbows in the
big big blue.

she liked all the colours.
the girl with the blue hair
painted her lips
in the new york cold for
life should be livid, life should
be vivid.
and she
wanted the colours
inside of her blue.

like inking a sketch she
filled herself up.
i was silent when this meant
she threw herself at countless walls
to call
the carnage 'art' -
see how

the girl with the blue hair
became an artist.

"You killed a man"
They say over and over
In his head
"You killed a man."
They repeat to him
Until he knows they cannot
Be wrong.

He walks the streets
wondering if the eyes that glance him over
while they walk on by
know that on average
a person walks past a murderer
36 times
in their life.
"You killed a man"
He expects one of them to scream.

She is different
He knows this from they day they first meet
The voices go quiet
Almost allowing him to sleep.

He takes her on dates,
tells her
his hopes and dreams
though it is not until the night
they decide to combine their resources
in a cramped damp apartment
with a view of the sunset against the skyline
that he decides to tell her
the words that once were on
replay
inside his mind.

"I killed a man."
He whispers to her.
His voice bright
In direct contrast to the darkness
of the night.

As his hands tap the covers
Twice then once then twice again.

Her eyes caress him,
touching him in ways he knows can not be done
with hands
as he repeats
"I killed a man."
His eyes fixed on the ceiling,
Counting the tiles
To be sure
that 101
has not changed to 102
and the stain in the 81'st hasn't shifted to 22'nd.

He jumps at the feeling of her touch

Voice sharp
Hands soft.
"Tell me."
The demand
so quiet
he wonders if it was just the sound
of settling dust.

He turns to her,
Finds the question in her eyes.
It's a drastic change
from the haunted look he expected
if only to reflect
what he sees in the mirror every day.

"I killed a man." He says once again,
For the millionth time in his life
though only
the third
outside of his head.

Her fingers trace his face.
Thumb running across his lips.
She opens her mouth,
and quietly whispers the words he never dared to
even consider a possibility

"They were wrong."