when did you go
grey?

I asked the yellow
sun

I've watched you
as you've watched
me

grow from young
summer

to an autumn that
nests in comfort of
a heavy blanket

worn down with
every breath of the
weary chore

how come we're
so old now?

fade into the summer
darling

my arms don't wrap
around the winter no more
as they used to

feel the forgotten sky
bless us with uncertainty

and rotten eyes
stare deep into our soul

watch the children of autumn
cascade one by one

breathe in the spores,
the residue of a thousand lies

those that burn
far away from where we stand

and yet the ashes
won't spare the distance

nor this golden sky
save us from the approaching
dark

and one by one
in the winds
we shall fall too

clinging on to each other
ruined by our dreams

melting into the stardust
kissed by death

Lovers painted in
the moonlight

curtains drawn
into slumber

Promises and wishes
must find another's bed

The weak heart
has surrendered

its sorrows gathered
in the depths of your arms

Sharp secrets of
the bygone days

must search for
a different home

The walls of this house
are painted in mist

the ceiling pours
a silent storm

Every breath becomes
a cascading sad song

lingering in
hollow despair

Only a skeleton
remains

awaiting a final
word

the yellow sun
will rise again

this city will stir
stretching into the day

and I wonder—

will the evening bring
rain?

will dark clouds
cloak the grey sky?

for a moment
perhaps

autumn may
come early

and I wonder if
it will notice I am
not there

it doesn't matter
anymore

She sleeps in
my arms,

her softness against
my skin,

her warm touch
needling me,

an endless embrace
of summer.

How I miss her
now;

she’s everything—
perfect,

a never-ending
moonlight,

the expanse of
a thousand stars,

an endless garden
in the rain.

It always takes
a while,

and I cannot
stop needing,

for she is
here now,

and I still cannot
believe.

How
do you smile
only once a day?

How
did I become the thief
of your laughter?

You could’ve been loved
in so many other ways—
so much more,
so much better.

It breaks my heart
to see you settle
for so little,
for so much less.

If I were anything more,
how much more
could I have truly been?

Is it enough?
I ask myself each day.

I could have swept you off your feet.
If I ever did,
I’m sorry.
You deserved better—

The moon, the stars,
the sky, the world.

Dinner dates in Paris,
the finest wine,
the rarest diamonds,
the grandest dreams.

A better heart,
a kinder mind,
a story worth telling.

But I know—
not enough.

Sometimes I sit
by the balcony

with cigarettes
and cheap whiskey,

thinking about all
the things I couldn’t
be.

That’s all I can afford
on a budget for two.

Silver clouds drift
across autumn skies,

yellow lights
line the streets,

and my bitter soul
reminisces about
sweet nothings.

beneath the moon
the world's still dark

ocean's are dead
haunted by the sharks

turned on its head
the knife won't stop
bleeding

filled with summer's debt
winter's not worth breathing

it's only september
and ghosts won't be leaving

children are fed
but mother won't stop
grieving

shut those eyes
while they're still sleeping

thoughts multiply
and scars keep breeding

cut open the alive
while they're still speaking

voices of dread
keep repeating over and
over

**** everyone
be free

stop believing.

i want to rule the infinite
perish in flames

draw a naked kingdom
and wear dead butterflies

raise the dead spring
buried beneath my feet

watch the summer cascade
until the autumn dies

take a sip from every
ocean and barricade

until i am withered 
and broken,

burning holes in the sky

i want to slay
every forest 

and make love
to the barren lands

find animals and stars
**** away the man

watch the planets fall
from where i stand

until i am withered 
and broken,

burning holes in the sky

just like the timid child
i am.

©writeweird

I love your love—
cruel, twisted, and dark

With my flesh
my bones
my heart


I loved your love
until it tore me apart

And yet
I love you still—
for all the grief

the darkness
the dead planets
the broken promises
the fading stars

It's better than
not loving anyone
ever again

I love your love
when you smile in the dark

I love your love
like a ghost loves the past

I love your love
even when nothing is
supposed to last.

The things that find
me on a Tuesday:

broken,
ugly,

like me,

like the mirror that
stares at me,

waiting for me
to wake up,

waiting for me to
fall asleep,

waiting for me
to smile,

waiting for me
to surrender.

And that I do,

for whatever
reasons,

to sell me a
certain rationality.

For meaning is now
a distant memory,

fading from
my thoughts.

I see nothing but
restless eyes,

and that is
all I see.

I’ve spent all my
feelings worrying
about everything,

and everything has
passed me by,

as autumn
passes the trees,

as summer
passes my youth.

And as winter
makes a home,

I find myself locking
the doors,

drawing the
curtains,

lest the light
falls into my
sorrows,

and the birds
sing to me,

telling me there’s
still a tomorrow

to suffer.

I see the sorrows
of the young boy

He is eight
and already in mourning

Every morning
he wakes up to a fate
older than time

knowing the world
isn’t meant for the likes of him

For a fleeting moment
it all starts making sense—

but then he turns around
and smiles at the crowd

says the few words
he practiced last night

He's so good at
not being himself

And the further he runs
from his flesh and bone

the quicker time
passes by

Now he's thirty
and he's still running—

writing down meaningless
poetry and fiction

filling his lungs
with cigarette smoke

drowning his dreams
in cheap whiskey

accepting the loneliness
that comes from within

Cometh the pouring
of another glass

I see the sorrows
of the old man

but now
it’s too late

This aged body,
in new clothes.

Battered seas,
under the yellow sun.

The violet light
of violence.

If stars could
tell a story,

would they not speak
of degradation—

of ruins,
of a civilization,

of my heart?

The science
of lonely men—

grief that cannot
be shared,

confined to
history books.

Empty pages of
old photographs,

collecting the dust
of the world,

fading in ink.

In the bones of
the planet

blooms an
orchid of silver
moonlight

perhaps in
rebellion

against the grimy clouds
that pour heaven

into tiny
porcelain cups

so easy to
break

and yet, there
it grows—

the
moonchild

risen against
the dark

what are the
sins of the lonely?

are they kept
in the walls of a home
that cannot weep?

for tears may come
when the fruit is ripe,
but it would taste only
of sweet nothings.

I have kept a world
inside of me,
a world far from the
outdoor light.

that place is no longer
what it once was.
it has aged, as have I.

it craves no more
the soft hum of conversations
about art and life,
nor the company of those
different from me.

it has watched too much
come and go,
watched so much
amount to nothing.



and so, I walk these
empty roads,
this fragile and silent world.

the sins of the lonely
are etched in walls
that will never learn
to weep.

in unwritten letters
to no one,
in a soured world
hidden within.

this mind, this body—
this flesh, these bones—
aged and brittle,
ugly and unloved,

now hold only the ghosts
of what once was.

and I am buried deep,
entombed in this place
that has forgotten itself.

I've turned
the pages

maybe a hundred
times over

to write to
you

poetry from
my heart

and yet the
words fail me

and I'm left
with nothing

but the poem
that you are

more beautiful
than any language
can describe

and no book
can ever hold
you

all those pages
I'll write for you

shall never be
enough

for me to sing
to you

what it means
for me to see you
smile