bluedays Nov 2018
In a smile,
a hundred jagged
cuts.
In a smile,
a thousand cold
tears.
In a smile,
a drowning
flame.

In a smile,
a single
spark.

smile, smile, smile
kindle, kindle, kindle
burn, burn, burn,
burn the broken,
the burden,
the bitter.

smile.
bluedays Oct 2018
These days,
I feel
angry.
crimson.
unsatisfied,
grey,
mediocre.

Compare,
comp­are, compare,
compare, compare, compare.
every second,
every
single
moment.
———
Mirror, mirror,
on the wall,
who's the greatest
of them all?
Not you, not you.
Not you,
you
insignificant
plebeian.
————
A person,
passing by
in
the
background.
all
are
blurred faces.
one is two,
two is nine.
they're all
the same.
——
I guess
we'll be us,
cretino-us
and
jealo-us.
—————
I guess
I'll be me.
me-diocre.
streamlined
down
the
middle
.
  Oct 2018 bluedays
Grace Conde
I exist
on the border
between Reality,
and the Imaginary.

I breathe in belligerent Black,
and Withering whites.
I am incapable of grays,
a gradient of gruesome Grief.

I dance on the Border,
exhaling exuberant fragility,
my border is made of glass.

And I rise from the ashes,
a Byproduct of the
bridges I've burned.
Craving soothing touch,
Yet silently seeking
Incriminating Isolation,
Addicted to my own destruction.

A shattered soul dutifully
Dances on the Border,
Held captive by her sins.
Trapped between Good
and Bad. Happiness
and Heartbreak. Lost
and Found. Death
and Resurrection.

Born on the Border, a
Simple Figment of
Immoral Imagination.
bluedays Oct 2018
A vast expanse of
blue and despair,
a grand view,
but a lonely one.
Wind on my skin,
an icy grip,
a hand from the past,
never forgotten.
I wish you were here,
with me.

I didn't do anything today.
I couldn't.
Not with the great blue covering me,
with that arrow through my heart,
shattering it.

I'm scared of many things,
but mostly I'm afraid of nothing.
The nothingness inside my heart,
that void,
that blackness.
That I'll be a hollow man,
empty of love.
Sometimes I reach out,
but mostly I don't,
because that too,
I am scared of.
bluedays Sep 2018
a couple
aromatic
roses

those
flushed
cheeks

pools of
rusted
blood

that
bittersweet
death

tinges
of
red
bluedays Aug 2018
the mightiest of warriors,
fall on their knees,
clutching for something,
anything.

the tallest of towers,
hide under brilliant beams.
internal strife,
unseen.

me,
forcing a smile.
falling
apart.
  Aug 2018 bluedays
Cné
Who would think a rose so sweet
Would dry and crumble at the feet
And blooms that scent the night and day
Would steal a heart, then fade away

With petals soft and fondly red
Sweet essence fills an addled head
Then turns to dust before the eyes
Leaving naught, but sad surprise

Who would think such thorny vine
Could lift a blossom as divine
And by the stem on which it stands
Could so wrong an offered hand

Such strength and beauty is rarely true
A blessing owned by very few
As 'neath the soil, in winters keep
There sleeps a rose to tear a cheek

Who would think that perfect bloom
Could be a bane, a curse of doom
So fine a sight, yet in disguise
A rose to ***** and blind the eyes
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