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breezeblocks Aug 2013
everything is black and white
i can see the curve of your spine
the rise and fall of your chest
as the city below buzzes

we're stuck in a room with no door
on a street with no lights at midnight
the sky is clouding over
is this where we part?

steam rises from every cup in time
the smoke escapes from my lungs
curling into the air above me
i can feel your heartbeat in sync with mine

my bones are straining
under the weight of what's to come
were we not beautiful?
were we not true?

you're waking up
i can feel the bed below me sink and strain
your eyes are the colour of the ocean after a storm
"i could drown in those eyes"

we have everything to say to each other
but no ways to say it
we surround ourselves with people
who are already broken

a firework will rise, up, up, up
and crash in a wave of heat and colour
you were my magnificent everything
"we were never the type to do things halfway"
(i know this was overdue)
breezeblocks Aug 2013
if my eyes could tell a story,
it would be about how it wore glasses,
how love used to be blurry until you came along,
you were like the last snowflake during winter
and the first flower that bloomed in spring.
my eyes liked to tell me a story
about how you were the shore and i, the waves,
about the origin of the stars
and how your eyes were to blame

if my lips could tell a story
they’d tell you that they longed to be pressed to yours
blow stars down my throat,
bring me back to life
take me to a place that feels like home
wrapped in your arms as the morning sun
poured across our skin

if my knees could tell a story,
they’d tell you about how they would quiver
every time your voice echoes through the room
and latches onto my soul,
they describe the feeling of the rough, cold ground
as i fall on them, accidentally bruising myself,
hopelessly losing my mind,
begging for your hands, positioned on my back,
pulling me towards you like gravity streaming on us

if my hands could tell a story
they’d trace the outline of your lips and your eyes
i was never good at maths
but i could count
the spaces between your ribs,
my fragile hands trailing down every inch of you,
planting seeds down your spine that will, grow, rise,
into flowers almost as lovely as your smile

if my veins could tell a story
it’d tell you how you drove your love into them,
aiming for my arteries,
how you were a galaxy to me,
leaving stardust and moonbeams
flowing through my body
you were never mine, but i wish you were
my veins told me a story of how they were lonely
and how they wanted to carry you, back to my heart
because they knew that that was where you belong

if my heart could tell a story
it would be one of hope, one of longing
two hearts beat in sync,
trapped beneath the weight of the world
you are everything I want
you are the poem I cannot finish, I don’t even know where to start
you are the exit wound, biting through skin
a hole in my chest where my happiness sinks into
[the poem i wrote with max]
breezeblocks Aug 2013
you were summer, no
you were the thunderstorms in summer
that lit up the sky like waves, rolling
like trees, forked towards the ground with purpose
you shook my bones, hammered at my heart
you terrified me

inching towards me every second,
you got closer and closer
until you were upon me like the sadness i feel
when i'm drunk and alone and without you
in the early hours of the morning,
when sleep feels as if it will never come
and my skin sticks to the sheets that encompass me
keeping me down, attempting to keep me
grounded to this earth

i think too much, i think too much about you
this is a note, this is a letter, this is a poem
asking, pleading, with you to come home
sadness, summer, you, always you, desire, crave, require
breezeblocks Jun 2013

the air turns from icy, to being on the furge of suffocating
the flowers are opening, sun warming their petals
the birds are singing at the break of day
the sky is blue, a clear window to the invisble stars above
you breathe in and it's almost too much

and so it's spring, and you're in love with the idea of love
you move to a new city, a city that never sleeps
steam rising from coffee cups simultaniously
as lungs ache and hearts desire a soul
who they don't even know exists

you kiss a boy that tastes like mint and friday nights
you take him home and let him rough you up
waking to white sheets, soft skin
as the sun cast shadows over the room as it rises
and he becomes a stability you didn't know you needed
i love him so much help
breezeblocks Jun 2013
draw me a path,
that leads me straight to you

paint the moon
into the sky, so i can see
the road ahead of me

i long to feel your fingertips
ghost on my skin,
reminding me this is real

my hands clasp on sheets
as i try desperately to sleep
while nightmares threaten to take over

the stars and moon will align,
a thin tread will always lead me back to you
breezeblocks Jun 2013
You're sixteen years old, and you know
                                             how to write an essay in under an hour. You know
           how many paragraphs you will need, and what part of a text you need to
                  rip apart,
                                        just so you can
                                put it back together like you want (need) it to be.

                             You've been alive for sixteen years and
                                                         you've smoked everything your parents
                                      told you not to,
                                                                ­       you've felt the ache in your lungs and
                                                                ­                 the burn at the back of your throat,
                                                         ­                                            you've woken up in pain and felt regret
                                                          ­                                    and you've made it passed that (mostly).

       You're sixteen years old and you know why half the world
                 is starving, but you don't know why you're not
        allowed to give them food, you don't know why
                                           your parents wont let you race
                                   across the world to (attempt to) save a starving child.

                                                   You've been alive for sixteen years and you know
     what it feels like to be left at the supermarket while your mother
                                rushes of to get 'another type of pasta'
             or 'just one more piece of fruit',
                                                      you learnt (learning) pretty early
                                      what being alone
                                                                ­     felt like.

                                                         ­                   You're sixteen years old and you've memorized
                           more songs than you probably should have
                                                                ­                                          and you fell in love
                              with the idea of love before
                                     you had even truly
                                                  felt it for yourself. One day, you promise,
                       you will escape (be at peace with) this body
                                                                ­                       you have been so unwillingly trapped in,
                                                                ­             you will visit cities you didn't even know existed
                                                        and watching sunrises with a stranger that you love,
                                  you will tear them apart,
                                                          ­                     pin them down,
                     forcing your love into their dying lungs.
breezeblocks May 2013
i tried to write about how
the flowers craved the warmth
from the sun,
but somehow i ended up
writing about

to me, the world doesn't
spin in your absence,
and when you leave
the sky becomes just a
little bit darker

your voice would, always,
be my favorite soundtrack
i hope you never fall,
you never feel pain

you are an addiction,
i'm afraid too much of you
would be an
unhealthy overdose

i hope you never think of me
as much as i think
about waking up
next to you at 3am
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