Memories of bruises
Velvet fit for kings
In the petals of a pansey
Oily sheen of raven's wings
The inside of a geode
Tanzanite in rarest form
The color of a baby's face
Right after it is born
It is the color indgo
To red violet of wine
Tracing stormy sunsets or
Boganvilla vines
Plums and grapes
remind one
Of purple's strange appeal
The color of great bravery
A wound which finally heals
Whatever your mentality
This collage of purple hues
Is simply a mixture of

The colors red & blue


SøułSurvivør
(C) 5/2/2017

Ah the snowflake
Shiver and shake
Quietly as an earthquake
As it falls on my tongue
The cold makes me numb
As the white envelopes my black,
Is there no turning back?
The snowflake is a savior
A product of our nature
It dances with my despair
It weaves hope into my hair
Yet with every passing year
The hope seems to disappear
The smiles begin to fade
The dullness won't go away
Snowflake, you have pacified me.
Falsely, I believed I was safe.
So I must say goodbye forever
Can no longer be tethered
To your touch.

How can you write what you feel,
What you know,
When you don’t?
How can I keep the words from running dry
When I’m wasting time trying to squeeze them
From the inkwell of my mind?

I am not an artist,
I am a student.

And yet everything I’ve learned
Seems to fail me.
Rhymes, meter, imagery:
Why do I know these things
If I can’t use them myself?

I am not an artist,
I am an observer.

This problem is not rare
And yet as I write about not writing
I write.
My lack of a story
Is a story itself.
Thinking is the enemy
And in this head of mine
My foe flies at me relentlessly.
Sometimes a mind overflowing with thoughts
Can hurt more than an imagination run dry.
Yet the pain only fuels me.

I am not an artist,
But I could be.

missing: in quiet a place that’s green
where neon seascapes are all smiling
and the white windmill barely speaks
where diamond panthers lie in violet
and the weeping moon never sleeps
suspended by shallow light
between giants named suicide and grief
in a fish net made of stardust
with overflowing cups of angels blood
to comfort and fill our empty veins
and all you can feel here is warmth
all we feel is warm
vampire queen
snowwhite
Moloch of restless sleep
the planets here are ghosts waiting
behind the black screens of broken TVs
pass the ****
ill be smoking here with them
when you come to ressurect me