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Viridian Jan 2019
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I wish to wipe my hands clean of what I knew
I've learnt what capabilities I have, and I've been traumatized
I don't care if the cycle is starting to repeat once more
I want to do things differently and finally save my own soul
Because the biggest capability I've found within myself
Is the power to wash away what I once known
Viridian Feb 2018
The dream of tomorrow brought beats to the drum in my chest—creating a rhythm that harmonized into a symphony of passion and eros, thus forming her.

Her who is a dream and reality all at once: ethereal, absolute, agonizing, beautiful.

Her who could only be described by the deepest of devotions, but even then it falls short of what she truly is.

All I am and all I ever will be is her lowly servant, for she is much too sacrosanct to be with me.

I pay no heed as I am forced to split seas and bend mountains, contorting bones and stretching skin—willingly ******* the marrow of life itself all to be within her divine presence.
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Viridian Dec 2018
102
It was my thing. It was our thing.
I'm not ready to share it with the world.
I want it to stay my thing. Our thing.
Viridian Mar 2018
It's foolish to wish on eyelashes, stars, dandelions, numbers, and everything in between

The mere concept of grasping upon straws to achieve our desires in itself has become nonsensical childhood rhymes.

But if it grants me even the smallest placebo of solace in this unforgiving *******, then...

Star light, star bright,
First star I see tonight,
I wish I may, I wish I might,
Have this wish I wish tonight.
I wish to be okay again.
Viridian Sep 2018
As she shook, smoke wisped from her cracked puckered lips

Spirits soared up and down, drowning her somber with a sting and burn

Denying her lungs the right to heave and supply, necessary to sustain life

Refusing her soul the right to feel and sympathize, necessary to live for the sake of him
Viridian Mar 2018
my fingers graze your cold skin
leaving a trail of passion at its wake
i meet your eyes, a constellation
turning the dark into a galaxy
my breath hits your exposed neck
erupting anxiety and carnal need
i taste your sweat and rose perfume
honey and wine for the wicked and free
late nights and early mornings are meant for cognac, coffee, and contemplation
Viridian Aug 2018
I have only one match left

One gave me a sparks and nearly caught fire, but instead turned out to be too fragile to use, so I set it aside in hopes that it would give me a flame one day when its ready

The one before that was lit too brightly and burnt my fingers, making me drop it on the ground to burn out on its own, scorching the ground below me with licks of orange and red and passion I don't know how to handle

That one match on the counter, I'm far too afraid to ignite, and instead allowed it to grow wet and unusable to even strike against the rough to attempt to set it ablaze

All the others were duds and broke too easily, so I had to throw them all away, unable to be used for the warmth it should have provided

I have only one match left

How will I ever light my way?
will i ever ****** stop?
Viridian Dec 2018
She's a little tired, a little cold
She feels a little empty in her soul
The room spins in his roundabout ways
He keeps her on edge most of the day
She's a little tired, a little sick of the ride
He thinks it's due to him not being able to hide
But that's not the case, let her make herself clear
She didn't want you there, she wanted you here
Her lips felt heavy with words unsaid
She felt like crying as she left him on read
It's when he is happy that she feels sad
And that in itself was what made her feel bad
It wasn't not being told or not being in the band
It was simply her desire to hold his hand
Viridian Aug 2018
I like using fire as an analogy, a metaphor, the punchline for most of my poetry

I often describe the heart as if it were a hearth, while its beats were the heat it radiated

I see it—sometimes a roaring flame, often times a steady bonfire, other times a dying match.

It could scorch you if you aren't careful, but it also provides you warmth and light. A sort of clarity. Comfort.

It allows some of the toughest things on Earth to become malleable and mold itself into something new

It turns the bitter into sweet, the biting cold to teeth-sinking warm, the tasteless into delicious

It allows the spirit to soar with columns of smoke to the heavens while the body becomes fertilizer for daisies

It takes beauty, and burns it black and ash to the point of no recognition

Fire is so precious, and dangerous, and essential, and beautiful, and ugly—just like this hearth of a heart

Tended and regulated well, it's the greatest discovery of mankind

Allowed to burn out quick, or spread out of control, then it's the accident that burned down London in 1666

I believe I should end this by saying: find someone who will tend to your hearth as if it were their last dying light, instead of a person who would simply roast marshmallows with forest fires
is this the part where i say that i'm a bit burnt out?
her
Viridian Sep 2018
her
Her body is a temple buried underneath lahar and regret
Her love is a garden unattended and left to burn
Her eyes are a midnight sky dominated by rainclouds
Her happiness is dictated by a bottle and Marlboro Reds
Her heart is an old love song grown bitter to the ear
She has no regard for herself
With no one to worship her temple
To tend to her garden
To gaze upon her sky
To replace her vice with virtue
To sing her song
All she could do now is wait for yet another to come around
And hope for the best that they'll be able to make her feel beautiful
Viridian Mar 2019
There isn't really much of a poem
Just a couple of lines or so that depict how stupid I feel, how weak I am, and how naïve I've become
To be used, chewed, and spat back out
Given to another to have it done all over again
How did that saying go?
Once is an accident, twice is a coincidence, thrice is a pattern?
Well, let's hope a third doesn't appear.
It's bad enough I was used as sloppy seconds.
I suppose some apples don't fall too far from the trees they surround themselves with.
Some things aren't sad
They aren't painful or grievous
Perhaps they're just stupid
Like, it's baffling to even admit
How could something so idiotic...
Just slip past your senses?
Viridian Oct 2018
In a 5 am wonder
A nicotine dawn
A black coffee haze
And a slow song start
I think about you
Possibly thinking about me
Viridian Dec 2018
Last night, you asked me what I was afraid of
And under the stars and the influence of sin
I refused to confess
I was afraid of you
Viridian Apr 2018
I can't blame you. Not you. Never you.
You are ethereal, absolute, and upon the highest pedestal.
You, who is afraid of heights and worship.
It is always me to blame for the wrong.
Me, who stands at the foot of your base.
Me, who isn't even placed upon a foundation.
Viridian Jul 2018
I think I'll just stop
And it's fine if you don't notice
You have a new match to light
To spark up and ignite
I'm fine in my ashened and withered self
I'm tired as it is, so grant me my solace
Let me rest finally after spending so many nights awake and alone with you
I've been drowning in the melted wax and supposed dreams of what and how
I'll just stop burning what's left of me
And go back to myself that was myself when you weren't involved
When nobody was ever involved
I shouldn't feel to this, I can't. But I do. And I'm finally going to do something about it.
Viridian Feb 2018
I have accepted the heart you held in my hand.
I wished to fit it with my own.

But in the process, you kept deliberately cutting my fingers

Was I going too fast? Possibly.
Were my pieces too small? Possibly.
Were the edges too sharp? Possibly.

And yet, I continue to clutch at your shards with ****** palms.
I can't let you go, even if you hurt.
I accepted your heart, and I can't go back on my word.

I will, one day, form a beautiful stained glass portrait of you and I.

No matter how many ounces I bleed, I'll attempt to complete this work of art.
And yet, I ended up shattering more of my own pieces to try and fit them in with yours
Yours, whose pieces weren't meant to fit mine at all
Viridian Mar 2018
There is no poem.

I have no words to mold and shape into something as beautiful as you.

I have no beats or melodies that I can make with a song or two.

I have no imagination to make all these emotions flow like rivers do.

You ran me dry and ****** out everything I had to show for—as if I had any more left to show for.

Speechless, stagnant, and dumb. That is what you rendered me.

Thanks.
I have nothing to note of.
Viridian Feb 2019
I grasp onto the gasps and awe of some stranger
I do it all reckless, and so unafraid by this danger
I tango with the early hours and my own ***** mind
I beg for more from the phone screen I hide behind
I play with these loose holds and these unattached strings
I play with their pleasure, revel in the way they moan and sing
I validate my own worth through this self I display
I almost don't recognize the person on my mirror today
I spiral down a dark and never-ending abyss of grappling with addiction after addiction, vice after vice

— The End —