Her eyes are a metaphor,
   a conceit, fantasy

No shakespearean sonnet
   even a lyric, will suffice
   to describe the elegance she carries

Her smile, the greatest curve,
   all simile will be denied

Haikus and couplets
   even the long ones
   will not be enough

Her laughter is a song,
   a perfect harmony and melody

She is neither a hyperbole
   nor full of irony
   instead she is perfect rhyme

She is a walking poetry
   a personification of aesthetics

Almost an abstract
   unfathomable beauty
   out of the ordinary

If you were not so far away
I'd catch you in my hungry  arms
and you'd lie down and sigh and stay
if you were not so far away
I'd never want to leave or stray
entangled in your eyes and charms
If you were not so far away
I'd catch you in my hungry arms

It's been a few years,
since I picked up that blade
determined to slice the sadness
out of my viens.
Ridges and indentions
of scar tissue
litter my body.
Yet, even now,
when I get really down,
I still want to add to my collection.
I am starkly aware
that it's not right,
not at all; but,
nothing else works quite as well.
Besides...
perhaps it's a punishment, too.
One that I deserve.


(d.d.b)

we are the masters of self-destruction
trying to numb the pain with wine
and drugs
and smoke filling up our lungs,
we write down in lines with no rhyme
all the things
that make our souls burn and die.
our poems bleed
we drink their blood
then we write again,
listening to stupid songs all night
wishing sometimes we were deaf
wishing we were dead.
we let the doors open
anyone with a knife can come inside
cutting our hearts in half,
any tear is welcome
to create the ocean around us
in which we deliberately drown ourselves.
masters of self-destruction,
our bodies are temples where dying souls hide,
we run till our legs are broken
jump off cliffs
go between sharks' cheeks
forgetting to sleep
to dream
we bleed
we drink
we love
and hurt
it's a madmen game we play
each day
laughing hysterically
while slowly taking steps to the graves
we dug for ourselves,
the masters of self-destruction we are
lunatics
worshiping what's not for us to adore
crying
hiding
falling again
and again.
legs broken,
hearts cut and eaten
flesh ripped from our bones
lungs full of water
ears burnt
our eyes scream
but that's fine
'cause we are the masters of self-destruction
and our life is just a mad game

The worst thing I ever did to myself was love you.
I loved you at my worst
and when you broke my heart,
I slipped even further than I ever thought I could

missing you used to come and go but now it's that constant feeling behind everything i do and everywhere i go
2. kissing you at certain places in the city was a mistake because they seem to be engraved in my mind with that moment etched into their cobble stones forever
3. when my feet make a run from everything that's in my mind i realise that there's always a hope somewhere you'll be the thing that i run to
4. i want to take back everything i tell you because i never feel like it's adequate enough
5. whenever we talk my brain turns to mush and i'm stuck stumbling over words trying to connect some kind of saying from a string of sounds that come out like i either give too much of a **** or too little
6. whoever invented playing hard to get hasn't met me and my capabilities
7. i've forgotten how you kiss but i remember how i felt and that feeling is all that's stayed with me this long
8. i can't sleep anymore because i'm scared to fall asleep and scared to wake up and i wish you were here because for a while you were the main reason i was motivated to do either
9. metaphors aren't coming as easily as before but maybe that's because my hands have forgotten what it's like to write down anything but i miss you i miss you i miss you
10. seeing everybody in love around me ******* *****
11. bettering  yourself stops being beneficial when you realise no amount of bettering is going to help the situation
12. i don't know what i'm going to do when i see you next because twelve weeks has made me comfortable in your ambiguity and i don't know if i can leave this state of numb

don't tell me about your first love-
tell me about your last.

tell me how he made you believe in love
when you thought your time had passed.

tell me how he made you feel
when you thought the butterflies were dead.

tell me how you tried silencing your heart
and all the crazy thoughts in your head.

tell me how he taught you
to love just a little bit again.

tell me how it was like taking your first step
how it was like to once more begin.

tell me how you thought your heart was dead
how you'd been hurt too many times before

tell me how you saw yourself falling for him
and constantly wanting more.

tell me how you thought you weren't worthy of love
tell me how all those thoughts vanished with one touch

a year, a decade, a century
how no time with him was too much

tell me how he excites you
how you're seeing colors you didn't know existed.

tell me how you finally gave in to giving love another chance
how you couldn't fight it, no matter hard you resisted.

tell me how you thought that love just wasn't for you
tell me how being with him makes you feel love is just for you.

tell me how the world seems just a little better
tell me how the grass is greener, the sky a little more blue.

tell me about your last love;
the one who really stayed.

how he's the missing piece of the puzzle
the one for whom you always prayed.

tell me about your last one
the one standing by your bed.

the one you hold on to a second too long
before you forever rested your head.