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Dec 2015 · 467
for my love
cyanide skies Dec 2015
someday you'll wake up
from a nightmare unprecedented.
you'll sit up straight,
gasp and stare in the darkness
like it's going to swallow you whole.
but then I'll mumble
half asleep beside you
and I'll reach out for you
and say, "lay down baby,
I'm here and you're okay."
and you'll smile, fears gone
I'll turn over, place my arms
around your body
that had previously been quaking.
I'll hold you and kiss your neck
my warmth right beside you
and we'll fall asleep again.

someday I'll wake up
to the smell of brewing coffee
and I'll get out of bed
head down to the kitchen
to find you at the table
a mug of tea ready for me
and you with your coffee.
I'll go over to the counter,
spoon honey into my tea
while you hug me from behind
and pull me into bed again.

someday we'll wake up
and lay in bed all day
I'll ruffle your hair
you'll slide your hands up my nightshirt
and we'll stay intertwined
while rain falls in sheets
while we're under sheets
and the rest of the world
deals with the world's problems
and whenever I try
to get anything done
you'll pull me close
and I'll kiss you again.

someday they'll wake up
with your hair and my eyes
my nose and your smile
and their little feet
will stomp down to the kitchen
you with your coffee
me with my tea
us with our pancakes
and our own little family.
Dec 2015 · 318
cyanide skies Dec 2015
"life isn't all sunshine and cuddles,"
he said as he pressed the burning cigarette to
the small of her back.
"you have to learn your lesson"
the milky white of
her imperfect skin
marred by the ugly black
of all of his sins.
"life is about *** and revenge,"
he said as he took everything she had.

things could be different though
and soon they were
there was a new man now
he brought her flowers
and caressed the scarred small of her back
he kissed her body and left the choices up to her
she loved him dearly but told him
with soft, harsh lips:
"you have to learn your lesson,"
and her sins became his.
Dec 2015 · 1.5k
cyanide skies Dec 2015
I didn't wait long
for the milkman to arrive
but instead of milk he had
liquid cyanide
and I didn't know how to tell him
that I was all set with that
so I paid him, zipped my lips
and decided that was that.
Oct 2015 · 555
cyanide skies Oct 2015
"Tell me what it's like," he started
unsure of where it would go.
She took the right turn up at
the graveyard and said to him, her hands
on the steering wheel
drumming away to a Led Zeppelin song
"To be so close to death, you mean."
her voice was like matter-of-fact static
on a frequency too far away
for attachment.
"No," his voice wavered
and his eyes focused on a fixed point
somewhere above the mausoleum
that loomed before them
as he said with brevity
"What's it like to be back?"
cyanide skies Oct 2015
you'd think this would be another poem about
the rhythmic disturbance of insomniac instances
of ideas playing themselves out like cascading
tumbling forces wearing holes in the soles of their
metaphoric shoes as I use big words to stump you
into believing that you know what I'm talking about
but the truth is that you don't know and you won't know
but you turn it around and put it under a microscope
and you analyze my syntax and my use of frantic diction
and you tell yourself that you know what I'm feeling
because you used all of the methods they taught you
but who are they and how do they know what it means
to be awake at all hours of the night not because of
insomnia but because the thoughts of inferiority won't
let me be because I let myself believe too many things
and they are the tireless echoes of ghosts in the nighttime
that refuse to give me
Sep 2015 · 1.3k
cyanide skies Sep 2015
I'm fine,
I say, *I'm just a sad teenager.

I shrug, indifferent,
and they nod and they offer
small smiles of gossiping
wishful melancholy
as if wishing
they had enough energy
to pretend to care.

I'm fine, I tell
the mirror every morning
I chant it like a satanic hymn
because I am indifferent
just like them.

the sadness on my back
is fine for the day
when I can shrug
even under its reign
because I am indifferent
and that cannot change.

but at night I lay
in cloudy-eyed trepidation
unable to plague
the world with my problems
because it is indifferent
and so am I.

the world is always
indifferent at first
until the best
becomes the worst.
but now I'm indifferent.
Sep 2015 · 785
how it ends
cyanide skies Sep 2015
drifting along a sea
of broken glass and ashes
falling from the sky
liquid cyanide
stardust on the tongue
of naive existence
swallowing it
like the sun yellow
snow of a third winter.

cut feet and the orbit
of undiluted moonlight
forming crystallized
blood drops
a catalyst
for the downfall
but the downfall of what?
the worst part of the end
is not knowing what exactly
is ending.
Sep 2015 · 531
cyanide skies Sep 2015
hello was all it took
to fall in love with the boy
whose eyes change color with every kiss
enticing me to stare into them
trying to figure out a constant hue
never ending kisses
and a backdrop of sunset shades
Aug 2015 · 1.2k
cyanide skies Aug 2015
i like to start off poems
with a sort of unsettled sometimes
because the absence of strict time progression
seems more abstract.
but maybe i
with my broken keys
stuck without caps lock
should maybe realize
that seeming more abstract
isn't the point.
i like to start off poems
with a sort of unsettled sometimes
because i can't immediately come to grips
with the sort of starry wording
i need to describe the way the constellations
align in my heart, only sometimes
*all the time
Aug 2015 · 1.8k
Morning (Eclipsed)
cyanide skies Aug 2015
I looked for a good morning
under a sky that didn't feel right
the meteor showers can't end
just because night has
and daylight has broken
broken out
of the chrysanthemum cage
the starry starry night
had put in place
and when my good morning eclipsed
into a wilted noon
I decided to wait
wait out the day
and it slipped right by me
so I looked for a good night
and the night wasn't
as starry starry
as it had been before
but the meteors were still there
awaiting my delicate eyes
and when I saw the trail of fire
I knew I'd receive
a beautiful good morning.
cyanide skies Aug 2015
she smelled like clementines
the year the winter became floral
and when the springtime cropped
up skeletons of flowers
she couldn't use her imagination and
they told her it was fine they
told her that was that
and this was this
and it was time for the winter
to stop blooming
who had ever heard of a floral winter, anyway?
so she packed away those
ideas of flight
and the winters became poison ivy
winding, wrapping themselves
spineless but wicked
around and around until they rested there
right there in her chest
choking her heart.
Aug 2015 · 1.7k
The Art Of Destruction
cyanide skies Aug 2015
"There's an art to it."
She says as she
flicks the end
of her cigarette
into the dirt.
"To what?"
She sighs,
grinding the cigarette
into the ground
with the heel
of her shoe.
"Destroying yourself."
and he never stopped her.
Aug 2015 · 651
Misplaced Caution
cyanide skies Aug 2015
he's asked for
a cigarette

but he doesn't smoke
turns out his pockets
and is shot dead
in a pool of misplaced caution
tinged red
veins expelling
voices garbling
until there is darkness
because there is no heaven
and there is no hell

there's only the misplaced caution
of a man who never smoked
in a world of gunpoint and demand.
Jul 2015 · 389
Dark Wood
cyanide skies Jul 2015
those three little words
that took so long for her to say
made not a **** difference.
she looked at the floor, studying
the grain of the dark wood
and she felt the waves
of his braying laughter
and she flinched
she flinched ******* it
as if she were afraid
afraid of him spitting the words
right back at her
but this
this was worse
so when those three little words
it was all for the better
and she stood over
the man whom had laughed
loud, braying laughter
in the face of her love
right there
on the dark wood floor
and she said three new words.
*I killed him.
bullets mcr makes me violent.
Jun 2015 · 617
cyanide skies Jun 2015
maybe you should listen*
1. don't ask me if I'm alright
2. I never am, and
3. you can take that any way you'd like.
4. I'll love you, but
5. you can't leave once I have, because
6. that's the way to make me never okay again.
7. if you want to hurt me, just
8. say 'you'll be fine'
9. as you walk away.
you've just got to stay.
Jun 2015 · 592
11:14 pm
cyanide skies Jun 2015
tell them you've got a story
and they'll listen with ears clogged
stuck on your metaphors
but too drained to ask for meanings
tell them you've got a story
and they'll talk over your voice
so instead, here you are
hiding behind pseudonyms
that sound romantic enough
for a page turn
so you write
and say that you've got a story to tell
when really, you wrote this at 11:14 pm
in your room
with the lamp bulb burning too hot
and you're making it up as you go
because you're tired
and someone must understand that
the shadows are getting to be too long
and you've still got a **** story to tell
but it's too late for stories
and too early for confessions
so you continue to write
and hope, someday
that when you say you have a story to tell
someone will listen;
really listen.
cyanide skies Jun 2015
I am in love with the white walls of potential
white walls, white walls
I am in love with the sky and all the little doves
white, like the white walls
stark but never gray
I am in love with things I'll never be
the white vision of rage
before it is stained red
always searching for the walls
but only the white ones, never just gray
I am in love with the clouds
but not just the sky, never just the sky.
the sins of all the world lie on your head. - imagine dragons
cyanide skies Jun 2015
maybe it was worth it and maybe when I first saw it coming I saw something less like an ending and more like a beginning because you know, for the astronomical chances to completely align, once when they called for the end of the world, and a second time when he crossed my path like the broken revolution of Pluto, is to call for a complete set of anomalies to ensue and maybe that wasn’t it at all maybe it was just a crazy twist of fate that was meant to teach the universe that you can have what you want but it comes at a price because even when the world wasn’t ending there was no such thing as forever and shortening people’s forevers makes for a whole lot of desperation maybe that was it maybe it was desperation but no matter what it really was, I’m still here in this mess of ands and maybes that spin me around while the end of the world is hurtling towards us at so many light years an hour an hour an hour of time I don’t have time anymore but I’ve got to tell him I love him I’ve got to tell him I love him I’ve got to tell him I lo
my first frantic-paragraph poem
Jun 2015 · 7.0k
Butterfly Kisses
cyanide skies Jun 2015
he kissed her eyelids
soft like pale butterfly wings
and she woke up
with a cold space beside her
the memory of those butterfly kisses
still fresh on her face.
cyanide skies Jun 2015
I tried to talk to caterpillars once
and when they didn’t talk back I thought
there was something wrong with me
but when they finally replied I
there was something wrong with me
and maybe I tried to fix it
or maybe I didn’t
either way,
the fuzzy caterpillar voices
never stopped
and I tried my hardest
to avoid the tomato plants
skirting around them
in the garden of my thoughts
but there’s poison ivy around the edges
and I’m sick of the rashes
of losing it all to a half-bloomed rose
to the promise of growth
and the reality of a frozen season
of leaves being eaten
by the caterpillars
when I could’ve told them to stop.

— The End —