It's not the wounds that are bleeding but the heart.

Once the darkness
Ruled the night.
You could not see
By candlelight.

Now the lights
Are bright...

They WIN!

But it's darker than
It's ever been.


SoulSurvivor
Catherine Jarvis
(C) October 2, 2014

You know those tears you get
When you can't stop laughing
Because you don't want to
And they just rest on your cheeks
Until you finish your laughter
And you wipe them away

You know those tears you get
When you watch a sad movie
And you feel like the characters are real
Even though they're not
And the tears just rest by your lips
Until the movie is over
And you wipe them away

You know those tears you get
When you say goodbye to a friend
And you don't want them to go
But they need to go
And the tears just rest on your chin
Quivering
Until the dust settles
And you wipe them away

You know those tears you get
When you walk down the aisle
And everything is perfect
When love is beautiful
And the tears just collect on your eyes
Until you need to blink
And you wipe them away

You know those tears you get
When you remember yesterday
And you wish it were alive again
But it isn’t
And the tears just fall to the ground
They soak into the Earth
And you can't wipe them away

Each night I think I might write again,
and sometimes I even try,
but words never seem to want to come when forced,
and if forced they are often a lie.
I write when my mind forces me,
pushes me until the thoughts become words,
and feel that I will go mad if not written,
so that it must somehow be heard.
This is my quiet voice,
the one that I don’t often use,
it tells people the secrets of my true thoughts,
without the masks or the color hues.
My inner voice has many thoughts,
so many that writing them down makes my hands sore,
but write on and on I must,
or I feel insanity will unleash its evil core.
Mayhap I have already gone mad,
my hands not fast enough to save me,
maybe I only type these poems silently,
asking for a small grasp of insanity.
-NMY 20130613.014312

So I'll just sing
To the beat of my steps
As I put some miles between us
And all our unhappiness

He's okay
She's okay
They're okay
But I am not
People live their lives and I am ******* in mistakes
From their minds I've been erased
While they plague both my waking and sleeping thoughts
They continue to kiss as before
I do the same
Just with total lack of feeling
My love can't tell the difference
I am a hopeless romantic
As in when things are actually working out
I have to wreck it
In life, there is no perfection
And I have no patience for less

Maybe there are other people like us,
scraping £2.50 to get the night bus.
Requiring time,
but never a sign of love lost.

So when I wake up,
I look for the nearest shake up.
Wiping off your girlfriends make up,
because nothing will ever stop us.
Sending penetrating shivers,
an ecstasy like gold rush.

Back to sipping Hennessey,
making the girls blush but there ain’t no fuss,
‘coz the girls lost coming at a big cost,
as I plan the beginning the end and sub-plot.
Daym this girls hot but she don’t like ***,
if I don’t deliver man get shot.
Left 6ft under to rot, while my babies crying in her cot,
something the government planned,
straight to the source of another blood clot.

Unbelievable feeling’s that came from us,
but nothing was going to stop that bus
so don’t cause a fuss, head up and believe in trust.
If you could see me now, then you’d understand
two bags short of tenner, another pocket with ten grand.
Thinking about street corners, the place where it started,
going way back now, before my mother departed.
Family distraught, the horizon broken hearted.

Taking into account, the past and what’s it done,
I must face the consequences and what’s ahead to come.
It isn’t going to be fun, but I can’t turn and run,
believe in fate so the future doesn’t appear glum.
Then we call a peace treaty, and lay down our gun.

And I wish you would know that
I know how you feel.
How I know what you've been through.
And how I've been through it
Too.
Because then we might talk,
Shattering unscratched glass with the first sentence,
"What did you get for Number Seven?"
You would say, "Negative eleven, just factor..."
Maybe one day you'd text me and
Ask what the homework was
Because our teacher didn't tell you
From when you were sick.
And eventually, after tons of small talk,
After "How's the weather?"
Got old,
I could finally tell you
That I know.
I'd tell you that
I'm here, not the fake kind of here,
Which sounds like,
"I-know-and-I'm-here-and-you-can-talk-to-me-goodbye-forever­."
Not like that.
But the kind of here
That asks what ****** about your day,
And sends you links to cat videos,
And the kind of here
That texts you at two in the morning
And asks if you're alright
And doesn't take yes for an answer.

they tell her she is pretty on facebook
and truth be told,
she has a face like a southern bell...
but she sits with her hands folded
and her ankles crossed
and tips her head ever so slightly to the side,
chin raised
light glinting off
the brooch on her kohl's sweater...

she is not pretty
to me.

she has perfect cheekbones
big eyes
pouty lips
but she sits
like a doll
stiff,
posed,
placed
perfectly
intently
eyes
bright
i want to
smack her until the rag doll comes out
she is too perfect
too sweet
she is so sweet
that she is
sour
to me