I saw a girl walking down the street the other day;
And she reminded me a bit of myself.
Her Cobalt eyes remained attached to the sky,
as if the infinite blue in it held promise for her.
She was utterly aloof.
As I passed her by,
she took time to acknowledge my presence with a quick nod.
I gave her the same.
It was just that,
and we were connected.
Funny though,
I don't think that I care to know this girl at all.
It is as though nothing will be gained from learning any more,
because I know that we are combined with the same essence.
She might love spring,
I might loathe the summer.
That doesn't matter.
It never will.

I cannot reside in selflessness, nor can I reside in senselessness.
My pride alleviates both.
Dreams do not exist from my stand-point,
although I dream of escaping this place every day.
If only there were another way to build up a smiling facade.
Something I could conform to,
a small tent.
I sincerely do wish I could let somebody else take the blame.
I would watch in ignorant fascination as an anonymous culprit was raked and exploited.
People would yell,
"This is all your fault,"
As the accused one shrouded and shook,
"You couldn't save us!"
While I would watch in discreet glorification of it all;
Glorified with the fact I was no longer being burned at the stake.
Does this render me cruel?
Yes.
Aren't all children, though?

Never have I fallen,
for something so sanguine.
Somebody like you simply just cannot exist.
Although you do.
So, it is my mind that fools.
within in my stony eyes you cause a light to form.
The light flickers,
and as you walk away it withers.
So, yes my mind is made to fool me.
You pierce like a scorpion,
I pay no mind to those ruby droplets.
Your hazel gaze is much more than mesmerizing.
I am one faulty hell of a girl.
you have by now, figured this out.
Please forget me,
so that maybe I will forget you as well.
So, I am the December to your May.
You turn my brass to glisten like gold.
Yes, you light me up that much.
It is funny how I thought you could be my savior,
and I dropped my spiritual purpose due to this.
Still, this isn't love nor will it ever be.
Just something vacuous beneath something sanguine.

I spin slowly.
Round and Round
I envision as all of the thoughts and words of others merge.
They all merge into a massive sanguine artwork.
Everybody that exists in the universe,
now knows their purpose;
And that is to prosper within the love of others.
I cry sometimes.
Knowing that people out there aren't aware of their own aboriginal beauty.
We all branch from it, we all create it.
Still, some are not aware.
I laugh constantly.
Because I know of it's inevitable remedy.
People who laugh,
people who are at ease with themselves,
never cease to catch  my eye.
The only advice that I can give,
in my young years,
is that in order to live up to your true purpose,
you must laugh constantly.
Cry sometimes.
And let your subconscious dance.

I dwell on what nostalgia could have left me behind.
Living in ignorance must be much better than living in this dull, dull world.
Believe that there is a thick line between curiosity and cruel intentions,
I do.
Still being a young girl--Who undoubtedly convinces herself she is wise beyond her own years,
you must wonder;
'Why is she so tired?'
Just a young, stubborn girl.
We have the tendency to create our own problems, our own mistakes.
We are human, it is the norm.
I just believe that maybe a far-fetched world  safe with idealism is my utopia.
Sadly, in places like this utopias cannot be reached, nor achieved.
We teeter around like robots, always sore from the same routine;
With no knowledge of how--or when, we will break through.
Does change even exist here?

This is how an angel dies,
a strange temptation caresses me;
and I scream my hatred of the one who created me.
I'm lost in the dark,
littered with bruises that even I fail to recognize.
Constantly I will blame myself,
while convincing others that I don't need them.
I say things like,
"I have done it on my own,
I need to do it on my own."
The smoke quietly rises on the spokes of which I stand.
The brighter ones tell me of my guilt,
of why I don't deserve what I yearn for.
So once again I am a little girl,
reaching out to all of the appealing men before me;
so desperate for their attention.
Silently I go up in flames,
just as urgently I am dowsed with water.
hastily I fall to my knees,
begging for redemption from the one who created me.
*this is how an angel dies