So this is where we are:
Another empty bottle, another broken heart, another ******* ugly scar.
If only scars could tell stories-
Mine would write a ******* novel.
The bottle and this broken heart are one in the same.
They both had a label on the front trying to convince the world that they were something different,
But you used them up so quickly it's no wonder you couldn't taste.
You put me to waste and did so with such haste.
I hope you paced yourself, because now I'm out the door.
And it's weird-
There's a world out here-
With people, and cars, birds and trees- more than you and me.
I never knew there was a world outside of your touch,
Your embrace,
Your eyes.
But this world is cold and dark;
This world is strange.
Now I know that one thing's clear-
It's darker an colder in your arms than it is right here.
Here, my dear, is quiet and weird.
It is baffling to see the clouds so white
Or the sky so blue.
It's weird to see the world not revolving around... you.
So I've got this broken bottle-
I'll take it to this scar.
I want to see inside.
I want to see what I broken heart looks like- more than just a feeling,
Like how I saw the outside world for the first time just today.
I want blood to pour from this scar, no, this souvenir-
To fill another empty bottle,
So I can drink my sweet poison once again.
Drink my sweet poison once again!
AGAIN!
I swear I've lived this scene before.
Is my life a revolving door?
Is there no way out?
Or is there no way in-
No door for a savior to run through;
No savior to bare a cape,
No savior to sport a flashy name or spew lies to ****** ears.
Oh wait, I meant victim, not ******.
Victim.
It's not the first time around, remember?
Now that's a label I could wear!
You took my innocence in every way possible,
But is it possible
That I'll end up back for more?
This deja vu, this loopty loop-
Is this the first or the last of my being through with you?
Whichever it is, I know how it will end,
Because this is just where we are:
Another empty bottle, another broken heart, another ******* ugly scar...
Except this time, they all belong to you.

Why would I?
Why should I?
Why could I?
Why would I crawl back into that thorn bush?
Why should I travel back in time to have it hurt again?
Why could I be a superhero?

Well, because that thorn bush has roses.
And traveling back in time and experiencing that pain would be better than the pain of today.
And well, because, I'd look **** good in a cape.

But why would there be roses on a thorn bush?
And why should I still have to go through pain?
And why could I pull of a cape so dashingly?

Well, because there's beauty in beasts.
Pain is never-ending.
And well, I've been my own superhero for quite sometime.

Would I show it?
Should I show it?
Could I show it?

No.

And it's better that way.

Careful.
I’m fragile.
A heart made of glass.
Reflecting light throughout myself with each passing glance.
Shimmering,
A diamond.
But not as strong as I seem.
If I cut through glass does that mean I cut through myself?
Ruby seeps from my slippers staining the floor.
There is no place like a dream.
Opalescent,
but empty.
Carved from hopeless tears that dropped and froze.
Sharp edges melt if you hold them close enough.
And fill up the open space if you chase away the cold.
Crystal,
A gem.
Galaxies swirl and spin as you play with my emotions.
A vortex of sweltering heat turning
glass,
a diamond,
an opalescent crystal,
Into a compliant putty in your hands,
Soft and yielding after your warmth shattered the frost encasing it.
Careful,
I’m fragile.
Though even if I am engulfed by flames.
I can't promise I won't covet the burn.

How beautiful it is to stay silent
When someone expects you to be enraged at them
How beautiful it is to laugh
When someone thinks you are going to shed tears

To my mother, Gina,
Who's watching over me.
Today is your birthday.
You would have been 50.

You had me when you were 31,
And left me when you were 49.
No one knew that you were going.
No one still knows why at this time.

You were an angel of a woman.
A healer and a helper.
As I was growing up I'd say,
"I wanna be just like her!"

Even though life hit you hard,
You wouldn't let it phase you.
You'd keep a beautiful smile.
Oh, this much is true.

When you passed away,
It was a sudden blow.
Like from my chest my heart was ripped.
And from my body too was my soul.

Everyday I cry tears.
I leave the evidence on my shirt.
These tears stains are just evidence.
Evidence that it still hurts.

And today is your birthday.
May 2 is the date.
Today is your birthday.
50 is the age.

But you're not in the next room over.
Not there for me to run to.
I can't come say "Happy Birthday."
And you're not there to say "Thank you."

You're up in Heaven.
The big glorious kingdom in the sky.
And it's just got me thinking,
I wonder what birthdays in heaven are like.

You're celebrating a new life.
Eternal life is the name.
You get to walk those golden streets.
And never feel any pain.

But down here on earth,
We miss you, oh we do.
And it's heartbreaking that we have to go to a graveside.
Just to sing "Happy Birthday" to you.

But even through the pain,
There's still happiness here.
Knowing we get to celebrate you.
Is the greatest celebration my dear!

So today is your day.
Our celebration will ring through.
Happy 50th Birthday Mom.
I love and miss you.

sycophantic poetry
im only here to please you
im only here to ease
this starvation of attention
my words are only
hollow messengers
that mean only
that im devoted
but when
im gone
who will turn you
into the poetry
that you dont understand

[holyoak]