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Sep 2017 · 354
"Wait"
Emma N Boyer Sep 2017
One summer I was
So out of shape that
I decided to run
With my little sister. She was on
The cross-country team.
I always told myself
I could beat her. I mean
She’s younger than me.
The first day she dragged me
Out of bed I couldn’t feel
My legs. There were creases
On my calves from the dusty sheets
Of the bottom bunk. I tripped
On my laptop trying to find my shoes.
I realized she didn’t
Wear shorts that often. The muscles
Beneath her skin smirked at me
While I fumbled with my laces. Her hair
Was in a high ponytail, pulling
At her cheekbones.
We jogged out of the driveway.

I had to clean out the back room when
I decided to skip class. There was so much
Random **** it made my head spin.
Hours consisted of me choking
On dirt and throwing away boxes.
The cardboard reminded me of
Moving day and how we all slept on the floor but
She left her canopy still hanging when we
Drove away for the last time.
I found a drawer full
Of paintings. None of them finished,
All of them signed.

I didn’t even know she could
Write until I found a journal in my
Hockey bag. Blue leather, full of stains.
Words I don’t think I would’ve
Noticed coming from someone else’s
Hands.
I left it on the locker room bench, open
  
We went cliff jumping and
I trembled at the edge with my
Heartbeat in my mouth
The water wasn’t liquid it was
Made of welkin stone
I couldn’t find my voice and my pulse was
Way too high
She leapt from above me without
Looking down
Sep 2017 · 311
Work In Progress
Emma N Boyer Sep 2017
Loving you is like the
static ache of sleeping limbs
It’s like yawning when exhaustion makes
your back knot up like yarn it's like
stretching out your fingers till
your shoulders glide again
lavender, soft yellow and red raging
in the rain, tendrils of pink promises
proposing to the sky it's the
first sip of hot chocolate
it is reading
by the fire it is racing home to leave again and sighing under sheets, cradling
my ankles cause they
never felt your lips

Wondering was waking up and finding
only empty rooms, slamming doors and
calling out to
nobody at all,
crossing sidewalks
backwards and ignoring traffic lights,
guided by the sand around my eyes and
in my shoes
worrying was poisonous, it
pinched me all day long,
underneath my armpits and
behind my pen tattoo I
wish I
didn't know you touched her did she
hug her ankles too did she
know how many freckles there are
sleeping on your back

Losing you was cold it was
my heart made out of lead, sinking into
stomach aches and leaning
on the stall, puking out
your promises and pulling out my hair,
counting cuts at midnight checking
ribs for wandering knives it was
the day they put him underground he couldn't drown me anymore and they
said it wasn't anybody's
fault but his alone and it's
weird because i watched and not
a single person cried
until they dropped their chuckling roses onto earth made out of lies,
spitting up aromas of
my brother's drunken wish
I peeled back lazy scars **** I
showed you all that I
had left, hoping you
would stroke my hair and
help me be alive

This second try is
fragile it's a
glass full to the brim, a leather seat
on a summer day
on the far side of the lot, warm enough
to doze off but
too hot to really dream
Sep 2017 · 236
Fumble
Emma N Boyer Sep 2017
i watched two
lovers in the moonlight fighting
over wasted breath they would
stalk away from each other
tears scalding swollen cheeks I saw
her stumble over smooth ground
and her knees hit
marbled earth
i saw her shoulders catch the
universe as he cried out with
borrowed pain
i saw her
give into the starlight
and her body
melt away
i saw him
fumbling for the remnants of her
voice amongst the stars
Sep 2017 · 218
Sister,
Emma N Boyer Sep 2017
the sky will kiss your cheeks when you are
sobbing in your sheets it will
breathe into your lungs it will
remind you that you’re young

there are angels in your stride and there are
flare guns in your mind don’t
let them make you blind don’t
let want
and need
collide

you are
golden as the dusk and
you are more
than just enough
i will race you to the edge and we can
leap until
we fly

if he won’t kiss your cheeks you know you always
have the sky
and if your flare gun leaves you weak
please remember
you have i
Sep 2017 · 208
Consent
Emma N Boyer Sep 2017
mixed signals in my
forearms racing tampering with
my pulse
this ache was born but dies with you i
wish i could explain
i'd never felt
my bones agree with anything but
sleep but when your
finger tips
almost
traced my lips they
screeched their bold consent
"let him in oh let him in
let him have what's left"
Sep 2017 · 223
Tick Tock
Emma N Boyer Sep 2017
They say once your heart is
Broken there's a
Clock on when you cry I mean you
Wake up in the morning and you're whispering his name
I wonder why it
Hits me when I'm
Staring in the mirror, counting all the reasons I would prob'bly leave me too but you know
That's the ******* problem that's why
All the bad boys win they
Teach you that your image isn't
Whole when they're not there they
Twist your arm behind your back cause
You like to hold their hand and
Then when they let go it's like the
Pain of phantom limb, you
Wish there was that pressure still that
Felt like you belonged but
"Property" and "follow me" aren't really
What you need there's
Not so many hours just to
Give to someone else you
Have to wonder if you want to be
Obedient or not my point
Is that I'm so in love that
I can't tie my shoes but
I know that
If I asked he wouldn't
Bend his knees to help so as much
As I don't like to shake or
Lie myself to sleep I
Recognize that hazel eyes are
Not my Golden Fleece and
Cold steel in my stomach tells me
"Call just one more time" but
Nothing about how he speaks
Suggests that he's still mine and
You know that's the ******* problem that I
Want to own him too I
Want promises that make the days
Seem shorter than they are I'm
Definitely broken but that's not
What matters most
It's that every time I see his face I
Flinch a little less so
Please let me remind you and I
Guess myself as well that
Clocks are obsolete unless
You choose to face the wall
Sep 2017 · 216
Caramel
Emma N Boyer Sep 2017
what have you
noticed lately about the girl
with caramel braids
I heard her
hum a song once she thinks the moon
is brave for floating in that
gentle ink we call
the midnight sky
every morning hiding
every night waiting to die

what have you seen
lately does she stumble
when she walks
what's set her off balance
does her heart race
with the clock she whispered
in my ear once that she
thinks the clouds should sing
her daydreams sprint
beside her but without them
she could win

what have you heard lately
about the girl
with emerald eyes
they wrapped her wrists up twice
this time maybe just
a bit too tight
she told me that the Earth is
sore from holding so much weight
she echoes, and she's empty now
but she's glad she
did not change

what have you noticed lately about
the girl with caramel braids
I heard her
hum a song once yes she
thought the moon was brave
for floating in that
gentle ink she knew she'd never touch
every morning: nothing
every night waiting for love
Sep 2017 · 160
Snarl
Emma N Boyer Sep 2017
I do not have to be sorry for
Just standing in the mirror,
Searching for the hole i can feel
Tearing through my skin I don’t
Have to apologize for sitting
On the tile way too fast and
Way too hard I don’t have to
Spell your name the way I
Heard it the first time because
Suddenly it’s different because
Suddenly it’s wrong i don’t want to
get up I don’t want to lift my heart again
It is buried in my hip bones it has
Weighed me to the floor I cannot
Speak about the bruises that left
Foam beneath my shirt
Screaming at each other til they
Snarled like dogs and spit
Sep 2017 · 146
2004
Emma N Boyer Sep 2017
I stood in the field fidgeting with
My dress there was a blue stain on
My sleeve
I rubbed at it while they
Carried him by and wanted to laugh because
My uncles were making silly faces their
Eyes were big and red like the
Horn on my old bike my
Mom grabbed my wrist and
Forced a rose into my palm I
Wanted to keep it for myself but
Everyone around me threw theirs down black
Ghouls staining the morning sobbing
Staring at
The ground, each with a different reason that
“It’s really not his fault”
My father never gave me flowers he never
Even tucked me in but I
Remember hoping that the thorns would
Wake him up as I
Let go

I stalked through the gray hallway with my
Books close to my chest
A hauberk for the rumors and the
Guesses that they made I
Slammed her head into the locker when she
Looked up and saw me sob it’s just I
Didn’t want to tell her that
There was so much ******* blood
It soaked into the hours that I
Just stared at the wall
Hoping someone would just ask me
So I could
Keep lying to myself

I don’t know how to write about
All the things I wish.
I am
Ashamed to want to know him I am
Furious and cold
I don’t know how to love only to
Throw myself away
And I know that when I meet him I will
Want my flower back
Aug 2016 · 257
Library
Emma N Boyer Aug 2016
I can't focus. This is in the footnotes of an essay I have to write but I cant write he's sitting fifteen feet away from me and there’s nothing I can do about it because he doesn’t understand what his heart wants or even what his body wants and I don’t think that is fair and how am I supposed to write about time and immortality when the only thing I can see lasting forever is this burn behind my rib cage and his eyes inside my dreams. I don’t want to wake up or go to sleep or walk to class or feel another boy’s kiss against my lips or on my hips or between my legs I just want to play with his hair or sing him to sleep or wake up in his world but I cant and I wont and it aches aches aches but I have to sit here. I have to write an essay. I have to go to school. I have to go to sleep; wake up; carry on. With him fifteen feet away.
Jul 2016 · 377
Trying To LoveYou
Emma N Boyer Jul 2016
It's like a glass floor in the sky. I can see down. I can see out. The clouds, the light. My feet are warm; the Earth breathes below me, blurry but there. I'm not sure if there's an edge. I've been walking so long and I don't know whether I should run or crawl, if I'm going to fall does it matter if I try to take my time? The scene is so breathtaking that it's easy to forget--I'm alone in an oblivion I'm not sure I can escape.
7/8/16
5:12pm
Jul 2016 · 257
01
Emma N Boyer Jul 2016
01
I have a friend who has an eating disorder. She's tiny. The wind sets her off balance. Most days she doesn't eat. When she does it's just the sweet stuff. Cookies, cake, candy. Today we went to a bakery. We watched a big man make a small cake, all with butter and dough and fistfuls of sugar. She was standing next to me, eyes on her toes. After, everybody got a piece, soft and warm and wrapped in paper. For the rest of the day I watched her hold it. She switched it between hands, put it in her pocket; set it down beside her. I tried not to notice when he hands shook, or when her stomach complained beneath her sweater. As we were leaving the city she threw it away, and her whole body relaxed. I hadn't noticed how rigid her shoulders were until they eased back into place. I think she's stronger than me. Than I? Whatever. I mean yeah the wind can push her--I'm more certain on my feet, but she has this **** addiction and she held it in her palm. There's something I don't understand about that kind of power. If i wanted to prove that I don't need him I don't think I could. There's this prison made by daydreams that won't let me decide between aching for another heart or trying to mend my own.
7/8/16
12:20pm @Quimper, France
Jul 2016 · 309
The Soul is a Garden
Emma N Boyer Jul 2016
the soul is like a garden
that blooms on midnight's breath
ethereal and gentle, cautious gold after the rain
whispers between newborns
who haven't seen sunlight
their skeletons lay hidden
under roses raised in blood
the garden grows, grows, glows
on midnight's breath
06/17/16
Apr 2016 · 297
Tide
Emma N Boyer Apr 2016
It's just you come and go like the ******* tide
I hate salt water it burns my eyes
I clutch my ribs so late at night
Aching and cold beyond the light
Less than nothing between us now
Lowered eyes; a furrowed brow
Those baby blues could tear me down
Passion lost but not yet found
It's just you ebb and flow like a summer wind
Sometimes you caress and sometimes you sting
Sometimes you scream and sometimes you sing
You play with light and you play with wings

I didn't see the pattern I was bruised
Dreams suffocating all trace of you
And so I sat here
**** it I'm still sitting
I saw the end from the beginning

My heart races when I brush past you
Recognition of a passed you
Who used to stir up all my thoughts
Who used to show me what I'm not
My palms will shake like a failing roof
My lungs still struggle it's nothing new
Don't think I ever looked so close

Than when my lashes kissed your nose
4/18/16
Emma N Boyer Apr 2016
1) I left a book on her porch and she stole it, skipping through each page. She loves to boast of worlds she lacks the courage to explore.

2) She hates her dad for leaving but when he was home she turned away. She redefined “cold shoulder” and opened up a bit too late. She keeps a tin jar in her dresser of the medals that he wore, she always hated camo but on him it just made sense. I guess the pins weigh down her jacket so they know all about neglect, I hear they talk about it when her headboard plays the drums.


3) People listen to her ramblings, more interested in her lips than what she has to say. Someone should’ve mentioned there’s no real Mirror on the Wall.

4) Every morning there’s a boy. His Converse vouch for half the markings on the concrete court beside the school, and the bend in the broken hoop spits vengeance at his arms. One day a green Toyota took his parking spot and his black eye picked his brain. When he reached into his bag he chose the gun and not the ball.


5) Someone told me once that wishes wander off. You have to leash them and restrain them or they go picking through your hair. They’ll search under your pillow for a way to tease your dreams but as soon as they stop whispering all you see is black. Maybe the toxins that she breathed in pushed the worst out from her head, but I don’t think she ever had the strength to accept that some will always stay.

6) When we were six she wore the same red shoes every day for a week. The laces were never tied. She left them in the mud.


7) There’s a table in the lunch room that all dated the same girl. They all have different jackets but none know her middle name.

8) She used to walk through mountains and talk about their clothes, but since she’s lost her chapstick her lips don’t care about the heights. Now she drives her green Toyota everywhere she goes, and when the wheels wear down my guess is that she’ll leave it in the mud.
Apr 2016 · 270
What I Wish He'd Said
Emma N Boyer Apr 2016
Don’t be confused. Don’t be afraid. Don’t think it’s your fault. Don’t stay up wondering. Don’t stay up wishing. Don’t ask about me. Don’t cry. I have your rose and it’s rotted but so was I so don’t worry. The scent that follows with decay was always under my skin. Hold on to the bruises and showcase the neglect. If you remember the dark days you won’t dream about light.
You didn’t know me but tell yourself you didn’t want to. I’m half of you, yes, but not the half that you would like. When you wake in cold sweat or sneer at someone you love the green eyes I gave you will glitter and gleam. Your mother will have told you that I liked to sing. Your voice is your own and the resemblance is eerie but mine was all minor, not worth the strain.
The blood in the basement was only a hoax. I’m fine I’m just hiding; it’s for your own good. There were so many voices in my head and they all want to know you, but I was afraid of what they might say so I murdered them. The problem with that is mine was too close, so when silence ensued I couldn’t speak either.
I know there’s an undeniable urge to fill in the blanks, but you’ve heard that ignorance is bliss and it’s a bliss you can’t ignore.
Jan 2016 · 270
Push Here
Emma N Boyer Jan 2016
12/16/15 6:26am

A sliver of color through the back window. The same peach as blushing cheeks and the fading blue of a baby's blanket. Trembling silence and clouds of breath mingling with each other in the newborn morning. Headlights taking snapshots of tired eyes; whispers tender enough not to wake the napping stars. Trees designing window panes clearly in a hurry, blurring in and out with all their arms stretched towards the sky. The road is stretching, too. The pavement stern and silent, clutching at the cars that dare disturb its sleep. The horizon hints at fire burning far away; a soft orange glow with wisps of grey feigning smoldering smoke. A train track breaks the tree line, headed off to god knows where. Its rails are far too drowsy to share their story now. Emergency exits, shy and unsure, boast red block letters and cringe with each overpass. As if anyone awake at this hour would bother escaping. The world rises grey, sore, soft, and insane. Not willing today to put on a show; driven into depression by each pair of feet; abused and misused and fed up to say the least. It yawns and stubborn concrete stays solemnly in place, decorated with plastic bags and stained with struggling weeds. Red leaking in the distance, igniting the belly of the vapor that is painted on the edge; the blaze already mentioned gaining confidence, it seems. Canary yellow losing faith and retreating beneath the flames, the first slivers of sea green peeking through at last. All of this behind, a different canvas up ahead: a vision of the clogged confusion not worth description or dedication. A rainbow on the right rebelling against the sky, bringing hope in desperate effort when infant hours threaten dawn.
Just a morning I hate to write about
Dec 2015 · 383
Sidewalk Summers
Emma N Boyer Dec 2015
I was in the back of my dad’s grey pickup truck, the summer sun stinging my skin through my favorite blue hoodie. My sisters sat on either side of me, fighting over an ice cream cone that had found its way to the floor. I shoved away their sticky hands as they grasped at each other and tried to find out who was to blame. My dad was complaining about the reek of our hockey gear, oblivious to the harassment I was being subjected to behind him. We were going about 60 down highway J back to Minocqua, sweaty and exhausted from a morning practice. I rested my head against the seat and let my sisters fade away, and my aching muscles stopped screaming long enough to let me fall asleep.


I woke up to a different atmosphere, both my sisters still and silent. My dad’s hands strangling the steering wheel, and the speedometer off the grid. I thought I was imagining the tension thick enough to sever with a sword, but when I tapped Suzi on the shoulder she put a finger to her lips. In the rearview mirror I saw a nightmare, in the form of salty tears. I’d never seen my dad’s green eyes stained like this before. The highway home was merciless; every red light held us up. I was anxious for the race to end although I didn’t know the finish line.


My heavy lids betrayed me and I fell asleep again, woken by a sudden jolt and a car door’s ruthless slam. The picture in the window was a pretty one, a sunset masterpiece with reds and yellows and every shade of beauty in between. It didn’t seem right that the sun was down, it wasn’t even noon when we’d left the rink and it was only a half an hour from home. I realized then that my seat was cold, and my sisters nowhere to be found. The ice cream on the floor had turned to a puddle of warm milk. I rubbed my eyes and looked out front, and my heart leaped to my throat. The windshield framed a neon sign that no one wants to see. I stumbled from my napping place wearing just one shoe, searching for the other in the red glow on the blacktop, eerie and unsettling in the hospital parking lot.


It didn’t take me long to find my grandpa’s van. I knocked on the window a few times before someone grabbed my wrist. “Don’t wake them.” My grandma Donna whispered. I couldn’t see anything through the tinted black glass.


“Don’t wake who?” I whispered back.


“Your sisters. And Luci, he’s here too. Your mom is on the helicopter, and your dad is leaving soon.” I couldn’t see my own expression, but I’m guessing it reflected the confusion that was clogging up my throat.


“Why? What do you mean on a helicopter? How long have I been sleeping? Where’s Nik?” At the sound of my older brother’s name a hot flow of tears washed her cheeks. My twelve year old mind started spinning, and I clutched at my grandma’s elbow, my ice cream stained fingers leaving tracks on her worn leather jacket.


“Listen, honey,” she said gently, her voice shaking like the thin evergreens lining the road behind her, “Nik was fishing with a group of his friends on the highway this morning.” I nodded. Nik always rode his bike home from his workout, and there was rarely a day that he didn’t stop at the bridge on 71 to play catch and release with his friends.


“What happened?” I asked. My voice seemed too loud in the cool air; it echoed off the grey buildings around me, seemingly taking forever to fade into the night. She cleared her throat.


“He was hit by a car, honey.” Everything went cold. “It was going really fast, he was dead when they found him. They managed to restart his heart, but there’s nothing more they can do for him here. Your mom is on the helicopter that’s taking him to Madison. You’re going to stay with us until your dad comes back.” I opened my mouth; shut it again. I stared at my untied shoes. Well, Nik’s untied shoes. I’d stolen them the night before. They didn’t fit me, and they were my least favorite colors. I hated the design on the sides; I hated the pointy toe and I hated the frayed laces. The last conversation I had with my brother was that morning, when I was lugging my hockey bag up the stairs to the parlor, and decided to swing it into his gut when I passed him in the hallway.


He proceeded to give my ponytail a solid tug, and use the momentum of my swinging bag to shove me down the stairs. I’d abandoned my gear on the floor and chased him into the kitchen, when both of us were dragged out by our ears.


"Is Nik going to come back too?" I locked eyes with my grandma, silently pleading her to be straight with me. The air was cool but I was sweating, I struggled to hold my hands steady. Out of the corner of my eye I saw my grandpa Barry emerge from the sliding glass doors at the entrance of the emergency room. His face was a blank slate, with no more emotion than the most dedicated of the guards outside the Vatican.


"Is Nik going to come back too?" I asked again. I knew it wasn't fair to ask her. I was young but I understood that she had no way of knowing. She stared back at me, her chocolate eyes soaked with sadness. She never got the chance to answer. My grandpa grabbed me firmly by the wrist and led me back to my dad's truck to get my stuff.


"Don't say anything to Luci. Not until we know." He didn't need to explain himself. My 9 year old brother Luci was closest to Nik. In my mind's eye I could see him break down, his small heart forgetting to pump blood instead of wishes. I held his hand the whole car ride home. His eyes never opened but his fingers locked around mine, and squirmed a little every time one of my sisters moved their legs. My grandparents said nothing until we got to their house, then they shook everyone awake and led us downstairs. All four of us, Suzi, Isabelle, Luci, and I, piled into one of the guest rooms. We settled into one king bed, Luci snoring softly.


It wasn't until all of them were asleep that the tears really came. I stared at the ceiling and tried counting sheep but they all played too close to the road. When I woke up my phone was on fire and I think that's the worst of it, people that didn't even know him pretending to care. I threw it at the wall so I missed my mom's call, it wasn't until after lunch that I heard Nik's vitals were normal.


My grandma said there were pictures, but I wasn't allowed to see. When she was washing dishes i looked anyways. I ran outside shaking. Along with the pictures there was a list. 9 broken ribs, a shattered elbow, 2 cracked vertebrae, a broken spleen. I squeezed my eyes shut and knelt in the driveway, pretending that the colored stones didn't hurt my tiny knees. There were pieces of skull that had caved into nik's brain, and over 40% of his chest was a ****** mess. I guess my mom has nightmares about his screams when they pulled the gravel out.


Two weeks later he said his first words, when his spine let him sit up and the drugs subdued the worst of it. I was the only one allowed to see him. When I walked into the hospital room, he was playing with the chords hooked up to his chest. He smiled big and I lost it, running to his side. He promised he was fine and I shouldn't worry, all this with bandages on his head and a monitor in the corner. I watched the green lines jump on the screen, the same color as the veins on my big brother's wrist. I stared at his arm and wondered what it would be like if he were dead. If those veins had lost their color and his eyes their midnight blue.

"You okay, Em?" My mom was asleep in a chair but she woke at the sound of his voice. It was fragile and unnerving, Nik was never anything but strong. He remembered nothing of the accident except a brilliant golden light, and I wonder if it filled his dreams when I thought that he was gone. It's hard to explain what happened next, but eventually he came home.

We share a wall between our beds so in a way I shared his dreams. I think there was more scar tissue than anyone could see. I tried to help but he kept his door locked, so I sat with my back against the wood and talked to myself instead, his cold-sweat screams  burning me like sticky snow against bare feet.

He started lashing out, forgetting things, lying all the time. He snuck out at night and changed his mind and stopped eating like he should. He was trying to escape, and he thought if he slipped out after daybreak it would all start to make sense. I don't think he recognized that the world he wanted to leave was between his ears, lovely but so lonely. The only thing is he didn't want me close anymore. His sky blue eyes met thunder clouds and the rain was drowning him, I could see and I could've handled it but he wouldn't let anyone in. It's not that I'm not close to him. I mean he still pushes me down the stairs. But his heart was stopped for quite some time and since then it's been offbeat.

My mom said the part of his brain that was most damaged connects actions to consequence. That might be why yells at me, or why we haven't spoken since June.

I remember when we lived in Utah, before my dad died, there was a field that he would take us to to watch the mountains and the moon. One time Nik asked him why the moon moved and all he had to say was "just because." He said if everything beautiful stayed forever people would eventually stop caring. Reminiscence is so deceiving I wonder if it could be all be true. Maybe next time I see Nik he won't flinch when I ask how he's doing, and I can pretend that I don't notice that his head hurts all the time.


I don’t long for the things I know of him, but the things I’ll never understand. I think there are parts of him still on the pavement and I think he’s forgotten them. The best day of my life was finding out he was alive, but I think all the worst ones after that have been spent wondering if he's living.
Dec 2015 · 270
Conscious
Emma N Boyer Dec 2015
You don’t have to be careful just conscious. There’s a lot of pressure on my heart and I’m not very good at predicting the times when it bursts. It’s not always bad. Sometimes my face hurts from smiling and I dance in the rain and I get senselessly sick of the sound of my laugh. You’re allowed to hurt me; you get your turn. Yeah there’s aches that bring me to my knees and nights when my pillow soaks up sobs but that doesn’t make me fragile. I can handle all the heartsick; I can handle “kiss don’t tell.” I’m awake and I can feel you; I can tell you want to dream. You don’t have to be careful just conscious. I have scars that hurt some days. There’re some wishes on my lips that you can taste if you come close enough, I won’t be the one to tell you that I want this love to last. It’s a bore to bleed from bruises that should’ve been long gone, but my healing process takes some time and I think I broke the clock. I’m just saying there’s a time and place. There’s a time to err on the cautious side and there’s a time to start a fire; you know thinking straight can’t save us all when lust is in the air. I wish I had the guts to say that i only need myself; that the strength of my own bones is enough to keep me whole. But I learned a while back that dishonesty is dangerous and I can’t lie to my own chest. He said a lot of stuff and I guess I thought he meant it and it should hurt him that he hurt me but I don’t think it’s crossed his mind. You don’t have to be careful just conscious. I wanna tell you everything and you should listen if you can but if you need to kiss me harshly I’ll give in and pull you near. Yes there’s parts of me still mending and there’s parts of me I hate but I forced myself to leave it all and I feel like I’ve moved on. Even when I didn’t love him he was home to me and leaving home is hard; there’s a hole where all the comfort was and I’m scrambling for a pulse. Please understand that you will damage me and I’ll survive the shaking palms but the swells of pain will join the waves til the tsunami comes again. It’s not you that needs to save me; don’t hold back or bite your tongue. There are things I haven’t said and if you knew them you would laugh. You don’t have to believe me just back up; keep your blue eyes to yourself. I don’t even know what I’m saying but there’s this: I will pretend that I’m okay. It’s because I’m broken that the light gets in and I’ve been tired of the dark, so hold my hand and touch my waist and please steal all my breath.
Dec 2015 · 277
11/22/15
Emma N Boyer Dec 2015
You moved on I watched you go
That's fine with me but you should know
I miss you when I'm up alone
I still have your number in my phone
Sometimes I get lost in what used to be
Not the only one but it's hard to see
Whether or not you wanted me
Whether or not our love was free
If it's right that you make it hard to breathe
If you purposely haunt my daydreams
I don't understand how you could pretend
I thought you were into me up 'til the end
It always aches when I catch your eyes
You caught my sore heart by surprise
You held my hand during gentle nights
And I fell for you from dangerous heights
We didn't argue we didn't fight
Seemed to me everything was right
To be honest I've got some scars inside
I thought with you I didn't have to hide
I misread your promises, misread your pride
You didn't budge when I started to cry
I see you with her and my stomach drops
Do you have the same arguments, have the same talks?
I keep my head down now when I walk
Try not to hesitate, try not to stop
Hard to be invisible and noticed as well
You put me through heaven I know all about hell
You say not to tell them there's nothing to tell
The one that got away but I don't wanna chase
Just a flower for Romeo, a rose for his vase
Not exactly tragic but can't be erased
If anything I'll admit I'm still ashamed
I thought you were different and I was naïve
Because my head spun with you and I couldn't breath
There was something so fragile about calling you mine
I remember rehearsing "it'll be fine"
Dec 2015 · 203
Fragile
Emma N Boyer Dec 2015
Didn't love him but I could've
Didn't touch him but I should've
Everything fragile has an identity
You need to stay you need to love me
I'm not lonely but I miss you

Check your pulse for time bombs
Stop thinking beyond the here and now
I promise you've seen the last of me
I promise you don't fill my dreams
I'm not lonely but I miss you
Mar 2014 · 302
Not Finished
Emma N Boyer Mar 2014
im was sick of saying sorry so i said goodbye
i love you baby boy but it’s the last time
that I give up my sleep so you can keep your pride
from this point on loving you’s a waste of time

i don’t know how to say this but my eyes are dry
maybe ive failed to see the ‘good’ in your goodbyes
its nothing against you—my heart is really shy
from this point on loving you’s a waste of time.
Feb 2014 · 490
Undeserved
Emma N Boyer Feb 2014
the worst scars are inside,
bleeding salt through bloodshot eyes
the worst scars leave tissue on your trust--
a small list of places not to cry

the worst scars are from 'forever'
whispered across 400 miles
forcing you to wonder if you could drown from a faucet
or if he ever loved your smile

the worst scars bloom from perfection
and the wish for a kiss undeserved
the worst scars spread--an infection
of lessons forcefully; painfully learned

the worst scars should be on you, my love.
they're ones that we should share.
after all these nightmares--too much
you should miss me.
you should care.

the worst scars can stay, you see
as long as in some way i have you.

the worst scars are mine, you see
as long as some fraction of 'us' was ever true.
Feb 2014 · 404
Prologue
Emma N Boyer Feb 2014
I figured it out. 60 seconds is a long time. A broken heart is better than a hollow chest. A hundred miles is closer than a thousand. A couple hours of sleep a week is better than never waking up. It's okay to feel sad as long as you're feeling something; it's okay to be lost as long as you have some dwindling desire to be found.

I've figured it out. My heart is fragile because I hide inside my head and count the things that make me ache. My smile is hidden because because I've convinced myself that it does not belong. My happiness is fleeting because I made the mistake of putting it in someone else's hands. (I never thought that they would drop it.)

I've figured it out. My chances are bleeding because I've been afraid to trust the world, and I've been afraid to trust myself.

The 'me' inside my head and the 'me' buried in my heart is hiding from reality and she's too easily scarred by sunlight.

My heart is fragile because I've been stubborn enough to believe that it can't be anything else. I've never tested it against the glare of a happy dream, or given it a chance to pump blood instead of wishes.

There's a reason I can't breathe most nights, and there's a reason the moon reminds me of a rusted coin and a broken promise instead of an endless world a light year away.

I've figured it out. My heart is fragile because I've only ever guessed at the potential of its tormented veins.

Tormented of course by me,

myself,

and I.
beginning of Ten Reasons My Heart is so Fragile
Feb 2014 · 314
Ease
Emma N Boyer Feb 2014
so this is what it comes down to: trying to ease the ache in my chest long enough to close my eyes and keep them closed.

trying to clench my teeth hard enough to lock the screams inside my throat and the bitter words behind my wishing lips

it comes down to sore sides from soundless sobs and shortened fngernails with missing paint. it comes down to attempted, breathless explanations of my lack of sleep.

it comes down to screaming at the ceiling and letting faucet water scorch my back until it washes away any traces of your chest.

this is what it comes down to. ink in my blood and you on my mind like every day since the fireworks and that desperate kiss. it comes down to muscles pulsing with overuse and shallow breaths stinging my skin and no other way to drive away the heartache-

torn letters and empty bottles and too many love songs left on the strings of my guitar than i have patience to try and count.

this is what it comes down to. five hundred things to say and five hundred miles to go but not enough strength to make it through the night.
sometime in january
Jan 2014 · 949
Satin
Emma N Boyer Jan 2014
Too many miles
And vacant roads
Between my heart & I

Not enough stars to wish for him
In all of the night sky

There's something about the waves
That dance hand in hand, so soft and blue
That remind me of your satin eyes--
I wish i could dance with you.

And I'm not one to write sad songs
About bruised hearts or absent love
But my lips are stained by falling snow
And snow is not enough

It aches--so call it passion
Call it young and stupid--yeah
But believe me, if he was yours
You'd be just as bad

There's something about divergent winds
Sharing an endless embrace
That make me close my eyes
And fall asleep
With tear stains on my face

Cause if I could be that close to him

If we could dance as well
There'd be no need for wind or waves

Only how we felt
Jan 2014 · 454
Loud
Emma N Boyer Jan 2014
i wrote you a song
and i wanted it to be loud
i wanted it to be angry and piercing

and i wanted it to ring in your ears like your absence rang in mind but when i sang it

it was soft.

it was quiet and careful and i didn't mean it that way but when the words escaped my lips they fought their way into my aching fingertips (aching like the rest of me)
and it was beautiful notes that i strummed instead of dead ones.

i wrote you a song and i wanted it to be loud

i wanted it to be deafening.

because your love left me that way and it's only fair

i wrote you a song and i wanted it to be loud.

but loud things aren't as beautiful and that's all you ever were.
Jan 2014 · 1.8k
Black Balloons
Emma N Boyer Jan 2014
when she was four she tied balloons to her wrist.

they always rose, she knew. balloons always found the clouds.

she sat in the grass with her legs crossed and fastened string after plastic string to her arm, and until her hand turned blue she waited

waited to rise.

when she was ten she smashed a hold in the frozen water across the street.

water always carried people away
it ran when they couldn't run themselves
and frozen water,
she figured,
would be slower--
less harsh but it would bring her far from home all the same.

white and blue as the clouds she'd longed for,
they pulled her from the frigid water
six miles downstream

even fastened to a hospital bed with 'suicidal' harshly painted on her soul
she knew she didn't belong

when she was fifteen she joined the party,

older kids were swallowing their sorrows and threading out their despairs in a pitiful drug-induced slumber

and she watched with a syringe in her hand, as read to join them as she was to die.

she was born to die.

and so the needle in her arm and the tragedy on her breath was enough to help her rise.

and as her eyelids turned back to icy blue and her identity was wiped clean she felt a pressure against the crisscrossed skin of her wrist

and as her mind followed her heart out of the world she would have sworn it was a black balloon

that carried her to oblivion.
Jan 2014 · 1.0k
4am Poetry
Emma N Boyer Jan 2014
It's just a little heartache,
and i thought that I could shake it.

It's just a quivering, fractured smile.
and i thought that i could fake it.

It's just a little restlessness,
and brokenhearted dreams.

Its just a pair of tear stained cheeks,
not as bad as it all seems.

It's just a bit of loneliness,
lonely of course for only you

It's just a drop of hopelessness,
and gasped "i dont know what to do's"

Its just one more bruise on my black and blue trust
and lips anxious for your kiss

It's just one more chance I'm willing to take
But my love, you're terrible to miss.
Dec 2013 · 1.6k
Diamonds on Pavement
Emma N Boyer Dec 2013
We can be different, you know. We do not have to stand behind society’s shoulder, figurative mascara staining our cheeks; cowering away from the world—we can be different. We can shine like a billion snowflakes on pavement, melting in the wind perhaps but immaculate all the same. We can stand up against the hurricane of second choices and broken opinions; we can diverge from the neon path of shattered hearts and clichés and we can go to sleep and let ourselves heal and sometimes we can decide that 24 hours is far too long to be conscious of our mistakes. We can be different. We do not have to write about wars or dragons or space we can write about the freckles on our palms, or the blue of a stranger’s eyes. We can skip all we want and we can breathe through our hearts; we can pull the lilies from our garden and water the weeds ‘til they bloom and we can watch Barney until we turn seventeen because it’s okay to be different. We are allowed to bury everything we have ever been told and learn things for ourselves because if “seeing is believing” then experiencing must be a gold star and a half—don’t tell me I’m wrong. We can be different. The only people who have ever said otherwise are hiding among us and the reason we have listened for so long is because we’re afraid that we are one of them. We are afraid to step out of the crowd of painted souls and rummage in the future for a color of our own. And we don’t understand that if the brushes are all taken, and the watercolors of individuality are dried up or used we can mix our own or use our fingers or stain our reality with melted crayons—it doesn’t really matter. Because it’s okay to be different. And every time we cut off our own voices, or burn our love letters we are encouraging the wind to whisk away the snowflakes plastered to the pavement, crushed under feet of people determined to be the same.  -Me
Dec 2013 · 716
Follow The Leader
Emma N Boyer Dec 2013
Two years old and she stared at the stains in the snow,
Engaged by the diamond flame
And bewildered by beauty that falls from the sky

Five years old and she still didn’t know
How to pronounce her brother’s name
And didn’t until the day that he died

Seven years old and left to cope
With a flame of her own—inside

Seven years old and empty of hope
Until the day that she died
Dec 2013 · 363
Play Awhile
Emma N Boyer Dec 2013
When the sun goes down
And the stars come out to play
Something horrible is lurking
At the edge of day

What it is we wonder
What it is we fear
What it is we hope will burn;
We hope will disappear.

But still it waits; so quiet.
And still it harvests all the screams
Of the children that just want to play
But are tortured in their dreams
Dec 2013 · 376
Misled
Emma N Boyer Dec 2013
They say wild hearts can’t be broken
Well, mine was wild enough
Yet there it is-
Cut open

And it’s bleeding love
This is going to be a song.
Dec 2013 · 458
Bored In Physics
Emma N Boyer Dec 2013
I lie to you at least one thousand times a day
Hoping that if i pretend

All this pain
                
               Will go
                                    Away
Nov 2013 · 430
Three Stories Up
Emma N Boyer Nov 2013
A look in the mirror
A fist to the glass
A smile that’s twisted
With sane thoughts ungrasped

Unanswered questions
Die on parched lips
From a mirror now shattered
Dark crimson drips

A glance at the window
Three stories up
The blood on the mirror
Isn’t enough

Three steps—one too many
Night air slipping by
The pavement where sane thoughts
Come always to die
Nov 2013 · 1.8k
A Bouquet of Weeds
Emma N Boyer Nov 2013
I don’t think anyone knows what the hell they’re doing.  I mean, people think they have it all figured out but honestly, who knows? We can’t truly follow examples because everyone’s different –don’t tell me they’re not—and it’s not like we can ever have the same experiences. Not the exact same, anyways. And so I don’t think anyone knows what they’re going to do or feel each day, because we’re all a train wreck wrapped inside a fractured mind and a strong-ish body, moving through every day with the same uncertainty as a dandelion in a field of roses—we are lost. I’m not sure why we pretend; why we lie to ourselves because we say it’s not fair when other people lie. We put ourselves below others, or above them but who the hell cares? No one knows who they are, don’t let them fool you and don’t let them get you down because nobody knows where they’re going and so they’re pushing past you and sprinting in the wrong direction because maybe you’ve gotten further than them and they don’t know what to do and maybe they need people behind them to feel like they’re moving at all so let it be. Take a deep breath. You’re on your own, and they say you don’t have to be but you are. Because you live inside your mind—it doesn’t matter if you don’t want to. You are the things you think and feel and no one else is feeling them too even though they’ll say they are…it doesn’t matter. You are stronger than you think and even though you don’t know what you’re doing you can figure it out—at least for a little while. At least long enough to take a deep breath and find your next step. Nobody knows what the hell they’re doing. Every time we think we have it all figured out, and we have a map of our lives tucked safely into our back pockets the wind picks up and blows it away along with any confidence we had and we’re forced to start anew. That’s why no one knows what they’re doing. We don’t have time to map it all out. We don’t have time for anything, and that’s why we’re lost. Things happen so fast, and before we can absorb them or celebrate them or be sad about them something else happens, and we’re thrown into another frenzy of emotion that takes away our breath and drowns our hearts in confusion—there isn’t enough time. And so no one knows what they’re doing and if they did, they couldn’t do it anyways because even people who are brilliant are full of doubts. They second guess themselves and they second guess each other because they know they are brilliant but that isn’t enough. That’s never enough. Society shows us—they scream at us that we are who they say we are and if they don’t see we are brilliant there’s no point in trying to prove that we are because it doesn’t matter.  None of it matters. And I don’t know why I feel that way but I do and I have and I always will until someone shows me I am wrong. And I mean shows me. I am tired of words and all their empty words no one knows how to use them right and they say them without a thought about how they will enter other people’s minds or lace their dreams I want someone to show me. I can’t show myself. I could try and I have before but the truth is I don’t know what the hell I’m doing. And maybe I’m pretending when I say that everyone feels the same way or maybe I am painfully correct—no one knows. No one cares. I am just as much a dandelion in a field of roses as a rose in a bouquet of weeds and so is everybody else. The problem is that dandelions are a menace and roses have thorns and there isn’t time to change the world or smooth things out because there isn’t time for anything. Nobody knows what they’re doing. So how does the world work? How do we breathe in and breathe out knowing that we’re lost and so it everyone else and no one can tell us how to be found because we cannot follow examples. Every single thing effects every single person in a different way, and no matter how microscopic their change in perspective is it still exists. The print made by our thumbs is not the only thing that is completely unique about us. If we could all be identified by the pictures in our minds and the music in our souls and not the masks we wear to muffle it all the world could be a better reality. Because for some of us not knowing is too much. We fall asleep at night or during the day and we don’t want to wake up because whenever our eyes are closed our hearts are, too. The world painted on our eyelids is better than the dreamless chasm that is reality and maybe that’s dramatic and maybe it’s too deep but no one cares anyway. These worlds are inside of me and they’re not just going to melt away so I have to put them somewhere. I don’t know what I’m doing. I want people to understand that. There’s always something more. I’m not sure what I mean by that. It’s just whenever I’m happy there’s something else that reminds me why I wasn’t before. I know who I am, better than a lot of people, but I don’t think it matters. I’m wearing a mask just like everyone else even though the music in my soul is so loud it shakes me. I drown it out and cover it up with the labels taped across my mouth and pinned to my back by people who just want to sleep. I’m not saying things should change. I don’t think they will. I don’t think I can change them but accepting that dandelions belong with roses is the only place I can start. Being lost is okay and being as scared of your own thorns as you are of everyone else’s is okay, too. Setting aside your mask and letting music blare from inside of you is beautiful and everyone knows it, but it they pretend it’s not…that’s okay. But I guess I’m sick of OKAYs. I want brilliance. I guess for now I will keep my mask on, and I’m okay with saying—I’m BRILLIANT with saying mine is a medley of both finger prints and music; weeds and a rose’s glow, and the beautiful and bold blackness of all these words I’ve torn from exactly Who I Am.
Nov 2013 · 808
Writing With Paint
Emma N Boyer Nov 2013
I’ve never been an artist. I wasn’t born to hold a paintbrush in my hand. I’ve never felt the need to capture the reality I see with charcoal or pencil or oils or clay—I just haven’t. Some people stop seeing the world as it is and they change it with their art but I’ve never been an artist. When I see something beautiful I remember it and I learn from it but I see no need to recreate it. I don’t feel the urge to twist it. They say a picture is worth a thousand words but a fake one is only worth questions and I’d rather have the world be raw and blunt and unpolished than have people try and show me how they see it because I don’t care. A picture may be worth a thousand words but there are millions of words inside my head and I can show you everything you need to know with a question and some time to think because the world is not beautiful sunsets or rainy streets it is ketchup stains on trembling lips and empty backpacks soaked by faucets. It is a scarf wrapped too tight around a freckled neck; a goodbye kiss and a leather suitcase and everything in between. You can keep your charcoal if you want it and draw the smiles why I tell you all the reasons there are smiles to draw. The sunsets and the rainy streets exist but they are not important. They are the neon lights and the shadows they don’t reach but they do not highlight the people dancing in between. They are the best days and the worst but they do not show the days of effortless laughter over fractured dreams, messy hair and tear-stained skin. A picture is worth a thousand words but if you have a hundred good words a million pictures can be born. I’ve never been an artist, but I understand that the things that are real are invisible. They cannot be captured by a pen or reined in by a canvas. What everyone calls art could never be extensive enough, exquisite enough; real enough. No matter how many images you see there are always pieces missing. I’ve never been an artist. But if you hand me a paintbrush I will use it to write. I will use it to form the letters that form my life that form the world. And if you insist I can write the word ‘art’ but know that I don’t believe in the plainness of charcoal and paper I believe in the long nights curled up reading and the silent afternoons wishing your story was the same as one you’ve read. Or one you’ve written.
Oct 2013 · 624
Fire
Emma N Boyer Oct 2013
And every breath
Spreads fire through her chest
Inflaming her identity
But burning away her sleep

And every step
Leashed the stars inside her soul
Scarring her integrity
But still she didn’t weep

And every word
Enraged the hope inside of her
Harassing her abstention
But still etching out her name

And every lie
Screamed of beauty lost in her
Burying her intentions
But acknowledging her aim

And every glance
Painted pictures on her mind
Steeling her perspective
But showing her the world

And every breath
Still spreads fire through her chest
Ever searing—yet reflective
Whispering: ‘you’re not just another girl.’

10/6/13
-e.n.b
Oct 2013 · 478
Tell Me
Emma N Boyer Oct 2013
so how do we decide
us kids who stand apart
what fragments of our pasts to hide;
what to keep close to our hearts

how are we to let go
of all we’ve left behind
how are we to always know
what to say and what to hide

how do we look forward
when our souls are still weighed down
how do we get closer
when there’s no one close around

tell me how do I let go
of memories that I love
how am I to always know
when my mind has had enough

tell me how do we decide
us kids who stand apart
what it means to be ourselves
with divergence in our hearts

tell me how do I keep breathing
when my breath is pulled away
tell me how do I keep sleeping
when i cannot tell the night from day

so tell me how do we stay strong
us kids who stand apart
how do we stay beautiful
and keep divergence in our hearts?

tell me, do I have it right?
can i whisper to you how;
the way that I will stay so bright
is to forget tomorrow, for it is now.
Sep 2013 · 676
Colorless
Emma N Boyer Sep 2013
We’re so certain, aren’t we?
When we’re just kids telling our
Friends our favorite color

We don’t care what they think.
Or if it’s theirs, too.

We are so certain
We smile in the morning and when
We fall asleep
Because we know that the day will be beautiful.
Everything is beautiful.

We are so certain, aren’t we?
When the dreams painted on our eyelids are nothing but fairytales and daylight
We are certain.

When did that change?

I don’t know my favorite color.
Neither do my friends,
Because they’re not my friends anymore.
They’re gone and I don’t wake up smiling.

I don’t know my favorite color.
When did that change?
Sep 2013 · 422
without a noose
Emma N Boyer Sep 2013
Whisper as you wish
The black waters mute your voice
Do you see me?
Are you blind?
Now deaf to every noise?
From the depths you don’t emerge
Yet you stumble, step by step
I don’t know why you’re here
There is no noose around your neck
Is there wind, so deep down there
Where the crimson shadows drift?
Does the black wind tear away your mind?
What sane thoughts do you miss?
Brother still, you steal my sleep
You’ve dragged with you all our memories
And though I miss you, you are dead
Black waters once;
Now red.
Sep 2013 · 407
tomorrow
Emma N Boyer Sep 2013
we sat in english class
the teacher had a deep voice
and loud
he asked us:
“what is tomorrow?”

we looked at each other
“september 11th.”
Jordan was short
but her hair was long

“wednesday.”
Jake’s voice was so quiet
It was beautiful
beautiful things are quiet sometimes,
I guess

“it’s the day I have choir.”
the blonde girl said
i don’t remember her name
she sings beautifully

everyone told him
with their voices not quite so deep
what tomorrow was

i closed my eyes

tomorrow was the day I ran

not in a race
or on a track

I ran up the stairs in my basement
away from empty shells
and blood on the concrete
Sep 2013 · 475
Deceived
Emma N Boyer Sep 2013
And the image of a broken man

Stands with roses at his feet

Entranced by the red beauty of them

And unaware of the red

The thorns drain from his palms
Jul 2013 · 489
One So Whole
Emma N Boyer Jul 2013
What to do when one so whole
Is torn open at the seams
When their very soul is put to test
And nightmares take their sleep

What to do when one so whole
Is shown that all they know
Is a lie; has been a lie
Since they first began to grow

What to say when one so whole
Is broken beyond repair
And sits in the dark with endless tears
Pulling at their hair

What do you say when one so whole
Demands to know the truth?
When what you haven’t said’s protected them
From hurts both old and new?

What to say when one so whole
Isn’t whole at all
But a ghost of the past, that’s broken at last
And will soon begin to fall?

What to do when one that’s broken
Looks to you for help
When you know there’s nothing you can say
To save them from themselves.
May 2013 · 2.3k
Annie's Telescope
Emma N Boyer May 2013
“Annie, use your telescope
To look up at the stars
Maybe you can understand
Who and where you are.

“Annie, use your telescope
And try to take it in:
All of the galaxy above you;
And just how small “home” really is.

“Annie, use your telescope
And then think about your dreams
You think everything is over,
But that’s just the way it seems.

“Annie, use your telescope
And come and tell me then
How you’ll always be in the same place
Cause ‘who you used to be is dead.’

“Annie, use your telescope
And look there for your true love
Because that’s what’s truly beautiful:
That moon and all those stars above

“Annie, use your telescope
And take a deep breath
Because it’s all out there, Annie
And you can see it through this lens.

“Annie, use your telescope.
And accept who you’re gonna be
Annie, use your telescope
And, finally, be free.”
May 2013 · 348
I Dont Know You
Emma N Boyer May 2013
I dont know your name.
Just your face.
Blue eyes, tan skin.
Brown hair.
Everyone tells me to stay away.
You're no good.
You're not safe.
But I dont know you.
Just your face.
Apr 2013 · 966
The Fearless Ones
Emma N Boyer Apr 2013
On a hilltop in the darkness,
In the shadows by the sea
Under a cloak of silence;
Hiding in the trees

There wait the silent heroes;
The watchers in the sky,
The darkest of all angels
That guard us day and night

There wait the cold; cloaked warriors;
The ones that hide their fear
The most quiet of the suffering;
The bravest far and near

They’re men that were once living
And men that, one time, cared
About the safety of the breathing;
The hungry, thirsty and the scared

Don’t be fooled, they have no love for us,
The ones who let them die
They love to watch our suffering;
They laugh to see us cry

They **** the ones who cheat;
Take the ones who lay beneath the graveyard floor,
They give no warning but their shadows,
And their whispers at the door

They hide in their stone castles
And lurk among the clouds
They train their golden eyes on us
And their screams drift slowly down…

From a hilltop in the darkness,
In the shadows by the sea,
Beneath a cloak of silence,
Hiding in the trees,

There wait the silent heroes,
The watchers in the sky,
The dead, the done; the dying
Who laugh to see us cry.  

But someday they won’t guard us,
And their hate will wriggle through
The honor of their living days-
The days their hearts beat true

And someday, when that time arrives
You better hide **** well,
Because the warriors fear nothing;
They were born and bred in hell

They will come down from their castles,
And cast darkness through the clouds,
They will spread their rage like fire,
And no mercy will be found

So next time you lay restless,
And shadows creep around your bed,
Watch out for the Fearless Ones,
With eyes so cold and red,

Watch out for the warriors
That guarded you before,
And listen for the tap of feet,
And the whispers at the door.
Apr 2013 · 465
Midnight Dreams
Emma N Boyer Apr 2013
Cause it tortures me, that you must know.
The way you give away your smile.
I’d thought that it was mine to keep,
And it seemed so for a while.

But age before beauty again,
So again I’m tossed aside.
By someone who is “good for you,”
Someone you don’t have to hide.

Even though I wont admit it,
I’ll still be here for you
When she walks out, cause she’ll walk out
And you won’t know what to do

You’re welcome to my arms, you know.
They’ll always be right here.
Like a country song we’ll dance
And you can hold me near.

But this is just a midnight dream.
You wont be here when I wake.
You’re gone away with her, I think.
You’ll be far when I awake.

So I’ll just keep my eyes closed,
And let the tears fall down my face
Cause at least in my midnight dream
We can be in the same place.
Apr 2013 · 387
Death To Shadows
Emma N Boyer Apr 2013
Walking down
an endless lane,

Caught in
a desperate dream

You know the shadows follow you

Your open your mouth--
but just cant scream.

There's only one way
to **** shadows.

You blind them with your light.

And your hope's your greatest weapon
When shadows follow you at night.
Apr 2013 · 505
Come Sunrise
Emma N Boyer Apr 2013
Why can't we just hide?

We don't have to tell them.

We can shut them out.

And be alone.

You and I.

We'll never go home.

So kiss me, and close your eyes.

And come sunrise...

We'll go back.
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