She watched the fall leaves wilt as their last form of revolution
The natural human intuition is to seek warmth from loved ones and as the bones beyond flesh shiver there’s a longing for some type of comfort
He felt like a child’s tiptoes in tiled floor, unexpectedly and purely
The type of euphoric revelation you’d never expect
It all comes as a surprise, you see, when nothing is expected of the unknown
When there’s nothing to lose and everything to gain
Until the heart feels too fondly then a weight on your soul leaves you breathing but demands every movement to be agonizing
This blind rage, so to speak, leaves her to be bitter such as the leaves when they fall in autumn’s coming
Cold, harsh, uncertain
The branches on trees look like the veins of his hands before gently caressing hers
A beautiful entanglement
One she hopes will be covered by winters harsh dubiety
Being friends is too hard
I feel everything and nothing at once and I can’t tell if that’s good or bad. There’s no facade put in place, my heart is on my sleeve and there’s only one thing to say. In eighteen years of living, death has taught me one thing. Time is precious and fickle. She is a force of uncertainty that which everyone uses for clarity, but dear there is no clarity in the unknown.
At a feeble age of eleven I lost a friend who we thought we’d all grow with. At age sixteen I almost lost my own life. And finally, at age eighteen my family was told my mother may have five years left.
Time is a cruel placebo effect. She waits for no one and whilst one may think the time isn’t now but maybe in the future, you have to realize there may not be a future.
What happens before now doesn’t exist. It does not exist in our reality. It will never exist until it happens but then the present becomes the past. Why wait for something you want?
Why say goodbye to something you don’t want to lose?
Today I made dinner for my family and there was a huge scurry to rush to the hospital because someone got an alarming call and I wasn’t told what it was about.
But there were lots of dishes left over.
Usually my grandfather is the one who does them because he thought ketchup was a viable replacement for tomato paste and my family is known for our excellent cooking. He left to the hospital before anyone else so I decided to do the dishes because they were there. My grandma noticed before she left and said I was a lot like my grandfather.
I never really thought of it before but I suppose we are a lot alike. He used to be energetic and full of life before being drafted to be a medic for the military. He’s now a lot quieter but very witty. Tired all the time.
Once in awhile he talks a lot and tells stories and cracks jokes. He’s the most humble person I know, too. He worked on a Spacex for NASA but you’d never know if you didn’t ask.
He’s been through a lot of bad things in his life but it doesn’t /show/. If you see him he just look like an average old man but he has a very gentle soul. Even though he doesn’t seem phased he cares deeply. His natural instinct is to take care of everyone.
The difference between us is he’s held on dearly to his faith. I don’t know how to do that with my god. I’m very angry and tired and want to be as gentle as him.
But it touched my heart to hear that I resemble even a small light of him.
Stream of consciousness
The thing about loving and OCD is that every tree in the woods has your name carved into its bark
Every attempt is misspelt perfectly in calligraphy
You’re the most beautiful mistake I have made
Note: Never take a nature walk again
Remembering to forget you is an impossible phenomenon
Like riding a bike
Except I never learned how to ride a bike
But I do know how to breathe
Unless I think about you then suddenly my lungs collapse
You were my oxygen, or a necessity if you prefer
And my therapist told me getting some fresh air would be therapeutic
Like riding a bike in the woods
The only problem with this serenity is you took my oxygen away from me
You are in everything I once breathed
Not to mention I never learned how to ride a bike
And every tree has your name engraved
An everlasting reminder of the beauty in toxicity
I can’t remember who I wrote this for
The thought is applicable to myself now
The tangible entity of consciousness is fleeting
A elegant party but not quite extravagant
Clinking wine glasses echo through transparent walls
Twenty-two hundred lulls over the city like that of a shadow
This isn’t an ungodly hour nor is this a typical night
It starts when She enters in a red gown that elongates her figure
A pianist smirks in the corner — a grin that’s almost sinister
The clinking of wine glasses abruptly stops when its replacement of grim notes fills the glass house
The attendants still seem cheerful
A stranger pulls her into a waltz but his eyes look hauntingly familiar
Unbenounced to her, He too dances with a stranger
Both on separate sides of the glass room
Both dancing with the unknown
Yet each pair seems to recognize some prominent feature
Nostalgic for what has never been
(How do you preserve a memory in reality?)
Through the glass house mirrors sit in obscure angles
One could see that within each reflection He and She were projected into the other room
Each glance towards the mirrors posed no questions
For both pairs seemed identical
Now their lives may have been content in accepting this dance with a “stranger” I suppose
But that was not the plan of this party
For guests grew tired of sipping on Beaujolais and listening to solem tunes
The pianist presented a different song, more lively yet equally eerie
Their feet paced with the new rhythm which called for a spin
(An act as dramatic as such was only proper for the scene)
With a grand gesture She turns, finally seeing the glass barriers
And for the first time that night He and She were face to face
A perfect dilemma to entertain an audience
In a frenzy She tried to speak
“I love you”
“I love you”
“I love you”
But each plea for affection deemed futile
For the grin on His face became that of the pianist
Her emotions were a downward spiral of gray shaded confusion
And with a sinister laugh He (or he) smashed the glass, shredding all source of reality
He was the hallucinogen and She was angry at him for making Her feel
And each guest cheered “bravo” demanding an encore
But this tragedy, dear friends, has come to the end
She’ll never know how the stars look where he is
(Is such a loss truly a loss?)
This poem is for two people
Number One: Home
Your arms became the foundation for a home I took refuge in. Every lonesome night that I’d lay awake counting down the seconds until sunrise was seemingly erased by your comforting voice whispering soft lullabies; like the familiar creeks of an old home. Decorations of your soul spill out onto the coffee-stained carpets giving it that extra hint of personality. Over time those marks became less like stains and more like abstract art shown to us who are too sad to look up. I remember it all vividly, from the dazzling smile to the mole hidden underneath your left ear. Every singular detail noted has been engraved in my heart. We lay still on lazy days and I read what your lips have to say; the stories in your mind become my favorite book in our library. I lay curled in your arms through passing time feeling your old bones shift beneath the surface. You are the embodiment of a home a desperately long for because when we are forever and a day away my heart yearns for your scent and familiar dents. It battles homesickness with every passing moment we are not together. Every single last part of your body has become my safe haven in which I have come to love and cherish. My home is you.
You brought up the past by digging up my grave
And as the broken sleep tonight
I’ll remember vividly the excruciating pain of your touch
Like knives leaving a whisper, a secret no longer kept
And I fall further and further
Back to relapsing agony