some things within us*
*never really leave

a fleet of matches
to strike for our ways
carried in our pockets
saved for those rare days
they come and go
and pile on the floor
yet we never quite realize
they follow wherever we go

sometimes I see everything*
*but sometimes nothing at all

The smell of crackling firewood
The grey woodsmoke swirling
Echo of past memories burning
Not away, no that's not the case
But more like the pain
Which used to be
And the amazement
Which persists to reel
In circles and circles
Wondering when the new year
Will bring its worthwhile

From the dusk I wake
And dawn I sleep
Living in a backwards relativity
I would rather have it
Just you and me

a careening sensation
towering blue heights
thoughts of few

not a ******* comparison*
simply a free-spirited soul
*on the edge of the world

the glittering windshield
brilliant blur of lights
smell of December rain

the brisk rap of rain
slipping down the window pane
the slight blinded gaze,
the blur of a glittering dance
as the past begins to cry
stolen clothes in folds
the past versions of myself
trying on the skins
I tried to squeeze into molds

the solid ground
words falling away
drop dead weight

look out for the best of us
the way the greatest dance
is sung to the spill of light
the anxiety tucked away nice and neat
tie it with pretty bow
stuff it in a box,
loved the best are those things
held closely to our chests,
cradle the box in the crook of my arm
as I run as fast my legs could carry,
plunge into the frothy shoreline
and I hold onto my breath,
feeling like those boxes of fright
which keeps me awake at night
***** away my breath
I try to save for the swim
across the cerulean waves,
yet the boxes only ***** away
the breaths I try to save
for the day I will I finally
learn to speak

the falling hush engrossed
a silent subtle chill
the pearly moon glinting

please, oh my god please,
don't ever ******* say that again
at how you want death to come
and ****** the galaxy from your eyes
and steal the life
right out from your warmth,
to turn cold and still,
to never hold a loving hand,
to never see the light of day again,
and how the breeze simply brushes
and swoons in the great blue sky,
to never feel the kiss of rain
trickle down the back of your neck,
never say that you prefer death,
that is so agonizing,
it's so ******* terrifying
watch the golden sun spill on the bedroom walls,
stare in awe at how the butterfly
flutters in an ocean of lavender,
taste the spicy tang
feel the smooth alcohol spill
in the pit of your stomach,
knowing it's so easy to fall
victim to the such clutches
just never decide to go
just keeping holding on
to the music on hold

a forsaken breath
sliced like shadows
a dreadful weight
flung into the mess
how easy it is
to fall to the blackness
how exhausting it is
to watch from afar

The eve of a small joke
the ghost of a smile
hidden behind our masks
grown too comfortable,  
the secrecy behind eyes
the softest desires of lips
the eve of gentle rainfalls
the tenderness of night
grown too famaliar,  
these nights carry far
into reminiscences of
our future memories,
smitten and forever stolen
these long hours
spent on silver
eves

the gentlest smile
the rain glittering
the night intertwining

I am terrified of being alone
Yet that is where I end up
Nowadays

I feel like I am drowning
Even though there is no water
To drown in
I feel like I'm falling backwards
Even though I am sitting
Very quite still
I feel like crying
Even though today
Was my birthday
And there is no reason to
Only at how it's so easy
For days to turn dark
What is it, night?
No it's not the night
I can't see the stars
And feel the breath of a better day
On the horizon

I would never want to be
a burden to others

the crinkle of eyes
the trickle of meaning
lost behind intention

the aching of smiles
not knowing how to keep
the laughter within

the warmth of presence
the buzz of music
and rhythm of feet

the sensation of feeling
the pool of thoughts
like a fluttering dream

the pearly glint of  moon
the rustle of leaves
the last breath before

sleeping

a girl only of eighteen
sitting in a lonely room
with windows to personalities
she can only have dreamt for
meeting those she despised
and those she love
once when she feels comfortable
they decide to close to their panes
knocking on the glass,
they only walk away
so she lived her entire life
walking in and out of panes
watching as each window vanish,
and she sits in this room,
she decorated with paint
and words from authors
which kept her sane
the bright morning light filters through
and leaves pink flares
she presses her head to the walls,
and ponder which way to go
she needs the greatest downpour
of shivering rain which smells like
the pours of an ocean coral
she needs the greatest uproar
of golden reflections
which keeps her warm at night
which way is the door?
a hand extended to help her
to show her how to feel
very much alive,
and to get back on her feet
she's tired of meeting those people
which leaves her emotions sore

creeping darkened walls
slices of sunlight
cold cup of coffee

a faceless runner
away from the slippery sky
the sinking fray
of thoughts beginning
to fall astray
whichever is true
I'm sorry for I do not
know what I really mean
and thoughts falling astray
like eyes gone dilated
--seeing without really knowing--
living lovely lives
which really don't
belong to me
so I run away
from the sores
and sail boats
which leave behind
those bruises

we become who we truly are
with the people who inspires us
to feel so much very
alive

the shudder of blue
skylight run crisp
an hour anew

empty hallways glisten
feet stumbling shyly
our smiles listen

two white breaths
silence that misses
starry night sky

a warm December breath
heavy grey sky nuzzled
with the lavender sunset

the best part of my day*
is picking up a stone
with the dirt still clinging
and the moss still glistening
like how the very grey clouds
nestles in and breathes without sound
this stone does something like that
and everyday it's a different stone
but still the dirt clings on
but of a varying kind
and the moss still glistens
which I hope is still mine  
I feel happy with the slight clap
of the stones in my pocket
yet the weight is becoming heavy
and I hope to bring them to the lake
before my love for them
*is outlived

do you know that feeling?
that feeling of an encompassed hush
fell over your mouth and eyes
and the thick fragrance
muffling the sounds
which whistles like
a deep blue sky?
like sitting absolutely still
with headphones in
yet no music is played
so that the world suddenly stopped
resonating clearly like
how it's supposed to be?
sometimes I fee like that,
most too often really,
like how I can't figure out
the distinction between
the shadows of two chapels,
or the steam coming off of
a very hot cup of tea,
sometimes I just feel definite,
and sometimes I simply feel
inconclusive

like a catapult of a sun thrown across the sky
happiness is found in a moment so sly
just to be taken away again
and swallowed by the starry
glints of infinite goodbyes

a ghost here,
and a ghost there,
we all think of memories,
before we cared

I feel like myself again*
knowing that I decided
to unhinge from that
*brittle foundation

the brighter days*
are creeping again
with the glimpse of dawn
stir me awake
with a brilliant yawn
to finally keep
my feet stepping in
from the backlash drought
and now
*I can finally smile

it seems to be that I have become speechless
in my way of things,
and I sit in silence
as the words have left me,
is it nostalgia?
a shift in the flutter?
something have happened,
a change in direction
it feels alien,
and I can't get
the colors to speak
and the paint to breathe
like how it used to be before
why is that?

do we create something out of nothing
is that what it means to be human?

why is it so hard for me
to admit that
all the things I hoped for
will no longer appear
like a camera's flash
take a photo of my life
I don't pose in any of them
I know that this is only
a frame sliding next to
the thickening photo album
thousands of frames to take
and only one to take a shot
I know I'm foolish
a whimsical dreamer
dying to know
how to possibly
carry on

I don't even know
Where to begin
On this concrete floor
Waiting for the forms
To come bursting in
A dash of color
Or flash of texture
Or even maybe
The grate of silence
Screaming as loud as ever
It's easy to get lost