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15.9k · Jan 2015
Recipe for a Tulip
Jordan Harris Jan 2015
cup of poison rage
pint of verdant, bleeding tears
and pinch of fever
Just a little haiku about tulips
12.0k · Jul 2014
Jordan Harris Jul 2014
Beside a dusty fan droops languid veins
whose movement barely churns up tarnished grime,
as lazy sun exudes through poisoned panes
injected with the film of listless time.

A gentle sigh is exhaled without will
for emptiness of long forgotten mind.
Eyes shudder closed to desolation's shrill
of conscious much too free and so, confined.

Revolting spittle dribbles down a chin
with absolutely nothing left to do.
To entertain and keep from going thin
you spy on friends who in turn spy on you.

Alas! For boredom is the finite trait
of great mankind's insufferable fate.
So, my second attempt at a sonnet. This one seems oddly appropriate considering I am impossibly not entertained and this is direly irksome.
9.9k · Jun 2014
Jordan Harris Jun 2014
I was not myself for weeks, yet nobody noticed.
7.9k · Jun 2014
Jordan Harris Jun 2014
They say in this world that everyone starts with nothing, that everyone has the opportunity to climb to the top with a cup of effort and just a sprinkle of integrity, that everyone is born equal, and that everyone succeeds.
They are lying, if not to you, then to themselves.

Fact is that inheritance will always be present in this world; parents will always die and pass on their wealth to their children.
Whether we are aware of this or chose to acknowledge its existence is independent and non-influential to this fact.

A lying billionaire may have one daughter and she may never have to genuinely work a day in her life, while an honest but unlucky displaced man may have one son and be unable to give him but a pair of shoes to place over his soft feet.

We are unable to alter this occurrence, for it is natural to wish for one’s own legacy to continue not only in genes, but in wealth, fame, and power, but it is crucial to acknowledge the differences of the lives into which we are born.
6.4k · Jul 2014
What is a Good Man?
Jordan Harris Jul 2014
What truly is the definition of righteousness?
Is it determined by act or by mind?

They say a good man fights for justice, peace, and prosperity.
But then, can a man of such moral truly remain so
if he turns to violence as an answer?
Does his intent to create marvels render him of moral status
though his methods may empower death and promote war?
Oh, this man is peaceful himself,
taking letters instead of bullets to battle
but his lyrics dislodge society in a manner not all approve
and so begins combat.
Can this soul carry such holy title,
if the repercussions of his strung together words are strung up necks?

Or is the good man the one who turns away from the world's fight
to be his own embodiment of ethical beauty?
For the one who remains silent causes no direct pain;
he himself is passive and tranquil
and moves to inspire such conduct in others without commanding it.
But his silence encourages fierce vehemency and wildness.
Does this fact not taint his name?

The first man had pure intent,
but with his tongue he spit sparks
which others used to ignite a fire and burn the world.
The second did not fight himself
but his chosen hush could never end the blood rain,
and so his lack of sharp verbosity allowed knives to flash and blood to spill.

So I will ask again,
what determines morality?
Though this time with a grounding response;
morals define morality.

Each man's mind renders his own flawless ideal individually,
and so one's perfection will always be another's monstrosity.
In truth? There are no good men,
or at least not one to all.
Inspired by the Doctor Who quote, "Demons run when a good man goes to war". I was very curious on the definition of a 'good man' (or rather human, because sexism is a no).
6.1k · Jun 2014
A Friend to a Friend
Jordan Harris Jun 2014
I need to know you haven't done what I'm thinking of doing.
5.3k · Jun 2014
Importance of Colors
Jordan Harris Jun 2014
She embodies a
yellow-backed salamander,
only violet.
My first ever haiku; just havin' a bit o' fun here friends!
4.0k · Jun 2014
Jordan Harris Jun 2014
Every brush is a first as a spark to a fire;
though the ashes still fall from limb and leaf,
each blaze sizzles an original melody:
forever unique and soulfully sole.

A delicate comfort envelopes me,
wreathing my pieces with a gentle autumn breeze,
mending me whole when I was never broken.

Her ambiance dances as rays of shattered moonlight,
slipping beneath a sky of the arctic dawn.
She gathers my fragments,
even when they had never been chipped away.

I lay unprotected, yet entirely safe.

She bends until the space separating us is airless with tender yearning.
I taste a thin sea-foam of maple sugar.
Dyspnoea remains fluid in our slumberous desire.

When I close my eyes, submitting to the quiet rush,
I am welcomed by an island universe.
Stardust spirals as the cosmos beams above our heads.

A sylvan petrichor swirls about the fall
as I am consumed with pure euphoria.
4.0k · Jun 2014
Indigo Inferno
Jordan Harris Jun 2014
Her eyes shine like undisturbed dew drops
hovering at the gentle fingertips of young moss
on the northern bark of a white cedar tree
under a lazy morning sun.

Spear points of obsidian pierce the disc:
banished from the core of a volcano
scorched by a molten heart
and choking on onyx soot.

The dawn warmth filters through,
carried by a serene and wafting breeze.
It illuminates the pleasant, tickling greenery,
bringing to light the depth of her irises.

Fire belches from the mountain's stomach,
and the flame ignites a gleam.
Her gemstone eyes shine
as though the embers have been captured within.

At the base, there is the earth:
firm and dark and cool.
Interlocking underbrush layers fawn with chestnut
overtaken but not undermined by powerful streaking tree trunks.

The rim is built of force and rumbles with strength.
A cast of bronze is seething and glowing.
Her intensity blazes as sun spots
deep within ancient amber.

She is as her eyes are
an indigo inferno:
elegantly alive.
3.8k · Jul 2014
Complete Inadequacy
Jordan Harris Jul 2014
Another slimy page absorbed by gentle, tender hands
Another reality channel infected by impossibilities
Another grainy film shaded by green to hide the truth

All eyes are glued to these perfections
Simple utopias I can never be

Her hair, his eyes, their laugh, that smile

How disheartening it is
for my friends to say one word
when the tags on my clothing say another

A dent here, a scar there, a bulge elsewhere
hips too wide, skin too rough, hair too straight, eyes too red,
toes too small, nose too big, scar too dark, skin too light
My entire being is stitched together faults

So my eyes burn as yours shine
I guess it is yet another imperfection

But then again, are the blemishes even mine?
3.3k · Jul 2014
Freak or Empathic
Jordan Harris Jul 2014
There is a difference between knowing and understanding.
You know how I feel because I have told you;
I explain my emotions
and you chose to listen.
I understand how you feel because I live it.
You do not tell me,
but I understand
the emotions
that course through your
body and mind and soul.

I never chose this.
And I never wanted it.

When I tell people I am an empathic
they mostly roll their eyes.
They have no idea what I am talking about,
until I touch their skin
and relay
every emotion
of their

Then they call me freak.

But I cannot help it.
Anything that feels pain I feel pain for.

When your teeth sparkle in laughter's sunlight
mine twinkle under the changing moon.
When your skin turns searing red with rage
mine glows white hot as a smith's hammer.
When your lungs burn from submerged depression
mine are right there
to release their final breathe.

There are those
who turn and marvel
like I am some otherworldly being
meant to be shoved in a glass cage
and goggled at in a zoo.
They tell me it is a gift to understand.
To that I say:
this world is no utopia.
How would you like to see every flaw?
How would you like to drown in the ocean of tears?
How would you like to experience your skin raw from all the fury?
How would you like feel the ragged edges of scars
raised as far as they were cut
with every curious brush of your fingertips?
You wouldn't.
This is no gift
unless from Hell.

In my lifetime
I have tried to make it
so the world doesn't hurt
so that I don't hurt.
Now I know;
I can't.

I can't whip the tears from each child's soft chin.
I can't massage the ice from each man's shriveled heart.
I can't dowse the flames from each woman's fiery tongue.
I can't.

The only thing I can do
is change my position within this world
in an attempt
to heal my scars.

And I am not sure which soothes my pain more:
surrounding myself
with those from whom I receive the most
sorrow and anger and dread
because they
understand me;
they can help,
engulfing myself
within the entourage of those who always smile:
to drown out all the pain
and push the world aside.
3.0k · Jun 2014
To Swing
Jordan Harris Jun 2014
And now at last you draw the ropes
behind my drooping head.
You even have the
courtesy to tie
the knot
in my
2.9k · Jun 2014
Jordan Harris Jun 2014
You need to get out of yourself.
Nobody does you worse than you.
Nobody torments you more than you.
Nobody makes you feel worse than you.
There are times when you need to get away from yourself.
Sometimes you have to drop everything and leave.
And that is when you let go.
Because running takes you nowhere.
2.6k · Jul 2014
Jordan Harris Jul 2014
When the normal is expected and consumed with boredom,
and the highs pass along unnoticed because they are so humanly desired,
and the lows are too painful to survive through, let alone move on from,
who has the right to ask me to continue trying to live?

Who on this Earth possesses any righteous ability
to command me to survive?
No one.
And yet, I am powerless to stop them.
2.4k · Jun 2014
Jordan Harris Jun 2014
He was the doctor that would destroy anything to claim he had healed it.
2.3k · Jun 2015
Jordan Harris Jun 2015
With you
I am a tourist
You carve your smile
Tell me I’m welcome
And hold out your hands in demand

I know something is wrong
But this place is so masked in serenity
I do not care to understand it

You grab and you tear

Love is a currency
I will pay with my heart
Then inflate to bankruptcy

I was nothing special to you
Just another tourist
Like the dozens and other hundreds
And you care about them
But not for them
Just as you do not care for me

You value what you receive
And how much you can grasp
But give newspaper to blind beggars
And insults to the depressed deaf

You care not for what you pass around
Only that what comes back to you is what you desire

So I am spent
Spun around
Turned away
And asked to leave

And you welcome your next tourist.
2.3k · Jun 2014
Jordan Harris Jun 2014
Distrust is key to
in every aspect
of life
except within.

And that is why
I trust myself
to see myself
as myself.

Beyond that
is a liar
a lie.
2.2k · Jan 2015
Tulipa Occultum
Jordan Harris Jan 2015
It is just
blood soaked shields
wedged together
to ensure protection.

Inside there is an eye
with a yellow iris
yellow because it is sick
sick of the world
and sick of seeing it.
Tulipa occultum means 'hidden tulip' in Latin.
2.1k · Aug 2014
Pain without Torture
Jordan Harris Aug 2014
It isn't sadness;
that is the biggest misconception.
People treat it like an emotion infecting a blue day,
labeling slightly soaked cheeks as this ailment of the mind.
The term is cracked like a whip in stinging insult:
weak, powerless, loser, outcast.

It is feeling a lack of feeling,
where one exists in a mental state of wanting to be anything but lethargic
yet finding nothing worthwhile inside
with which to take action:
no talent, no skill, no interest.

It is not only not believing one has any energy
but seeing nothing to which to give it,
in yourself, in others, in the world.

It is severe despondency and dejection,
consuming worlds like oozing, viscose magma
dribbling uncontrollably as burning ***** from the mountain's fiery mouth
burping filthily as is sludges onward.

It isn't sorrow, or misery, or despair.

It is inadequacy,
an ebb of interest in life,
with a sliver of interest to take it.
2.1k · Jul 2014
Jordan Harris Jul 2014
For what reason do I bare these arms
if their flick does not fluster
and their embrace does not ease

For what reason do I glance with these eyes
if their concern does not comfort
and their ghost does not give

For what reason do I speak from these lips
if their sweetness does not soften
and their cool does not calm

If my touch leaves no fingerprints
when I press skin to the world
then what is the purpose of my effort?

Or perhaps I do leave marks
a stinging slap
a gouging gaze
a ravenous rip

Then my resolve is of hellish terms
and I am consumed by demons
2.0k · Jun 2014
Rhyme Time No. 2
Jordan Harris Jun 2014
-why d'you love me; I'm a freak?
-well, I prefer the term unique
1.9k · Jun 2014
1.9k · Jul 2014
Jordan Harris Jul 2014
you are too young
to hear such things
yet they spew from my mouth
as i spit poisoned blood
snatched from my lungs and ripped from others' throats

i reek of acid
it breaks me to know it tears through you
slicing deeper than the silver blade i use
to carve myself to a shape i think might be better
though you would never admit the pain
at least, not to me

i say you should abandon me
you say i have no right to claim order or jade
and i'm not
i just know the truthful why
are you blind or do you refuse to see?

i am the nightmare
the fear that flares in the back of minds
the shadow haunting every eye
when it retreats to safety from the misery and torture of the world

i am
the pain that blinds
the blood that chokes
the breath that was never exhaled

i need you to understand
to see the horror i embody
so you know to run
so i can't hurt you
so i can't hurt me

clawing at shards of shattered knives
i desperately try to force your sight

yet i cannot keep pushing all this at you
all of me as myself
this ******* monster
i know i am
1.9k · Sep 2014
Irony Ore
Jordan Harris Sep 2014
I once thought big words
held more depth
than small ones.
Now I know they just cause
macro-cosmic misinterpretations.
1.8k · Jul 2014
Hideous Horoscope
Jordan Harris Jul 2014
a sylvan safety
doomed to die
left alone
it wonders why

corrupted carcass
melts to mush
choking chains
burn the brush

fearsome flames
lick at lies
rotten roots
fend off flies

blackened bark
torn in two
scent of smoke
of beastly brew

sinful scandal
heinous hate
worlds to wander
and face their fate
1.8k · Jul 2014
Astringing Fabrication
Jordan Harris Jul 2014
I was told that he-
   Yes, but were you told by him?
I heard that she-
   Yes, but did you hear from her?
I know that you-
   Yes, but do you know me?

My stomach churns to sour froth
when people know because they hear.
If you allow distant whispers to define knowledge
then your truth is ridden and diseased.
Such wounds fester, rotting in the filth of lies.

Stop feeding these ****** vines.
They are barbed and poison and coiling.
Constrictors of death: and they will absolutely consume you
squeezing until your pathetic, bitter brains
ooze liquid from your shattered skull.

If you are not a part of something, leave it be.
1.8k · Sep 2014
Jordan Harris Sep 2014
A photograph
pries a velvet kaleidoscope
from living

like flesh parting bone
ripped and torn
by the ravenous jaws of a great lioness

it snaps a fluid stream
with no beginning
no end

it chops to a point
which cannot flutter
because it has no wings

it is only an end
less than ephemeral
1.8k · Dec 2014
The Phoenix
Jordan Harris Dec 2014
To die of fire and born of ashes
how strange it must be
to be destroyed
by that which creates you

of course a woman is rendered as herself
by the ideas within her head
and decimated
by her own thoughts

and a man is rendered as himself
by the beating of his heart
and dismantled
by his heated blood

though neither man nor woman return from their destruction

I wonder if the death of the fire bird
is painful
does it know it will be reborn?
would this lessen the pain?

I would envy a man who was reborn again and again
but not a man who thought he died every time
1.7k · Jun 2014
The Beach
Jordan Harris Jun 2014
I step gently onto the ground as I glide across the shore, padding with a light caution to protect the un-callused skin coating the bottom of my slightly burnt feet, the covering not yet thick and worn from a full summer of bare use. The sand underfoot is a speckled grey, thoroughly beaten to a fine, almost silky carpet, dark with captured ocean and fresh with salty spray. As the seconds pass, the darkness below fades, and my feet somewhat sink, though they are not engulfed, only hugged around the edges so that if I stepped away, a slight shadow of myself would remain behind. I do not, however, move, and instead, allow the earth to slowly bend for my being. I feel miniscule grains of shell aged several millennia rush between my toes as the sea easily escapes the weak attempt to cage it. The next wave tears in, and I see it frothing and foaming, rabid and furious toward the shore, but as it reaches me, it is little more than a carbonated, salty trickle. As the water laps at my ankles, I turn toward the dunes, away from the infinite horizon and know that the slight depression I have left is already being brushed into oblivion, my only mark flicked aside. As I pad softly away, the ground transforms from bland silk to stained glass. The speckled grey sand brightens to a yellow tan, then fireworks to an endless prism of shells, appearing like millions of hooks, swirls, and bowls, across the now slightly undulating ground. Like stars in the Milky Way floating throughout an endless sea of blackness, the shells are scattered in hued bands across the beach, twinkling with reflected starlight. Above me, doming the serene landscape is an azure sky free from all but a few cotton ***** which have been stretched by the sea fairing breeze to be all but transparent. The smell of salt reaches my nose as a bucolic waft emanates from the expanse to my back. I close my eyes, shading my vision and trusting the peace of my surroundings to hold. The faded calls of gulls echo along the shore and the popping of sea foam bubbles sharpens as my mind turns to rely on the sense of sound. Opening my eyes again, I see nothing of the landscape’s composure has altered. But for all its calm tranquility, isn't it strange, that I am walking through a graveyard.
1.7k · Jul 2014
Jordan Harris Jul 2014
I’ll say goodbye to the stars that dot the night
and likewise to the moon that floods the dark with light.
I’ll breathe goodbye to the sun at its great height
and so to the clouds that range from black to white.

I’ll sob goodbye to the underfoot of soil
and repeat this to the frothing ocean at a boil.
I’ll cry goodbye to the vines that wrap and coil
and such to the flowers, unafraid of toil.

I’ll scream goodbye to the birds at dawn who sing
and furthermore to the tiger, who’s roar will always ring.
I’ll spit goodbye to the insects on the wing
and finally to the men who thought they could play king.
1.6k · Jun 2014
Jordan Harris Jun 2014
To put it quite simply; it hurts.
Jordan Harris Jun 2014
I know I always do it;
I shove people away.
I bury myself alone to protect them
because I do not want them to hurt
by revealing my own pain.

It has come to the point
where I am so concerned, so fearful,
at the prospect of being a burden
that I am blind to a crucial fact;

the most painful thing
I have ever endured
was my best friend
pushing me aside
shoving me away,

because she thought
she weighed me down.

And now I am realizing
solitary silence and defensive deceit
cause more agony to a friend
than any volcanic mountain range
of searing, fiery truths
could ever reap.
1.5k · Jun 2014
Erroneous Man
Jordan Harris Jun 2014
He is an
erroneous man
with a soul splotched
in every color
whose death
his ultimate
1.5k · Jun 2014
1.5k · Jul 2014
Gamma Rays and Radio Waves
Jordan Harris Jul 2014
I am a child of truth
one not blinded by belief or whim
my vision is luminous with veracity
I am a daughter of science
the proven

there is pride in this
the authenticity of my perception
I see the world in all colors
not the black and white of sin and virtue

I judge the world on the confirmed and validated
my value is in the clarity of possibilities
and the assessment of the affirmed

but for however meritorious I may grant this view to be
is such sight of pure moral?

it burdens to recognize I am the only control in my world
there are none in my eyes with ultimate or immortal reign
the only fate I view is individual and collective ends

I wish I could have faith
perhaps the pain would ease
at the thought of another with power in control
knowing my actions are not my work
but the results of a larger set of hands

but how hideous is it of me to say such filth
to long to believe
but be supposedly unable to feel gods
I consider it disrespectful to those who do

so I keep to my facts
my deafening, blinding, muting visual certainties

but what if I am wrong?
after all, there are more colors in the universe
than those of which we see
I know religion is a touchy subject, and I have been told numerous times as an atheist to hush up and not speak of it, but honestly, I marvel at such beliefs and ways of life. I mean absolutely no disrespect and truly want to make that clear to all. This poem is honestly a stab at myself in my confused scientific state of mind and under no circumstances meant to hurt others. Mostly, I wrote this because it has been on my mind a lot, and I felt the need to write.
1.5k · Jun 2014
Jordan Harris Jun 2014
Such an insignificant significance that moment was;
the last brush of our fingertips.
1.3k · Jun 2014
Rhyme Time No. 1
Jordan Harris Jun 2014
now look at what you've done
such a monster I've become
1.2k · Jul 2014
Painful in Parting
Jordan Harris Jul 2014
Come here, I miss you, radiant one
with heart the size of Zeus's raging storm.
There is a song circling your irises,
traversing immense emotion,
filled from indigo depths of an ocean's mirror
and poured over the searing rim of the strongest volcano.
Such power fuels painful wars,
but you won each battle with bleeding fists.
And I cannot wash your hands
because mine are covered too.

Come here, I miss you, magnificent one,
fierce and clever: protector of all.
Now, you have fire in your sight,
lava on your tongue, and embers in your belly.
But the brazen flames I love, those livening your whole,
you tell me they flare from your fingerprints,
and then you are burnt.
And I cannot douse the embers
because I choke myself on the ashes.

Come here, I miss you, beautiful one,
such pain among the four of you.
With soft eyes sweet and wide as fawns,
such youthful play within your soul.
Creativity and intellect course through your veins,
yet you carry the weight of three
almost strung up by the neck.
And I cannot coax them down
because I am one of them.

My friends have always been there for me.
They support me through so much.
But I? I feel completely helpless
whenever I try to be the shoulder
instead of the tears.
They have always been the best of me, and I love them for it.
1.2k · Jun 2014
The Rattlesnake
Jordan Harris Jun 2014
A marsh lay undisturbed for tranquil days
to shelter gentle skin of diamond back
awake and warm by grasping, beating rays,
but chaos brews away from well worn track.

The travel cheer nears cautionary tail
which quickly starts to rattle, thrash, and quake;
Step back: a warning of the speedy scale
developing to thunder, poised to take.

Arise pure death to strike unrivaled force
with unforgiving scythe: the silver fang.
Spring liquid gold to flow and run your course
compelling life to fade away, to hang.

However final darkness may have seemed
now atrophy consumes all hoped and dreamed.
1.2k · Jun 2014
Jordan Harris Jun 2014
You disappeared.
I thought I was to be invited to a funeral.
But I would never attend.
Because I would have already gone.
1.2k · Dec 2014
Jordan Harris Dec 2014
I move forward to ignore the past
I learned from history in my mind
I did not want to express yesterdays

I ask you
I plead with you
don’t taint this ground
I know the past is colored scarlet
and you will drench the floor in your blood

I am fragile, but you break like time

I climb, but now look to this pit
I am the pit of a pit on the ground, and you wander

I step once
then step again
but it is you who should watch your feet
because I am an orchard
an orchard of mines
1.2k · Jun 2014
Jordan Harris Jun 2014
Surrounded by obscurity without gloom:
the depths of calignosity suffocate every speck in ebony ink.
Yet, every molecule breathes with ease.

It is the crushing, bewitching hour of eternity in nightfall.
A sigh exhaled is impassively terminated by the midnight dusk;
sound is silent here.

Emptiness gapes as the leviathan's gob
thick with gelatinous mucus,
vast, however jailing:
closed and unknown to the living universe.

The saliva sparks in a moment, as a release of static charge,
even though no solid is sensed, never-mind two touching
loaded with electric friction.

And then again, as a sparkler of summer's independence
now holding for just more than a whim.
An explosion.

Flecks of bright stains scattered within the physical aura breeze past;
they ripple like wave crests under a kaleidoscope moon.
Colors arc in the resistant free current: endless lightning.

The vacuum is an overpopulated city
of which the blind could never take census
and the ignorant believe to be mute.

Visual speech fills the void of sound.
It is the starlight of a body.
A collaboration from the same prompt with Chloe Schwartz. She is amazingly talented and a joy to work with! Check out her page in my favorites!
1.1k · Jun 2014
Brazen Mendacity
Jordan Harris Jun 2014
I perch distantly
not as a stalking panther shrouded in night
but in exile
society is welcoming as I chose my solitude
internally enforced diaspora

I claimed it was to marvel the awful expanse
a view of unabridged artistry
authentic beauty
however here
truth's firm grasp scrambles for a grip
but fingers could only ever scrape a void

I gazed across a projection
my utopia
a wish upon a whim

I walk the world with starlight in my eyes
to blind myself from the otherwise unavoidable darkness

I stride not at the center of galaxies
but in the emptiness of space forgotten
knowing resolution is inevitable
and I will either become a part of it
or its mirror

I will be whipped from the universe
an absent thought
lost in tumbling amnesia
1.1k · Sep 2014
Of Rust and Slate
Jordan Harris Sep 2014
the omnipresence of a forest
a melody

the laughter of a child
a spirit

the rage of a star
a supernova

the ground of a glass
a mainstay

the warmth of a firefly
a comfort

the gore of a war
a fighter

the haven of a lionfish
a protector

the circlet of a nymph
a friend

the wish of a girl
a mask

to hide
the truth of an eye
a magnificence
1.1k · Jul 2014
Strength in Sobs
Jordan Harris Jul 2014
Crying does not mean you are weak;
it means you have remained so strong
for far too long.

It means you have sacrificed your life
to ensure others live their's,
and it means you have put yourself forward
to protect their Earth rather than conserve your world.

It means you have kept your promised silence
that hush a friend dared to ask,
and it means you welcomed the weight
when your shoulders were soaked with drenching salt.

It means you have been sympathetic,
firmly standing your ground to defend friends,
and it means you forced yourself into exile
when your effect seemed more demonic than caring.

It means you threw your entertainment aside
to keep a little brother company as he chases fireflies,
and it means you disregarded candle wishes
as an older sister licked frosting numbering a younger year.

It means you chose to be the person everyone wanted to have
but no one wanted to be.
1.1k · Oct 2014
The Wind
Jordan Harris Oct 2014
Frigidity gnaws dully
like an outcast lion
scavenging on the bones
of its former pride.

Creeping nefariously,
it claws through any gap it can find,
sliding and slithering
through a hole in a fence:
a rabid dog.

It is thick, viscous and voracious
like some sort of anti-magma,
having all the properties
of a volcano’s foaming mucus
only lacking heat.

There is no frozen core,
as the whole is so consumed
with horrid chill,
the edges are no warmer
than the deepest depths.

Ice holds the same burning power as fire.
1.0k · Jun 2014
Jordan Harris Jun 2014
I am so sorry.
I am never there for anyone.
I just keep running.
I can’t stop.
I run from everything and everyone.
I push **** down.
I pretend it doesn’t bother me.
I fake it.
I put masks on all seven heads.
I mash them into one.
I force others to see someone else.
I am too hideous to look at.
I will burn them if they see.
I play with them too.
I entertain myself by manipulating them.
I would be ****** to death if they ever saw what I do to them.
I lie.
I torture.
I ******.
I become invisible beneath the smiles and no one suspects a **** thing.
I cover my hands in blood.
I use those hands to stab.
I use those hands to twist the knife.
I use those hands to hold back their heads so I can watch the light leave their eyes as their bodies convulse and collapse.
I use those hands to tear through their still-warm chests and to rip out their hearts because I am too tainted, too dark, to empty, to be able to grasp a soul.
I take them, and I run.
I realize now: it is not because I can’t stop.
It is because I won’t.
And now I understand:
I am not that sorry.
958 · Jun 2014
In the End
Jordan Harris Jun 2014
I am not afraid of death.

I am afraid
of leaving nothing behind:
no legacy, no memory, no lasting impression.

I am afraid
I will not have a mark, a footprint,
a story worth telling generation after generation.

I am afraid
everything I ever do
will have absolutely no meaning
after my conscience is inevitably whipped from existence.

I am afraid
all of the tests and assessments will count for no grade:
none of the points will have ever mattered,
whole nights awake and exhausted stress for nothing.

I am afraid
each word I wrote and every line I drew will be erased,
the rubber shavings swept to the floor by a careless hand
vacuumed away in spring cleaning,
and emptied into a trash bin months, even years later.

I am afraid
the lyrics that sprang spontaneously from my lips
soaked and soapy from shampoo in the shower
will only survive dripping through dank, rusted pipes
echoing with hollow drops in an empty bi-centennial home
for no one.

I am afraid
what I saw, what I understood, what I thought, and what I spoke
will have no impact on the interpretation of the universe
through the eyes of others;
there is no continued learning through humanity,
only amnesia
forgetting and loosing
until our entire species dies of sheer stupidity.

I am afraid
my essence will be forgotten.
But then again,
I am also afraid if I am not.

I die and then what?
Wailing and depression?
Screaming and fury and reverberating shrieks?
Pure, blessed joy at relief from my existence on this Earth?

I cannot decide which I fear more:
my last breath passing as not an eyelash bats with nerve for care
or my memorial lasting eternally.
955 · Dec 2014
My Demons
Jordan Harris Dec 2014
It has become my norm to push people away
because somewhere along the road
I found it was easier to shove people aside
than give them a chance

It's easier to hang up her call
than watch her drift to sleep.

It's easier to tell him I have work
than turn to face him.

It's easier to walk away from them
than sit there worrying about hurting them and them hurting me.

It's easier to sleep at night
knowing I drove them away
instead of the other way around

It's easier to know I'm the one who ended it

Because it's easier to hurt someone else
before that person has the chance to hurt me.
883 · Jun 2014
Jordan Harris Jun 2014
She is tired and torn,
battered and broken,
and longs
for nothing
and no one.
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