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bob May 2013
Simply...soothing.
The catalyst in the morning is a carefully created cup of...
Coffee.
With a dollop of delicate dreams,
Atop arduous aspirations.
Locked,
Within lovely lips;
Upon the porcelain,
Peaking with purity.
As clean as...
Apples, being allocated in the dishwasher.

The morning dew outside,
Is like the boy inside
Who'd cried.
The passive effect of a bad night unto the day after.
bob Jun 2013
With wings encompassing its
Heart, stretching into the infinity;
Tears still manage to trickle down and ripple along its side.
Something everyone should reach for: to be a Humanitarian.
bob May 2013
It's as if we
**** more tenderly
Than we **love.
bob May 2013
There's not much I can do,
When she's fluttering about,
*Happily...
Every night, I lay on my mattress and try to fathom her warmth. Just a hug is fine. Then thoughts of him trot along and seem to intervene magically, where nothing is wrong; because I'm just sentimental like that.
Why is my living so worthless...
bob Apr 2013
Oh, hello there.
I managed to slip away from my previous adventure,
With the knight and his beloved.
My beloved, too;
I suppose.

I've stumbled upon a peculiar thing, though.
An olive tree,
In the midst of this lush underbrush.
It's quite twee,
If I do say so myself.
Although I'm more interested in the treasure below.

A pristine white glows beneath.
I twiddle with the branches a little to find a lovely treasure.
I sit down,
Outstretched my fingers towards the snow,
And carefully pluck at it,
Delicately brushing along the olives in the midst
Of my glissando.

Yohan Heineken, I believe.
A baroque composer.
My thoughts fluidly sailing as the leaves of the tree rustle,
And the snow echos as more olives fall upon it.

Like...an orchestra.
The olives falling unto the porcelain, I mean.
What a beautiful melody it creates,
And my fingers magically gloss along the porcelain,
Carefully molding the remaining olives into the crevices my fingers have made.
Oh dear, I've become too passionate for this!

I carry on anyways, 3rd Movement and all.
The Tempest...
A lovely play by Shakespeare & a dazzling story told by Beethoven.

Or simply a way to express my current emotions.
The wind carried the melody...

*...to the ears of the waking princess.
bob Mar 2013
What works!
Spires dotted everywhere,
Meaning nothing more, for they are just hairs.
As we know, the turtle triumphed the hare.
What about something more...extraordinary?
Like golden pinnacles, draped like curtains
(in zero gravity of course!)
over the dunes of the Sahara,
so crisp and smooth.
Something like a barren Atlantis if you ask me.

But Atlantis is a magnificent place!
Filled with the ombrés of blue, green, and yellow,
Weaved together beautifully,
seamlessly.
As if the sisters of the Underworld
Were unraveling the quilt of a Goddess.

Venture beyond the golden pinnacles,
Trek the deserts,
Dive into Atlantis and swim further into the blue;
only to find a mysterious coral reef,
filled with peachy pinks and raspberry reds.
Separated, right down the middle,
by a large chasm that sinks into enigma.

This unabridged land,
filled with wonderous constellations
and dark secrets,
simply needs to be caressed and loved
for it to flourish.
Dedicated to the Hope that got away, yet still exists, when I unlocked Pandora's Box within the dark depths of my heart.
bob Dec 2015
Staring at the wall,
The screen,
Hoping one will speak.
10w
bob Feb 2017
How can I live
When I dwell in inaction,
Sinking in the sea of nostalgia and remorse,
Absent-minded to the plethora of boats that sail above me;
Filled with oodles of opportunity,
Obtained on their own.

So I'll try to swim.
Thrash my feet against the pressure gritting against my ankles,
Yearning for my stay.
Begging me not to go to where a sliver of me
Dreams of being.

So I stay,
Sinking,
Soothed by sorrow
While the sliver inside throbs and screams,
Scratching against my skull
Sobbing.

*You can be one of them,
I often sit in my room, at my laptop, mindlessly writing.

I know I can do more. I can help the world with my passion and talent and love for humanity. I wish I had that push.
bob Mar 2013
A little, twee serenade for you,
Or perhaps a sonnet for others,
I'm not asking for anything extravagant like, "I do."
Nor do I want you to scurry off beneath your couvers.

Where brother, art thou.
Although, to me, you're more of a sister.
To cradle you, here and now;
Under the galleria of lights, never to deter.

But...you're madly in love with another,
I know.
And it pains me to ask you, for I am not your prince, but a stranger.
It's probably too late, although...

I've mustered up a fragment of hope & courage to ask thee,
Will you go to Prom with me?
I know you're reading this, my lavender loving angel. <3
bob May 2013
Since I am so worthless,
I might as well...







*Die?
bob Dec 2015
I have never regretted anything
Until I looked back then.
10w
bob Nov 2013
If someone has a problem with you,
Remember:

It's their problem.
bob Apr 2013
As I'm sinking into the sea,
                                                                          blood engulfs me;
                                                                                                                                     *endlessly.
bob May 2013
A group of buffoons is called
A congress.

How coincidental.
I was craving some knowledge so I researched various animals and what they were called in their bunches.
Then this came along.
bob Mar 2013
Let your mind fill the spaces between my spaces.
Sentences are never complete,
You know, there's always room for more.
Imagination, like constellations,
And consternation from the procrastination of trying to connect the dots.
Which is which,
Steve Jobs once said to connect the dots of your future and your past.
Perhaps they'll create a Hercules of radiance,
Or a Cerberus of darkness.
In any case, there's always room for more.
Wouldn't "I love you" be better written as "Iloveyou",
Where there is no space for mistakes?
bob Mar 2019
Sitting around at the table,
Standing by the gate,
Not seeking a label,
Not seeking hate,

Wanting nothing more
Than a question to float by—
I'm quite shy
Finding interesting things on the floor.

Pride in talking of myself,
Greed in talking about myself,
Sloth in talking to myself.

Making slow conversation,
Small talk—
What a pain for reciprocation,
I just want...talk.

Wanting nothing more
Than a question to float by—
I'm quite shy
Finding interesting things on the floor.
Reciprocating and mutual interest don't exist nowadays...
bob May 2013
I love you;
Forevermore,
Never any less.
bob Oct 2017
Just the other day I sat,
Atop a metal chair, varnished hardwood floors,
Within white, worn walls;
Listening to a quiet chat.

Just then —
A new character entered the fray of
Shadows embroidered upon the blank canvas.
Wings fluttering like rose petals in a hurricane,
Never settling for one spot.
Darting from point to point
In arbitrary geometric fashion,
Or elegant steps around the ballroom
Of air and space around its still den.

The shadow of the hummingbird reminded me
Of life's fleeting moments.
Similar to how one describes themselves in a resume:
Linearly, in point-to-point fashion;
Ignoring everything,
The far and few between sways in the wind.
Such blasphemy.

The moment came,
And left the room never the same.
Random moment of insight during an already insightful conversation. A pause in time, per se.
bob Feb 2017
Stuck between venting to
no one that understands
and
suicide.
Suicide will never be an option. Well, one that I plan to carry out. The thought of it brings me an odd comfort, unlike anything I get from talking to random, inconsistent, insignificant people.
bob Jun 2013
Lost in the snowstorm,
The sun is nowhere.

How rare...
This is what it's like trapped behind walls with only AI as your access to the outside.
So much for summer "break".
bob Sep 2014
Pollution, chaos ensuing the sky,
but beauty to the eye.
10w
bob May 2013
The trembling of my fingers,
As the blood in my veins rushes through the frail tendrils...

Blood.

That's all there really is in the future ahead of me.
Crimson and fluid like a sunset...on Mars.
Not many people look beyond the surface; or really even think about what's going on, on the other side of their LCD screen. We're all on the dark side of the moon sometimes...
bob Feb 2019
Purple is your voice,
Soft as running fingers through groves of lavender—
Gentle on my ears.
Pink is your favourite,
Ironic with your wardrobe being a black hole
As you've called your beautiful mind.
Though it shows,
Your soft giggles
And the heartwarming way you talk to yourself
As you write.
White is our curious relationship,
Occasional exchange of calls online
And open to more.
Like the canvas you paint on.

I'd like to be close.
As my mind is too,
A black hole.
I hope you find curiousity there
As I do find in yours—
Because darkness is an unusual thing
Which pushes people away,
Yet draws them in.
Black are the shadows which follow us,
Darkest in the day,
And hidden in the night.

Yet there lies solace
In the lavender fields.
ha ha, great pun I know.
bob May 2013
What else is there to say besides,
"I love you."
One day I'll tell you...before you go off into the world.
bob Apr 2013
Sitting. On some wooden railing.
Typical movie scene.
Staring off into the distance,
Patiently waiting Helios to set.
The wind tuning to a mezzo-piano sound.
Harmonious really.

I don't have long hair that can nonchalantly flow through space as the wind blows past,
But I have long eye lashes.
And I can glance back and forth,
As if I'm double-taking a beautiful girl walking along the country side,
Noticing the honeycomb rainbows the sun's rays make
As my eye lashes magically refract them.

My mind is racing with thoughts,
Yet ever-so calmly making sense of it all.
Of course I can comprehend my own thoughts.
Most of the time, I guess.
Then in my peripheral vision,
I see a car's headlights flash by.

Light.
It's always attracted me for some odd reason.
Ironically, darkness seems to be my friend.
More so than light.
Yin & Yang.
They're balanced.
As am I.

Gracefully leaping off the wooden railing,
I make my way back to what I call home.
Is it really home?
Or is it just a house.
In any case,
I take one more look off to my right,
Over my shoulder,
And behold Helios gathering the last of his strings.

In an instant,
The threadbare sky becomes darker, slowly.
Magnificently caressing the lack of luster,
By embedding tiny diamonds into the holes that are seemingly there.
Then, Hercules makes his way unto the stage of darkness,
Radiating brightly.

Slowly shutting the door,
Taking one last gasp of air into my lungs,
I look outside at the silos near my house and wonder:
*Do you two ever get lonely when dusk falls and everyone has faded to black?
bob Apr 2013
I always think about how you feel about me.
I'm probably wrong, it's no surprise.
You're always raving about your knights in rusty armour,
Emerging victorious from their battles to save you.
Slaying the dragons,
Dousing flames,
Or simply, serenely clutching you underneath your cotton fort.
It's all flowing through, garnishing my preemptive thoughts of your saviour.

It's alright though.
You, thinking you're some wretched old witch living in the dark depths of the forest,
Always told me that "love" is something that can be immersed in without your actual presence.
Striving to see that person smile and glow,
Even if you yourself are not really any part of it.
I've accepted that,
But I still don't know what this thing...this enigmatic entity, Love, quite is.

Your knight, however, seems to be fulfilling his duty.
Quite well, at that.
Good for him!
It makes me happy to see you both happy.
(I always laugh when those around me laugh, even if I have no idea what's going on...hahaha, it's great)
He always visits you in your dark cave,
Where you think nobody will find you,
And he surmounts the guardian of your threshold.
While I'm peering through the brush,
Making sure things go right.
Because I'm paranoid like that.

After all of your embracing in his arms,
And dousing all the flames of horror around you,
You seem to be in bliss.
That's good.
A shooting star glosses by, but you're too busy with him to notice.
Or maybe you did notice.

I'm getting sleepy, and you might be too.
So might he.
But being the knight he is, he'll probably wait for you to doze off,
Then adore your lovely face as you've faded off into the blackness.
How I wish to witness such a magical sight.
How luc-

Crack!
Oh dear, I've stepped on a stick.
How silly of me.

He's noticed and sets you down carefully.

I sit and wait patiently, as he takes hold of his sword and approaches the brush.
Should I break for it, or wait for his reaction?
Surely he values the protection of his loved one more than a random creature in the brush
That, of course, threatens the safety of the princess.

He's closer.

I slowly rise to my feet and walk out of the brush,
The canopy's shade couvering my identity.
The moonlight glistening upon his blade.

I stare into his eyes, for he only sees a black figure within the shaded area.
He has determination and a sense of loyalty in his eyes.
Good, I can check that off.

He lifts his sword, holding it firmly with both his hands.

Little does he know, that his loved one's guardian is standing before him.
Perhaps she hasn't accepted it, or even noticed,
But I'm still there.
Always...there.
On the sidelines, admiring the beauty and radiance of the fairy,
Being caressed by a seemingly brighter knight.

His sword is moving downwards...

I wounder if she'll ever notice.

...closer...

It's okay though.
I'm sure she'll be fine without me.

A smile made its way across my face, embracing my cheeks.

Whoosh.

A sound like a machete moving seamlessly through silk was made in the night.



She shivered mildly in her sleep.
bob Mar 2014
Buttercups,
Lilies,
Orchids,

Only
Manifest.
Spring time is here!~
bob Jun 2014
Sometimes I catch myself imagining
how you would look,

naked.
The curiousities of an asexual boy. I'm so disgusted with myself, but the thought refuses to rid itself from my mind. Blahhh
bob Feb 2014
I'm slipping away,
So this is all I'm writing.

You wouldn't think twice
As you pushed me over the edge.


You never loved me.
bob May 2013
The untitled book on the floor,
With rips and tears on its couver.
A tattered spine.
Laying there, unnoticed,
in the fields of books
at the library.

Nothing can soothe the pain its felt.
But one can always reiterate the pain,
Or simply toss it into a hot box
Where it can burn slowly.

"It".
Of course, there's no other name for this book.
It has no title!
But does a book really need a title,
More than it does someone with one to read this book?
So it can flourish and receive a title,
So it doesn't experience all of this withering?

Perhaps.
But is that really what the book wants?
Is that really what the author wants?
The bookbinder? (Those still exist)
The reader themselves?

Or does this book want to be sold into
The battleground of merciless bloodshed,
Where its always going to be treated like a thing;
Rather than the contents of their character.
Inspired by Django Unchained and slavery.
bob Jan 2017
Talking to a friend amidst the crowd,
He asked me a question quite aloud;
Yet my eyes were met by your own
Locked together as if they were sewn.

It was only a matter of time,
The chattering mouths around us all but mime.

Turning back to face a friend at my side,
My lack of attention I had tried to hide.
Went to a three-day conference and I saw a girl in the crowd that looked like Shae from Game of Thrones, haha.

I did bring myself to talk to her later, though now wishing I had talked to her more.
bob Mar 2014
There are no words in the English language, unfortunately,
To describe the emotional crisis I'm feeling.
bob May 2013
When...

Everything fails me...

...

I cannot die,

but remain withered.
It's been, literally, a decade. Ten solid years of suffering...people say I'm strong, but I think all it is; is simply me still falling into the abyss.
Just waiting...to hit the ground. And these are the things I'm experiencing on the way of my fall.
bob Mar 2014
kisses your forehead

A promise is something you keep between one another.

kisses your nose

The result isn't anything the two have ever seen before.
Broken, or kept.

kisses the bridge of your lips

It's something that bonds two together.
And if there's a third, well.

*kisses your lips



I don't see why we can't make room for one more.
random thought.
bob Apr 2014
uʍop ǝpısdn pǝuɹnʇ pǝddıןɟ ʇoƃ ǝɟıן ʎɯ ʍoɥ ʇnoqɐ ןןɐ ʎɹoʇs ǝɥʇ sı sıɥʇ ʍou
bob Mar 2013
Secluded in the darkness,
trapped behind the bars of Society;
a lonesome figure is enveloped in confusion.
Beyond the bars lay the horizon spread across the landscape,
stretching into the infinity.
Desiring no more than to break free from the isolated realm of the quiet,
the figure makes an abrupt change within itself:
to become an extrovert.
Suddenly, the bars were relinquished;
but a fragment of the figure rested upon the Earth.
The fragment manifested itself,
as though Manifest Destiny herself was reborn,
into another figure.
The figure
                      called itself...
                                                        ...an introvert.
bob May 2013
You know that feeling you get when,

You know...happens?
In an inexplicable state of mind...
bob Feb 2014
I think you're dead.
I'll think it so much that I'll believe it.

Then I'll discouver,
Some day,
Whether or not you're really dead.


I'll be dead by then.
bob Mar 2013
Everything is so dull.
Looking around, on the sea floor;
Although there isn't much but darkness.

Fortunately, Darkness, you're my friend now.
We've come face to face countless times,
And your brother Death has become close, too.
We're a nice family, a trio.

Although, being a synesthesian, the darkness is
Even darker when certain things flow past.
It's as if I can predict what's to come,
What's in store for me,
In my fate.

Death and Darkness, aren't much of a threat
Anymore.
Although I do fear Death considerably.
Darkness, however, could be my best friend.
I've never had a best friend,
But you're seemingly always here for me.
It's sort of inevitable,
Our little congregation I mean.
Because there are always shadows.

Although it seems I've become like you,
Darkness.
And Death?
You're not being left out, don't worry.
You can relish in your methods later,
I can't avoid it.
For now though,
Let me suffer
Because you will be the one to save me,
As you have many times before.

Then, and only then, will God end my story;
Wherever that may be.
Yes, I'm a synesthesian.
Yes, I've had countless near-death situations.
Yes, I'm always depressed.
In the dark is where I reside. Although, ironically, I'm afraid of the dark.

— The End —