Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
gd Apr 2017
How can the static that kept us together
feel so much like fire?
And why do its embers
make me feel so cold inside?

Your hands used to feel like home
but now they just feel like ice
pushing me farther down into the depths of the ocean
forcing my heart to sink down into my stomach.

And I should have seen it coming,
I should have seen right through you
the minute you walked into the room
and lit up the whole **** night.

So I shouldn’t be so surprised to find myself in darkness.
Blinded by your lies, unable to see,
feeling like I am fighting against gravity,
searching for my last thread of sanity.

We had the world in the palm of our hands,
and you sold it away for a bottle of wine
and another line
you were willing to cross.

So I’m in the mood for burning down some bridges.

I might just scatter the embers around the centre,
just to watch every single memory
burn from the inside out.
And everything you ever had will turn to ash.

Because that is how I feel
ever since you poured kerosene over my heart
and had the audacity to smile while you stepped all over it
and let the flames consume me.

You left me suffocating
in all the rubble.
You left me lost
in the forest fire you left behind.

So I am in the mood for burning down some bridges
because you left ours in ruins
and left me crawling through the debris
for all the remains you promised were worth saving.

I trusted you, and you set me on fire.

{for S}
gd Sep 2016
Sometimes I find myself searching
and searching
for pieces of myself that
I've never really wanted in the first place.

And I'll keep that pamphlet,
and I'll cherish that trinket,
and I'll store that bus ticket
just for safe keeping.

And I'll sleep for hours
to see if I can find
what I've lost
in my subconscious

but over
and over again
I find things I never wanted
in the first place

and I'll throw them into the sea
only to swim back to shore,
too late and too far gone
to realize I'm going to have to jump back in.

And maybe I'm talking in circles
and maybe I never really belonged
other than where I sleep for the night

Or wherever I decided to
set foot to scavenge
for any remains of myself
that I took for granted.

Maybe a nomad
only finds peace
at the edge of losing everything.
Or maybe they never find peace at all.

gd Aug 2016
He does not seem happy anymore.

The glimmer in his eyes are fading like an aging star
and I can't help but wonder how on earth
a sparkler that extravagant could
fizz out of
so quickly.

It seems just like yesterday
when I could not even think of a way
to erase that smile of his,
and now
I cannot even imagine how
to hull it back into my possession.

I would reel it in from the depths of every ocean
and keep it locked shut in Pandora's box
so his grin could never leave.
But it already seems as if his smirk
has fallen way too deep for me to catch
unless I sink down along with it.

It already seems as if the glitter
radiating from his heart has been dusted off
by his own doubts
and I haven't even the heart left
to tell him how big my own doubts are either.

I just want effortless back.
I want his soul to light up the sky
like the fireworks I felt whenever we kissed.
But now, the embers are just dying in my palms
and they're burning a hole
right through every layer of my skin.

But I cannot back down
because I promised forever,
I vowed always,
until my hand has been eaten away completely,
I swore I would not let go.

I said I would remain holding on
to that little red string
that brought you to me in the first place,
with that glimmer in your eyes
and that smile that could sink my heart
in a single heartbeat
and that blazing fiery passion
that swallowed me whole
amidst all the chaos and burned bridges.

But I'd be lying if I said
that every little golden star,
created from the sparks spilling out of our fingertips,
wasn't suffocating, buried under all this
dust and debris.

{I don't know what it'll take to make us whole again}
gd Jun 2016
How did we shatter our innocence?

Tripping over the laces we tied together,
building homes solely out of old memories,
finding comfort in our worst pieces of skin
and calling it love at 3am
crying about insecurities and infidelities.

Darling, how can it still be called love
when the fires are burning down our sanctuaries, and our sanities?
How can it still be called love
when our foundations no longer mimic the Great Wall of China,
or stand indestructible like the concrete Pyramids of Egypt?

We are paper thin
and just as fragile
as the tiny paper houses
we used to make out of playing cards.

Our hands no longer fit
like perfect puzzle pieces -
they mimic sheets of sandpaper instead,
scratching out every ounce of sincerity
we once engraved into each other's palms.

Our footsteps fall separate octaves away,
out of sync and out of touch,
in this **** grand scheme
somehow labelled a masterpiece.

We were once flawless.
But now we've just made flaws
out of every single thing we used to fall for.
Now, we're just flawed.

{my biggest fear is losing you over your fear of losing me}
gd Mar 2016
I promise I will amount to something.
I've just lost pieces of myself
falling over rocky roads and
stumbling down fields of insecurities;
I've drowned under seas
of suppressed momentum
and constantly cower from my priorities.
But I promise I will amount to something,
I've just lost too much of myself in the process
that I haven't enough to show you

{I am at war with myself}
gd Mar 2016
My life is at ease.
Unstoppable, but still at ease;
similar to tidal waves,
unable to stand still
yet calm in its constant wavering.

For once,
I feel so unattached
from my surroundings
so much so that I no longer depend
on crutched souls similar to myself.

I no longer cower
at the thought of solitude
or cringe at the sight of corners
or frown at the feel of nothing
except for my own hand to hold.

I am okay.
I am not great.
I am not disastrous.
I am just okay.
And I am okay with that.

{I'm sorry I've not answered you}
gd Mar 2016
I don't even know where to begin:
it's as if the moment I laid my pen
to scratch on the surface of these
papers my mind decided to  g o
blank, vanishing like a magic trick
and leaving me speechless and dis-
appointed because I have so much
to say - I have so many  w o r d s  I
swallowed  d o w n  when I should
have just let them  f l o w  o u t , like
word *****, that fills every inch of
this room that I have been quarantined
in. I should have let it fill the silence
and drown my thoughts out because
I have stayed much too long inside
my  m i n d  and it has not done my
emotions any  j u s t i c e . I have stayed
much too long within my  p r i v a c y
that I have no sense of direction publicly.
But on an entirely different note, I have
chosen to write today. I have chosen to
pick up this pen and make a mark, even
if it is barely legible.
{I still cannot string them into sentences}
Next page