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17.1k · Dec 2013
Nowadays.
gd Dec 2013
I  hope you                          regret breaking
my tiny fragile heart          into a million and one
splintered shards of bitter/sweet, broken memories
just as much as I regret fall\ing for you and that ever-
present sparemint scent/that seems impossible
to shake off of my mi\nd as much as I try
and off of my/ lips, which
are noth\ing but
dry.

                                                                            - g.d.
11.3k · Jan 2014
(m)elody.
gd Jan 2014
I tried to
make a playlist
of all the songs
that reminded
me of you
for the sole
purpose of burning
them entirely
and listening to
the rest in peace,
but I realized
every single one
was laced with
your name
so I ended up
burning everything
to the ground
and it still
wasn't enough
to get you out
of my head.
7.0k · Jan 2014
3:58 am
gd Jan 2014
I haven't stayed up this late
since our restless early morning contests
to see who would fall victim to
heavy eyelids and tired thoughts.
I won of course, you most of the time,
but I won on the longest nights (or so I'd like to think)
though my satisfaction was rooted from
something entirely different.
To be honest, I could have cared less about the victor;
I was competitive but I liked when you won -
the shine in your voice and
the glimmer in your smile telling me
how I snored through the night (I didn't)
was much more rewarding.

I haven't stayed up this long
since our late night conversations
turned into early morning slurred sentences
of who could make the most sense
whilst repeating I love you
inaudibly through earphone speakers
and bundled blankets.
And as much as the tiredness
enveloped me in its embrace,
the thought of yours implied through
the telephone waves proved
to be worthwhile, nonetheless.
You were miles beyond my reach,
but you were simple words away.

I haven't stayed up this late
since we fell asleep falling in love

in different beds but with the same desires,
on the same line; on the same page.
And I hate to admit it,
but I still like to think of it that way.

- g.d.
And surprisingly, I'm smiling about this realization.
5.5k · Mar 2014
Hockey skates.
gd Mar 2014
He held my hand today in the most delicate way,     
as if my fingers resembled flower petals and my     
palm reenacted butterfly wings. My hand felt          
fragile in his grip, which mimicked my feelings        
towards him because his heart did not belong           
in the spaces between my touch - his heart                 
belonged in something as light as air; something      
as delicate as cotton. And my heart was tattered      
with thorns, assured to shred his into pieces. All      
the more treacherous, he traced my fingers be           
tween my mittens, and it still felt like fabric -            
contrary to your inevitable static. And that is           
when I knew that even though he did everything    
right, he made it that much worse. As much as he    
tried, my frost-coated lips challenged the warmth    
in his voice, and it wasn't me he needed. It was I      
that needeth not deserve him.

gd
3.4k · May 2014
Fingerprints.
gd May 2014
I found myself missing
someone who used to
like all the little things
about me, so I went on
a little scavenger hunt
picking up bobby pins
and crunched up leaves;
a couple old CDs and
a bunch of little words
left unsaid; a tiny music
box and a ton of old
pictures that are the only
pieces left as proof and
all the little things were
laid out and added up
only to disappear in an
instant because they do
not even resemble who I
am anymore —
who am i
who
am
i

gd
2.7k · Mar 2015
Pisces.
gd Mar 2015
I miss you the most in
the middle of the night
when the  o n l y  thing
that is able to consume
me is the memory of
your lip stains on my
chest and the darkness
surrounding ; the only
thing that is keeping us
con-nec-ted seems to be
the stars, darling. And
they're close to burning
out.

gd
{I look for you in the stars, because I'm hoping you wish on them too}
2.6k · Jul 2014
Avocados.
gd Jul 2014
I know
who you
were,

no longer
who you
are.

gd
{a year ago I remember catching my breath, trying to muffle my giggling obviously initiated by you. Those times were good, those times were pure. But they mean absolutely nothing now}
2.5k · Jan 2014
Four seasons.
gd Jan 2014
It's been so cold lately,
causing blizzards of ice to break some promises.
These snowy endeavours are embroidered with a pure white lost lust,
hidden behind a mirage of warm sunrises,
which remind me of
spring
is where I found you,
hidden away behind a curtain of my carelessness
and amongst the budding flowers, I discovered a hidden gem between your smile.
It glittered like the sun and caressed my ego with flirty innuendoes;
we laughed with our eyes and touched with our voices,
captivated by the city of love whilst captivating each other.
Though, the days grew longer leading to
summer
is where I loved you,
but hadn't known it yet. I ached for your company as if it were air,
filling my lungs with your scent; memorized and mesmerized
just as easily from your bright eyes and small lips.
The long days mimicked the long nights that seemed to keep us inseparable
like how the wind kiss the leaves everyday until they
fall
is where I fell for you -
hard, building up my heart with hope only to bruise it black and blue.
But how ironic could it be that the seasons changed as quickly as your mind?
It's been as cold as the days doomed by early sunsets
which could only mean
winter
is where I lost you,
yet the worst part of all seems to be the frost
knocking at my window every single night
just to remind me that I should have left you
behind in autumn.

gd
Just a massive thank you from the bottom of my heart for all the feedback I received from (m)elody. You guys are all wonderful!
2.1k · Dec 2013
Ephemeral.
gd Dec 2013
This midnight darkness has cast shadows over my thoughts and rain clouds over my heart. And I think the saddest moment of our lives arise when we come to realize and understand our forgetfulness.

i.
I don't remember how it feels to have the wind blow against my face as I race my way around fences and bushes just to get a "tag." I forgot the vivid rhythm needed to create the perfect snow angel on a winter's afternoon, or the taste of snowflakes on the tip of my tongue. I cannot recall the smell of chocolate cakes my mother used to bake in our old kitchen, nor reaching up for a slice with my seemingly short hair and small hands. Neither do I remember how it sounded when I used to race down the stairs on Christmas Day looking for Santa's treasures. As well as the bittersweet excitement whenever I lost a tooth. Not even the fresh smell of rain for I feel as if I've been stuck in the drought of my mind for the longest time. All of these things are things I used to love; used to look forward to, and now they've lost their fireworks and have only remained in my life as dying embers within the midst of time and fate. I've seemed to outgrow these memories as if they were light-up sneakers and childhood overalls. And that's what I'm scared of: somehow I've come to lose everything about me, becoming replaced with this new socially acceptable person. But how much pure emotion does this hold now that I've grown? Is this overpriced down-feathered pillow truly as comforting as the eight stuffed animals that once kept me company?

Everybody just seems to get tired of everything so they replace their miscellaneous junk, replace their belongings, their clothes, their friends - themselves. How have we become so detached from the things we've seemed to love with all our hearts? And this question always leads me back to you.

ii.
You weren't the smell of chocolate cake, or the taste of snowflakes. You weren't the feel of wind or the sound of Christmas - but you were close. Oh boy, were you close. But now it seems so hard to keep this shelf in my mind empty just for you when I know you do not belong there anymore. But I can't bear to think that you will become irrelevant to me for the years to come. One day, I will see you again and you'll look similar, smell similar, probably feel similar but I know just like every other ephemeral thing, you will be different from what you are now. And I don't know if, at that moment, my heart will crumble under the realization of our burned memories, or if I will go on numbly as if they never existed. Maybe, someone will even catch me looking your way and she'll ask if I ever knew you because me gaze seemed to imply to. Then I'll file through the memory cabinets in my mind trying to recall the feel of your lips
and the touch of your hand
and the light in your eyes
and smirk in your smile
and the swing in your step
and the sting in your voice
and the weight of your affection.... but nothing will be recalled. I will watch our black and white silent story play through my head, follow your stride as you walk away from my sight like the very last time I saw you, and I will long for some soft of feeling, similar to the mountain I possess now, but I'm afraid none of this will be remembered. I will stare numbly down your path, maybe even fake a smile, turn my attention back to her question and only have the heart to say

"I used to."

- g.d.
2.0k · Dec 2013
Intertwined.
gd Dec 2013
​I love you more than the moon loves the stars
that it appears every night just to get a glimpse.
I love you more than a bird’s need to soar through the clouds
as if it were meant to glide forever.

I love you more than a baby’s first blanket
as they cling tightly to the seams and never let it out of their sight.
I love you more than a rainbow’s love for colour
that it lets every single one stream through the clouds in perpetual awe.

I love you more than the rain’s passion for the ground
that it risks the detrimental fall just to touch its surface.
I love you more than the very first day,
and everyday after that,

till this very day, where I’ve loved you most
and have never loved anything just as much.
Every second my love grows and longs for the scent of you
and your hand in mine,

intertwined,
as if they were a painting
that would live through the centuries and never die.
And though my love for you seems eternal,

I am afraid you do not feel the same.
And as my love for you grows,
your love seems to decay,
just like the moon’s final seconds before every sunrise;

a bird’s tired wings;
a baby’s growth blossoming
into something less innocent, less attached;
a rainbow’s last goodbye through the puddles left to dry;

the drops of rain that only lived their lives
watching themselves fall into their unfriendly fate,
and just like the last minutes of every single day -
there will always be an end.

There will always be a “last,”
instead of something that was made to last.
And here I stand to love you, for as long as I can,
and though yours has halted, I still hold true to my promise:

to love you like it were the very first day
as if it would never require a last one.

- g.d.
1.8k · Dec 2013
Ballet.
gd Dec 2013
We used to be so honest,
so pure,
so oblivious
and full of life.

Our love became the definition of sunrise awes,
the sweet smell of fresh rain,
the echo of a child's laugh and
the first flight of a newborn bird.

We became the melancholy
of naive endeavours
wrapped in raw emotions.
Our love was real; factual, in fact and

I refuse to believe any less.
But that has all dissolved now;
disintegrated with the wind,
set with the sun,

thundered the clouds
with fearful flashes of dangerous light
and whimpered every soul
who has lost something they've loved.

We are no longer built on sweet smiles
or tempted impulses;
we are the epitome of sulking stares
and avoiding glances.

We are civil, but we are also tense.
We are the tightness of our muscles
in this predicament of uncertainty.
And that is what we've become:

completely and utterly uncertain,

which is quite contradictory
to the confidence of our emotions
trailing back to the months before.
We are touch, but be are also sight and scent.

We are all the senses masked by sweet pride.
We are a tempest of emotions
dancing to the rhythm
of our eternally thriving hearts.

And though we are inevitably wrong,
moving to different beats of similar drums,
our recital of pirouettes has managed
to create something beautiful.

- g.d.
1.6k · Jan 2014
Crimson.
gd Jan 2014
I find some sort of satisfaction
getting under your skin, taking a trip
along the train tracks of your blood vessels
just to see how much you can take before you snap.

Maybe I'll look for some gold while I'm there,
since everything gold does not glitter,
I'm sure your shadowed carcass
will do me some justice.

I'll kick the soils of your tissues,
possibly dig holes in your pores
to find a nerve you
never cared to show me.

I'll paint mosaics and tapestries
on the pasty walls of your bones,
then smash my creations into pieces
to find the secrets stored in your marrow.

I will scratch at the layers
to remember where I'd already made my mark
and run through your bloodstream
to find my way around.

Then, I will bathe in the fluid,
changing its colour from red to
crimson, in hopes you'll
waste your blood on some actual effort.

I'll make music out of your ribs,
punching them with a flux of force,
trying to find the right octaves in creating a scale,
or maybe an étude.

I'll play them over and over
until they get tired of the noise;
get tired of being used for pleasure
in favour of my own ears.

Then maybe, just maybe,
I'll finally reach your heart

and I'll jump on it like a trampoline,
roll down its ***** as if it were a hill,
switch its ventricles and slide down its arteries
aiming for some sort of reaction,

just so I know a heart so bitter might just actually work.

- g.d.
The amount of pleasure I had in writing this surprised even me. Like a weight lifted off my shoulders, leaving me with a smile.
1.6k · Jun 2014
Vanilla soap.
gd Jun 2014
I wonder if you stitched yourself into my skin
when I wasn't looking because I am still catching whiffs
of your scent as if it sat right beside me
with a glimmering smile and kind words to say.

But I'm exhausted and worn out
like that faded red t-shirt you stopped wearing,
and I can't help but think if it's because my scent still lingered
when I first fit my arms through on that fall afternoon.

Except I know you've probably washed it
once, twice, maybe thrice for good luck
but unlike cotton,
your etched aroma isn't so easy to scrub out.

Trust me, I've tried.

gd
1.4k · Sep 2016
Nomad
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
anywhere
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
1.3k · May 2014
Colgate.
gd May 2014
Pitch-black and silent; another two am asylum.
And I found myself reaching for another tube of toothpaste
only to pray it didn't taste like you.
Yet a sigh of relief was matched with a sigh of despair
as I came to the realization
that I was losing my grip on a lot of things about us.

Even if I tried, I wouldn't be able to remember
most of our defining angles and edges
that were once so sharp.
So I scoured the stars this late at night
only to lose touch with gravity
and to hear my mind yelling back through the void,

"you should have known,
                       you should have known."


They say smell is the closest sense to memory,
but I was so sure that after all this time
the taste buds on my tongue
could still decipher the fibres from your mint mouth.
But in that moment, I couldn't remember
that you had already forgotten about me before the sun even set.

gd
{you changed your number and cut me out completely and I shouldn't care, but I do. *******, I do}
1.2k · Mar 2015
Tadhana.
gd Mar 2015
everytime

i close my eyes
i see your face; in the
pitchblack darkness, the outline
of your soft features arise without
a single imperfection, yet
what a dangerous
twisted game this mind
creates because when i close my
eyes, i see you smiling and a
sin it is when i almost
smile back.

gd
1.2k · Jul 2015
Liar, liar!
gd Jul 2015
I would be lying if I said
it didn't bother me that you were smiling
because of someone else's sunlight.

I would be lying if I said
that my heart never pulls apart
whenever I catch you in places I thought you wouldn't be.

And I would be lying if I said
I was over you choosing fear
over me.

See, the thing is, I thought I would never see you again.
I thought the second you walked out my door
would be the last time I'd see your eyes.

Yet, yesterday ironically, ours locked like two metal puzzle pieces
and the clashing of steel left ringing in my ears
and sparks flying out of my sanity.

I don't know what it is about you.
There's this sort of unexplainable heat
on the rims of your gaze that leaves a sort of branding.

And every single time your aura enters the room, I feel like the walls
are closing in on my mind, bring me down dark narrow paths
whose light you blew out whilst dousing the flames of my heart.

And maybe it's the thought of you
becoming everything I would've wanted you to be
that leaves me biting my tongue full of envy.

Because I would be lying if I told you
I was proud that all it took was the elimination of me
to make you happy.

gd
{a year ago was so different}
1.2k · Jun 2014
Candles.
gd Jun 2014
I'm trying to find inspiration from the sun
but its radiance is absolutely blinding
causing dazed looks and inevitable perplexion.
So I think that maybe if I stand here long enough
it might build a narrow path right in my direction,
leading me towards a walkway I can finally understand.
Instead of the waxy candelabras that tell tales as old as time
I might stumble upon something of shine and glimmer
against the darkest of curtains and the fading shadows
hidden behind giggles and the smell of sweet scented roses.
But with the wind on my back and the fire in my heart
I might just conquer the world and join the sun
in its conquest to fill a void at centre of the universe
and at the core of my soul.

gd
1.2k · Jan 2014
Selfish.
gd Jan 2014
I really hope
you find
someone who
will love you
as much as I
have, and
you will not
be afraid to
let her.

- g.d.
gd Sep 2014
They say scent
is the closest thing to memory,
so it makes sense that I'm caving
under whiffs of the past,
trying to stand without breaking into*
p  i  e  c  e s.

See,
you're fire—totally alive and
wrapped in spearmint.
But he's Korres, totally impressed,
sugar-coated with guava and
***** peach.


gd
1.1k · May 2015
Ironic.
gd May 2015
You turned
me into ash;
I turned you
into poetry.

gd
1.1k · Jan 2014
Cold.
gd Jan 2014
It's frozen inside and out,
and icicles are tapping on my windowsill
as if they were inviting me
to come and play

with their purple lips
and cold fingertips,

oblivious to the fact that such an act
could only result into two tragic outcomes:
I melt their poor little souls,
or they freeze mine altogether.

And either way,
I'd still be heartbroken.
1.1k · Jul 2014
Treacherous.
gd Jul 2014
It was quite funny because
you told me you hated poetry today.

Appalled and speechless
I just stared blankly at your amusement
because little did you know,
I saw every language run down your smile;

I watched words sputter out from your eyelashes
and could make out the faint heartbeat
of a poem waiting to happen.

Plastered all over your face,
twisting into metaphorical features,
unlocking a gateway towards iconic alliteration, and
found the foreign flutter in the irony between your syllables.

You told me you hated poetry,
and I laughed because when I looked at you,
all I saw was a poem.

gd
988 · Aug 2014
Marathon.
gd Aug 2014
Sometimes I feel like I'm the worst type of pessimist.
At heart I'm an optimist, looking past the highest mountains,
trying to reach the sky with the tips of my fingers and
catch the clouds at the base of my palms.

However, in head,
I'm the biggest pessimist
finding the dark spots on the sunniest days,
herding death between the cracks in the concrete.

And the head is like the heart's big sister,
telling her to take a step back and make sure of her actions,
bossing her around, burning out her spark,
leaving the dead of the night with nothing but doubt.

But you've got my lips coated in sugar and
my intentions wrapped in flames.
You've got my heart scrapping its knees and
my head spinning

Because who would've thought
it'd finally meet its match,
unable to hold something down
with two hands and keep it in place.

But both of them are undoubtedly worried,
darling.
They're running for the hills and
finding a place to set camp where you'd never find.

Empty handed and confused, they're still searching and
the only thing going through their thoughts remains to be

"there's still time to run
          there's still time to run
                  there's still time
                            just move your feet,
                                       don't look back
                                                 and run
                                                         as fast as you can."


gd
{you're making my stomach twist into butterfly knots, and it's oh so bittersweet}
987 · Dec 2013
Last time.
gd Dec 2013
The last time you looked at me with love
was somewhere between September,
where summer was nearing its end and
autumn was saying hello.

The last time you said you loved me
was Thanksgiving weekend, when you reminded me
how your world only consisted of my presence and
"grateful" was an innocent understatement to define how you felt.

The last time you held my hand
you wrapped my fingers in every crevice of your grip
squeezing it tight as if
never wanting to let me go.

The last time you kissed me
was a passionate concoction
embroidered on the satin fabric
of lust and love.

You picked me up from behind,
spun me around my living room
and kissed me against my front door
as if there was going to be a next time.

But Christmas has presented itself like a shooting star:
visible but barely there, flashing by in a second only to steal all your wishes.
And it has come to my attention that it's been far too long
since you've even allowed my name to roll off your tongue.

The last time you talked to me* was at a mutual friend's party,
where my heart became nervous, an all too old sensation,
to even have the courage to talk to you
wondering if your voice would be warm even with the belligerent wind outside.  

The last time I felt your embrace
was the exact same day, given in an awkward stance,
ending with you walking out the door where
winter awaited to kiss your cheeks because I had no right to anymore.

And this time, you didn't look at me with love, or kiss me from behind.
This time, you used your hands to push me away,
and that's when it crossed my mind that
those three little words abruptly became Latin on your native English tongue.

Though those were the last times I had any signs of your presence still physically in my life,
they weren't the last times I dreamt of you, longed for your hand (or kiss or hug), or loved you.
But as a new dawn rounds the corner, I solemnly swear today -
today will be the last time I miss you.

                                                        ­        *Or at least I'll try to.


- g.d.
I wish you a good life, Love.
980 · Dec 2013
GET OUT OF MY HEAD.
gd Dec 2013
You severed my heart,
sliced it to strips and
fed me the pieces
stuffed them down my throat
tearing my vocal chords
leaving me gasping for air and
astoundingly speechless
drowning in water as thick as molasses
in the middle of the ocean of my own tears
as I travel nothing but downwards
weighed down by a solid, rusted anchor
already nearing the seabed
home to caverns and creatures
who are attracted to the sadness I radiate
leaving me to rot at the centre of oblivion
when I know I should be wrapped tightly in your arms.

That's how you make me feel.

And part of me hopes you feel the same gut-wrenching way, while the other (still foolishly in love) hopes you never have to encounter this great amount of affliction you explicitly deserve.

- g.d.
Merry Christmas, ******.
932 · Jan 2014
Poor.
gd Jan 2014
If I had a penny for every single time you crossed my mind,
well, I would have gold bleeding out of my pores,
and every step I take would leave behind
a footprint made of diamonds.

With the wealth of the world,
I would be able to visit the stars every single night;
maybe even build a castle at the centre of the universe
just for us.

But darling,
I'd trade it all
if it meant you'd throw away your pride
and hold my hand one last time.

- g.d.
930 · Jul 2014
Memory Lane.
gd Jul 2014
Memory Lane
can be lethal, you know;
it fills the cracks between your skin and
occupies the spaces between your fingers.

Trudging along its narrow path
can cause you to trip on everything behind you
without even trying to,
allowing the colours of every sky
to fill the depths of your beating heart
only to freeze it right in place.

A plague of some sort
bringing pangs and plunges of unmistakeable euphoria
and nostalgia
and realization of the drastic ephemeral nature
of anything and everything—amazement and wonder
lead by sorrow and loss.

Because Memory Lane is a traveller,
a nomad in this mind of yours,
unable to settle on specifics so it sets its net
on everything around it, bringing back sentiments of
every little thing
you thought you had forgotten.

It sets up camp in every crevice of your spine,
leading the way
but always waiting for
no one.

gd
{there's not a single thing in this world
that I haven't sewn your name into,
and I'm regretting it,
I'm regretting it,
I'm regretting it}
921 · Apr 2017
Fire & Ice.
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.

gd
{for S}
914 · Apr 2014
Fracture.
gd Apr 2014
To sum it all up,
I don't think anyone
has been able to
understand me as well as you did -
understand me enough to know
I needed help understanding myself.
So when you left,
you left me in this trance
where I didn't know whether
to walk back or run forward.
Instead, I lit myself on fire
thinking it would be easier
to learn from scratch
than to fix broken glass.
But either way,
I came up confused with ****** hands.

gd
907 · Dec 2013
Lips Like Satin.
gd Dec 2013
Our ambivalent choices lead to impulsive actions
and every inch of your scent pulled me in like a rope,
unable to set myself free.
Your eyes like lighthouses to guide me from the tempest in my mind;
your pulse to the beat of my heart -

racing and heightened with emotions of lust and love,
merging the two as if they were one.
Every kiss sent shivers down my spine,
and a trial of flames down my skin.

You left scars in my heart
the same way you left them on my neck -
bruised and aching for your love.
A voice so cynical and undeserving

once told me of a love story so tragic it could only be true.
Regretful and confused, have I given away my dignity?
When you’ve given all your love,
what more is there to give than lust and pity?

In the darkest corners of my mind,
you stand there walking away and coming towards me
at the same time. Your eyes like lighthouses,
but your lips like satin,

your touch like alcohol: addictive and tempting.
Your scent so captivating,
while your kisses inescapable. You see,
you live in the darkest corners because you are the lamp in the dark

and the weakness in my soul. You have me lost within myself
with every smirk and smile.
I am bruised and aching for something I shouldn’t.
You are the wind and the sun

and every season I await to bask in.
Cross my heart and hope to die,
you are my courage wrapped in the scent
that make my knees go weak.

                                                          ­                                                                 ­                             - g.d.
896 · Jan 2014
Re:
gd Jan 2014
Re:
I can feel my heart mending.
I can feel the thread pinching
in and out coating the exterior
in a protective layer of glass.

I can feel the irregular beat return to its natural state,
and most of all, I can feel the veins
fill with hot rushing blood
trying to reach the ends of my extremities.

But I hate it.

Why is it that when I finally sew the stitch,
I would rather rip it wipe open for the
diseased thoughts of you to make its way through
and infect my soul once again?

As if my heart is mending over replicas of recovery.
And when all is said and done,
these trapped grains of sand will come pouring out,
leaving my chest just as hollow as it is supposed to be.

You see, I can't seem to unleash myself
from the remains of your embrace.

It's as if I can feel my heart mending
but I'm afraid of losing you so much so that I wouldn't think twice
to break it all over again the moment it is repaired.
I'm torturing myself with broken memories and empty promises;

I am the master of my own destruction.
And you, my dear,
are the devil on my shoulder whispering,
"One more stab for the road, it'll make you stronger I solemnly swear."

- g.d.
After all, recovery is only as good as how well you can resist the urge to relapse.
gd Apr 2014
Scraps of paper lay around me
filled from top to bottom in black and blue ink
tracing obscure lines that manage to create syllables
and sounds and thoughts from a year ago.

And how obscure those times look now,
written from a naive mind and a hopeful heart.
They're written all over, upside down and under
just of your name turned into metaphors and adjectives.

And it's funny because the first word
I used to ever describe you was "sweetheart."
Little did I know you were nothing but
just a sour replica of a beating *****.

And it's still funny because you pulled on every single one of
my sweet-heart strings until they mimicked the choppy melody
of my breath whenever you're around, and the tension
between our eyes whenever they lock, like our lips once did.

But now, nothing but paper surrounds me in black and blue ink.
Written from top to bottom, they're worth some sort of story and
the synopsis just reads:
I loved you, I loved you, I loved you - first, foremost and possibly forever.

gd
A year ago today, I just began to witness the brightest sides of you.
A year after, I've seen the darkest.
874 · Jan 2014
Dearest,
gd Jan 2014
I wrote you a letter
about how the sun shone brightest whenever
I caught sight of your smile, and how blue
the sky grew whenever you held my hand.

I wrote it
about the day I fell in love with you
when you did everything right,
so I ended up walking the wrong way home

getting lost in the thoughts of you and
lovestruck
by the potion you probably slipped
into my vanilla coke.

I wrote it
in memory of our first kiss
which triggered fireworks, so hot,
the embers turned into flames,
burning our fingertips but
keeping our lips fused together.

I wrote you a story
about how your laugh made me giggle,
and your touch always soft
as it explored my limbs and
caressed my heart;

how the dimples under your lips
melted me like ice,
or how your scent could bring
angels down from heaven;

I wrote you a chorus
to put into words
how you made me feel
more than human;

how my heart dropped
at the sound of your voice,
and rose again
at the mention of your name.

You see, I wrote you a letter
to tell you how much I loved you,
yet by the time I signed it off With Love,
you no longer loved me in return.

- g.d.
828 · Oct 2014
Latched.
gd Oct 2014
There's something knocking at the back of my mind
and it sounds like pebbles hitting the nerves if my temporal lobe.

It's tapping in morse code and I can almost hear it
singing all those songs I was meant to forget.
They're slower though—acoustic and remixed
to the dying beat of all our memories.

If I focus on it long enough
I could probably pinpoint where it's coming from,
but I know I'm just choosing not to.
If I focus on it hard enough,
I could probably repaint its rainbow splatters on a canvas,
but I'm just choosing not to.

If I focus on it long enough,
I might just hear your voice again—
coated sweet nothings in nothing but syrup,
but I'm just choosing not to because

you never chose me, darling.

Even until now, we flinch at the sight of each other
rather than letting the light consume us like all the times before.

And maybe I'm just mad at the stars for not giving me some sort of sign
or godforsaken comet to warn me from falling for you the first time,
or the second,
or over and over again

Because it's not fair that you've still got my head spinning
when I cut every single piece of red thread that tied us together.
It's not fair that you've got me second guessing my present
because of the ashes and rotting debris of the past.

There's something knocking at the back of my mind.
It's tapping in morse code
about all the questions you left hanging in mid-air.
The thumping is getting louder and I can't—

I can't make it stop.

gd
It's not fair because I can't stop it.
I don't know if I want to.
It's all I have left of you.
826 · Mar 2014
Sad, really.
gd Mar 2014
These tortured souls walk amongst
their similar counterparts, all
trailing on narrow paths and open minds.
They hold knives to their chests and
leave the pain in their hearts so
they don't have to stomach the sadness -
but what a twisted tragedy.

Between bridges burned to ashes and
golden hairlines that mimicked Hercules'
(though they were not as fortunate) it is a wonder
to witness the core of our misogyny as
we puncture our flesh a little deeper,
hold our breaths a little longer, and
leave our insides tattered as we swallow
the remains of the promises we've broken
and the memories we've hoarded.

Step by step, we break ourselves
to build up the rest who neither matter
nor simply care.

gd
How is it that when you are the most honest, all hell breaks loose?
807 · Dec 2013
Box.
gd Dec 2013
In my mind, I'm putting all the things that remind me of you in a box to leave in the back shelf of my unconscious until these things have changed from objects of dispair, to ones I can look back on and smile about rather than frown - maybe not now, but somewhere, sometime, somehow hopefully soon:

a box of Cheerios because they were your favourite,

Colgate toothpaste because that's what you tasted like,

the notes you left in my locker when you used to pass by every morning,

a cantaloupe because "soft fruits help you kiss better,"

almonds, and nuts in general, because you always talked about bulking diets and were a little nuts to be honest,

a pair of Sperry's because you wore them with everything,

a movie ticket because that was our first "date," and you worked at the local theatre,

a hockey stick because you loved the sport with all your heart,

a CD with a single track on it: Let Her Go by Passenger because you told me that was your favourite song and I hope it's the one you listen to when thinking about me,

and last but certainly not least,
a vile of the scent you wore every single day that I could never manage to decipher even up to now.

- g.d.
Letting go of your velvet touch seems to be harder than I thought, but to remain holding onto nothing would be a knife to my seemingly already-weakened heart. Goodbye, Love.
800 · Aug 2014
Roman candle.
gd Aug 2014
"It's
better
to burn out
than fade
away."

But whoever has
said  t h a t  has
obviously never
tasted a sparkler
at its  p  e  a  k ,
piercing the tip of
your tongue and
bursting the insides
of your  g  u  m  s ,
causing canker sores
to spot every single
inch he's ever tasted.

It may be better to burn out, but trust me,
a fourth degree burn is much more lethal
than a bunch of paper cuts.

gd
{you reminded me of a firework: beautifully dark, tragically deadly}
797 · Feb 2014
Synonymous (10w)
gd Feb 2014
You are
the right
word I
have yet
to find.*

- g.d.
It made more sense in my head.
794 · May 2014
Cadavers.
gd May 2014
I held a real heart in my hands today.

I held it in my palms so cautiously
as if it were gold,
yet that didn't stop me
from feeling as if it were going to break.

I saw a straight incision
slice down the middle and
felt the eerie texture of its atriums
sit on the base of my fingertips.

And I realized just how fragile
this person's heart must have been.
I wondered if she ever got her heart broken
much deeper than some superficial carving.

I wondered if her heart ever pumped
faster or harder or
stronger or passionately
at the sight of another.

I wondered if maybe she gave hers away
thinking of it as a last plea
to the one person she loved most,
but it just ended up in my fragile fingers.

gd
782 · May 2017
Justice.
gd May 2017
If you can't take the heat
don't start the fire.

gd
768 · Feb 2014
Voltaic.
gd Feb 2014
Your touch used to feel like lightning; igniting my entire body
as if it were christmas lights you meant to wrap around the entire world.
Your fingertips followed dance routines on my arms,
leaving behind a path of hot embers right down to my thighs.

You set off fireworks in my chest the moment our skin
brushed against each other's ever so slightly;
those Roman Candles were almost lethal,
but it seems your extremities could revive me even after death.

You'd trigger static and sparks that would light up my eyes
and leave a tingling sensation through every limb.

I don't know what you did, my dear -
you materialized me -
made me inanimate just by your touch,
only awakened by the currents you transferred through your palms.

It's as if I were a light bulb,
plugged in forevermore in the socket of your grip.
You were electricity, darling, and I was water; my voltaic shock was inevitable.
You were fire and a sweet, sweet tempting bomb of affection I couldn't resist -
                        tick,
                                 tick,
                                          tick,
                                                    tock.
With all that energy we were bound to burn out.

But, in some attempt of insanity, you reached for my hand today
and I swore I saw those sparks start to pour out of your fingers once again.
And I almost reached out, drawn in by the flare
and ready for the charge to hit me like a murderer's bullet

almost

but instead,
I flinched.

- g.d.
Your touch no longer electric.
763 · Jun 2014
Tulips.
gd Jun 2014
Teeth clenched,
tense jaw and if
eyes could ****,
I'd be the only
one standing.

Your ignorance
is astonishingly
baffling parting
the Red Sea that
pools around my
eyes in rage and
repetition of the
same stupid
accusations.

If you're going to
point your finger
towards me, just
make sure I don't
catch the sun in
your eyes, dazed
and mesmerized
for a split second
because I'll be sure
to bend it backwards
and bring it right in
front of the mirror,
darling.

gd
761 · May 2014
Leo.
gd May 2014
Don't look too proud, darling,
because dignity is dripping off
the Swarovski crystals on this
broken chandelier and your
name is the last thing they
would spell out if they came
crashing down. A bunch of
boisterous words & boastful
stories won't get you very far
except for a couple steps
[s d a r w k c a b]

And if you wanted to dabble
a chord on my heart strings,
it would have been easier to
not say anything at all, but
your once dormant thoughts
began pouring out of your
once silent lips in some childish
attempt to rattle some sort of
r      a      t       o    
   e       c      i       n

And behind those innocent
eyes lie only craters you dug
out of yourself because of
your own selfish pride. So
don't act too proud, darling,
speak a little louder and you'll
end up biting off your own
t   o   n   g   u   e   .

gd
{sabotaging someone else's sanity won't make you feel at home}
754 · Mar 2014
Green camouflage.
gd Mar 2014
She always told me to choose my battles,
but she was never really a fighter. She
was selective, and exclusive - creating
a stone fence around her kingdom, in
hopes of blocking all suffering and
trapping all the happening. She was head
strong, stubborn - liked to be right, even
when it meant doing something dead wrong.
"You keep your friends close, and your
enemies farthest,"
and that was how she
got by amongst those who were toxic. She
made homes out of rubble, and found
something magical when all and everyone
had left; it was a kingdom of only a few,
but it was hers. And she liked it that way.

                                   My mother always told me to choose my
                                   battles. And I never really understood until
                                   now. She was selective and exclusive, but
                                   she was cunning and realistic. Why risk
                                   warfare over the approval of one person,
                                   when you could spend your time creating a loyal
                                   army instead?
Fighting for nothing but the
                                   upper-hand on some golden pedestal, I burned
                                   down the remains of my dignity and became
                                   a soldier I couldn't even look in the mirror. I
                                   fought to be the better person, all to risk
                                   becoming the complete opposite. I chose his
                                   battle, but I did not have to lose mine. So, I
                                   finally waved my white flag high, surrendered
                                   to the will of my own. And somehow that was
                                   just enough to win the war inside my mind.

gd
Something valuable I learned from my mother. Happy birthday.
753 · Jul 2014
Ironic.
gd Jul 2014
It just doesn't work, trust me.
You said matter-of-factly in the tone of voice
that could have persuaded me to do anything,
except believe this.

No, it does. It just requires both people to put some effort in.
I remember myself contemplating
and convincing you;
trying to make you believe it was possible, because it had to be.

Exes can't be friends after everything. It just doesn't work.
You told me of all the others
pretty and playful who ran away with your heart
but never gave it back.

But for the longest time, I tried to prove you wrong
tried to make us invinsible in some sort of way
tried to make you see in a new sort of light
tried to show you it wasn't that hard
tried to hold on to what we had
tried to keep our friendship
tried to be the exception
tried to keep us intact
tried to find a way
tried to be more
tried to stay
tried to
tried

But I just came out breathless and heartless
because I hate to admit it, but
god, you were right.*

gd
{I remembered you said this when we were still best friends, and I can't help but think about all the little blunt signs I missed getting hypnotized by your eyes because we're no longer lovers, not even friends, no longer anything. And I'm still trying to be okay with that}
752 · Jun 2016
Masterpiece.
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.

gd
{my biggest fear is losing you over your fear of losing me}
750 · Dec 2013
Con amore.
gd Dec 2013
Every single song begins slow,
but then slowly shatters into bits and pieces
of thoughts I thought I had gotten rid of.
Don't you see?
When you watch me bow my attention downwards,
with my earphones in,
staring blankly at the blank papers in front of me,
I am not thinking of what to jot down next -

I am breaking down the pieces of every single note
in every concocted melody
trying to find the culprit who let you inside
because there is not a single one
that doesn't remind me of you;
laced with the tiniest bit of relevance
and the dash of desire, I will not deny,
I have not lost but rather enhanced.

As they say, distance makes the heart grow fonder,
and so it has,
as the galaxies have ripped your hand away from mine
and transported you to planets I can neither see nor pronounce
as if the words could never roll off my tongue
for they hold too much poison,
so brutally lethal
and far too con amore

for my heart to take and for my lips to say.
Always in the midst I await to see you emerge,
but you never do.
My only blessing seems to be
picking up the pieces of these sad, barren songs
that have left me just as empty
as my hand without yours,
and the vast galaxy you left me lost within.

- g.d.
746 · Feb 2014
Honey lemon.
gd Feb 2014
I
haven't had a cup of tea since I was love sick
with the lemon drops of your scent and
the honey sweet memories of your laugh
during the brisk endeavours of autumn.

I
watched my cup fill to the rim
with steaming hot water and imagined it
burning away your residue;
I dipped the tea leaves twice,
then thrice,
as if to stain the walls an entirely different
colour than the amateur mosaic of
starry night you had painted for me before.

I
drank you up like it were my first gulp of liquid
since desert droughts had occupied my mind.
And with one last sigh after the last drop,
you were gone - no longer lingering
on the surface of my cup, nor the tips of my lips.
Thus, instantly opening my pores in relief
and brightening my eyes with contentment
because little did I know that while

you were the poison, you were somehow also the cure.

gd
745 · Feb 2014
Tylenol.
gd Feb 2014
It seems every single time
you walk back into my life I fall ill
under the heaviness of your stare.*

As if your irises could burn
similar circular orbs straight through my heart,
deteriorating my insides until
I can't find the means to even breathe anymore.
My mouth remains shut and
my throat is swelling closed.

Yet I am still debating on whether I should just let your stare
turn me to ashes, or use my extra ounce of effort for the latter -
to rapture a scream and finally force you out.

gd
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