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 Jul 2013 an artist
Sin
bullets in brain cells
trenches twisted, turned.
his brains a battlefield,
but to hide it, he learned.

mind stands as a temple,
tongue rolls, a black sea.
she was never a fighter,
and neither was he.

she painted him skylines,
rainforests, black rain.
but the art on the paper
could not match his pain.

she danced on pianos
wrote him ten love songs,
he fell down much further
and dragged her along.

however it was not
towards her that he fell,
instead he careened into
mindless, deep hell.

so he pulled the trigger,
and ended his war.
left the young girl alone
just wanting him more.
 Jul 2013 an artist
Sin
2501
 Jul 2013 an artist
Sin
from 2501 miles away
dusk was plagued with silence.
bathing in solitude,
we sat together.

although seven states
lay between our sleepy limbs,
laughs rolled between yawns,
weary waves on a quiet coast.

few of your whispers spread
thin clouds coating gray skies,
but you were the sun.

and I found warmth mostly
in your soft laughter.
we tasted cigarettes that morning,
the breakfast of champions.

and the faint thought of you
tangled in my wrinkled sheets,
was enough to fill me up.

I thought the sweetest song
I might ever hear
would be the strum of your voice,

but maybe it was the
whisps of words I caught
when you sang and spoke
just under your breath.

I thought love would never
grab my aching limbs again,
but I let it carry me off
from 2501 miles away.
 Jul 2013 an artist
Sin
There's a part of me that wants to believe that the world changes when the sun finally slips out of the sky.

Maybe the brain releases some kind of chemical that makes us more aware and appreciative of the world, allowing us to fall in love with the way the stars mimic the flickering in our eyes and shine even brighter than our sun ever could.

Maybe the world falls silent because it's striving to listen to every breath that you take. It always sounded like a machine to me, almost like dark waves lapping against the battered shore. A monotone rhythm, so consistent that nobody listens after a while.

But I will always listen. You are so much like the ocean. Deep, vast, with so many unexplored crevices hiding beneath the sweet surface. Those who hear the sea everyday may not appreciate it's whispers, but I hang on to every syllable.

— The End —