Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
I want to be forgiven;
I don't even know for what
and I don't really care
by who
I just want to be
forgiven
 Sep 2020 Aubrey Jones
tc
picasso
 Sep 2020 Aubrey Jones
tc
i melt my skin into bath bombs
fill the tub like water with all the parts i want to wash away
i am trying to cleanse my pores
become sweet like cinnamon air in a quaint bakery, all flowers
and as the rain smeared, the lights bled like an oil painting in the reflection and i stopped to stare at myself in the window
i am not a work of picasso
i am a product of a loveless marriage
i am a representation of how passion can become possession
i retain memories within me that make my brain swell and i feel my heart beat in my glands
i am trying to master sensitivity so i can be more thoughtful when i explain to you why i am the way that i am, so that i don’t upset you
i don’t think there’s blood within me
my organs are mechanic
i am made of pure electricity and too much frequency rests in my palms, scattered like shattered glass and convulsing through me
i am trying to cleanse my pores
smell doughnuts at the seaside instead of rotting flesh
nothing about this is luxurious
i try to be elegant
as held together as woven ivy
i am more graveyard
more derelict detachment
i stare at a reflection in a quaint bakery window
i hope one day i merge with the lights on the pathway and become all oil painting      all flowers     all sweet like cinnamon.
Do you ever feel,
that you’re going through life,
like a story in a book?
You keep turning the pages,
appearing to be empty,
they’re filled to the brim.
With not just words,
but wishes,
you just aren’t able,
to read them.
Red were the roses, the ones I left on your casket,
Orange were the leaves, the ones in your tree,
Yellow were the bruises, the ones that covered you head-to-toe,
Green were the stains, the ones left on the hems of your jeans,
Blue were your lips, the day you were found in your noose,
Indigo was the night sky, that night that you died,
Violet was that bruise, the one you wore around your neck
by Alice Thyne, but i can relate so much
It's a treasure trove
Words tossed up like confetti
Falling in our hearts
 Sep 2020 Aubrey Jones
Syd
skeletons
 Sep 2020 Aubrey Jones
Syd
The day is drawing near
and every year it comes around
every year
the flashbacks saturate every
dark corner of my mind
I've written
and written
and written
about that night so many times
that I can't stand to anymore
you know what happened in that room
and so do I
but now there's someone new
someone who looks at me
and doesn't see your hand prints
on my skin
who doesn't know
that years later
I still carry the weight of that night
on my chest
it sits there while I sleep
counting my breaths
permeating my dreams
enveloping every empty thought
with an unwelcomed thought
of you
I've got so many skeletons
and I would love to say
that they're all buried beneath the dirt
of time
but they aren't
sometimes
they slip out from the closet
and sit right beside me
sometimes
they hold my hand
and sometimes
like today
they crawl inside my skin
and make themselves
at home
 Sep 2020 Aubrey Jones
Lizzie
It's 1am and here I am laying in your bed,
                                                   wishing you were here,
                                                           ­                             instead;
  You're 2,593 miles from me....
She bore the sweetest lips I'd seen
and eyes of winter fire
her beauty lived within her grace
her soul lived in the mire.

She moved as winter strips the trees
with slow yet bold intent
and in her hands the hearts of men
were torn and truly spent.

She lay down where the nightshade grew
at many souls' behest
she took their love and lives the same
then laid her head to rest.

On summers nights I hear her call
a coldness at its depth
it wills me on to take my place
within the arms of death.
 Sep 2020 Aubrey Jones
Lydia
I realized when I left
that meant I was going to be alone
for awhile
for years maybe
that it would be challenging to find someone who could put up with me
love me for all my many quirks and sarcastic comments
my attitude on my good and bad days
I realized leaving meant many many lonely days
and possibly even lonelier nights
but that it could also mean
many many filled moments of figuring myself out like never before
and maybe, loneliness would teach me a thing or two about loving myself for the very first time
when I have nothing left, I will have Me
Next page