oh, violet,
where have you gone?
i miss you.
stars still enliven the shadowy night sky,
but those far-reaching streaks of lavender
escaped
the evening’s backdrop
before I could engrave them into my memory.
the snug, lilac comforter on my own bed
no longer a safe haven,
a rigid, metal cage,
trapping me within my midnight hallucinations.
eyes close over and over again,
yet i can’t find a way to escape
from the pale, mauve speckles
that dotted your brown eyes
whenever the moonlight shined down on them.
oh, violet,
where have you gone?
i miss you.
i followed your footsteps,
etched into the remains of my heart,
repaired so below par with the thinnest papier-mâchéu.
but they only led me to a solemn place
where no soul had ever set foot.
faultless, pallid fingertips
trace over deep, orchid indentations of your name,
carved heavily into the walls,
framing my hiding place,
wholly staining your acrid touch into yet another expanse of myself.
every last brush of skin on the hard plaster,
sent me searching, further and further away from you.
laying motionlessly,
overtaken by worn-down gusts of yesterday’s altitudes.
oh, violet,
where have you gone?
i miss you.
daybreak sun rises,
somber shades of purple escape from the horizon.
i haven’t slept a second,
for i fear the dark purple tint that lies behind my eyelids.
light pours through thin cracks of closet doors,
yet the illumination fails to cast shadows off your rigid silhouette .
oh, violet,
where have you gone?
i miss you.
i miss you.

I thought my past was all I had,
I didn't understand
The struggles, triumphs, pain
Is the reason that I am
Judge me if you must,
But no one judges me like I do
My past makes up myself
And I swear to the tree tops
To help anybody else

I am a tidal
wave thrown and
tamed, by the moon only. Yet eternally
morphing, the moon, which
is never the same and,
always is. Pushing and
pulling and back and
forth and waves and
surfs and tsunamis
and ripples and yet never
stillness.

You destroyed me,
And I let you.
You lit a fire within me
I mistook for the passion
Of poets
And I let it eat me up
And consume the light from my eyes
Until nothing was left.
I mistook you for a hero
When all you were was a person;
no better, no worse than anyone.
And I loved you.
I love you still,
And always will.
And that flame consumes me
Even today,
Because a misanthrope like me
Cannot help but romanticise such things.
That fire burns like the blood that runs between us,
And I mistook it for the fire
That warms the soul and the hearth;
That flickers between friends;
When in truth,
You were merely a lighter
To a pathetic piece of paper.