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chuckae Jan 2017
home is where the heart resides.
tears are what the brain prescribes,
as a heart that breaks forms a lake,
and the body is out of control.
death is the ultimate goal.
everyone is always the centre of their own world.
triggered teens with wristarts and no skin—
thirteen year olds girls calling boys honey—
lonely ladies with cats that don't speak—
old corrupt men who think life is money—
everyone is always at the centre of their own world,
that's where you are born,  
and that's where you shall die,
in a journey to the end of the earth,
you're getting nowhere.
Sometimes I confuse myself trying to collect the complications of my overthought hours.
chuckae Jan 2017
muse, one who inspires—
dream, an imagination—
you, muse of my dreams—
settle down, my heart, i say
—but your smile ruins it all
a tanka is a form of 5 lined Japanese poem like haiku save for more syllables that goes in the order of: 57577.
—chuckae
chuckae Jan 2017
an angel for soul
a devil for an heart; you
took me to heaven,
and made me fall my way down,
and it hurt like hell, you see.
a tanka is a form of 5 lined Japanese poem like haiku save for more syllables that goes in the order of: 57577.
—chuckae
chuckae Jan 2016
Words, he had left me
With words I shall never say.
Lies as my eyes tell,
My lips refuse to betray.
And my mad hatter of a love for you
Dissolves like poison in my blood;
Like addiction, like drugs, like cigarettes.
They coat a layer of dark black sin around my heart
Like dying trees growing thick branches with falling leaves
And wounded roots around my bones and ribs,
And the thorns dig out of my flesh.
They wrap around my ankles and wrists,
And tie knots around my waist and hips.
They scratch against my skin making me bleed,
And this plantation tears me apart from limb to limb.
And I know I never cry out, I know I never scream,
Because there are animals nested into my head.
They throw their demands at the weakling in my chest.
They give me commands and expect me to obey.
But my demons, my love, they never leave.
As vultures circle the blood with which I paid,
For the funeral of a love that never deceased.
But you in your empire, you sat and watched me rot,
In another's arm, who beheld my decay.
You watched the colburn they brought,
And watched my colours ashen to grey.
Yet I can't taint the love that leaves me these burns
Because you are ablaze, a star, much like the sun,
And I fall asleep as you do,
And I want to sleep next to you,
But I am afraid of these sparks I feel;
They will explode into flames when comes a day.
And I can't save myself from the hero of dreams,
That makes real, the roles of the villains in my nightmares.
I would run faster then the waters if I had to,
Even though I can't swim.
I would fight soldiers in heavy armour
Without a sword or a shield.
Not to die but, from life, to run away.
From myself and the heart that you hold,
And then my ghost shall dance around my grave.
And if still you, the art in my eye, would not accept me,
I will cool down the fire in me to steam.
The steam to water spilling against my cheeks,
Because,
If the heartache won't break me, I will live a funeral.
I won't die if you think it's selfish.
I will bear the rain against my wounds,
The salt in the sea stinging against the stabs,
As I drown my way back home again.
2016
F.E.
chuckae Dec 2015
Like a ghost, you haunt my mind.
There's mirrors that reflect our dead love.
And through mazes I follow your footsteps.
The giggles of your laughter ring with empty echoes.
And these dead memories, and ghost confessions
With conjure my mind and possess my heart one day
Because what we had is dead today.
chuckae Nov 2015
I was without lungs, and he couldn't breathe.
He told me he loved me, but I felt the need,
To find someone better, out of my greed.
But I was an artist he was dying to please,
Stabbing himself for what he couldn't be,
And my blank white canvas started to bleed.
I saw the red and the corpse of the deceased.
The blood blinded me and I was deceived.
He told me if comes a day, he'd die for me.
But after the sun fell, I refused to believe.
And now as he lay dead at my feet,
I have realised that the demons I had released,
Charmed him, harmed him, worked its magic.
And now the spell is stuck in his dead body.
He opened his heart and I had started to feed
Of the love, affection and his soul so sweet.
He was a dream boy, I was a witch.
I was an artist, and he, a mere masterpiece.
You know the cliche
Where you think one day
A boy could come in a white horse
And claim to be yours,
And die for you and stuff?
Well, for me, that was love. XP
This is just a darker version of my imaginations.
I expect a little too much sometimes, I Guess.
chuckae Nov 2015
I'd fight to be loved by you,
But would you fight back for me?
it hurts now knowing I will never get to mess up his chocolate brown hair again
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