I used to think that
there were these little bones in my heart, and
when they got broken, the doctors would put
a bright pink cast on my heart.

But it doesn't work like that.

You can't put a cast on your heart, and even if you could,
there isn't a cast big enough to hold every single piece
my heart has broken into.
There isn't a glue strong enough to put it back
together, and keep you from breaking
it, yet again.

I had an elderly lady look on me and say "one day you're going to be a little heart-breaker to a bunch of boys."
And I'm sure I was before now.

So next time you adorn yourself with such a label as,
"Heart-breaker," perhaps you should imagine
what it would be like when someone breaks your heart.

The most exquisite truth of all is this:
I may be broken.
I am not
d e s t r o y e d.

You came up behind me and wrapped me in your arms and covered my eyes with your hands.

"Guess who," you whispered in my ear, and

I laughed to think that you believed I would not know that it was you by the feeling of your heart beating against my spine.

You are like a sky.
A fire across the clouds.
And I can't peel my eyes away.
Like a moth drawn to your flame,
I'd rather burn down to nothing, then to
fade from your memory.
I was a part of you,     the way each  
                                crater
adds a little bit of character
                  to the moon.
And you erased me from your life. Dressed me in nonexistence.
                      It was easier for you to look away than to wrap me in
                   your love.
I guess I flew too close to you, because
my dear, you were the sun, and
when you pulled me into you,
                      my wings
disintegrated, and
                   I crumbled away in your
warmth.

Sometimes, I am afraid of falling so totally and completely in love with you.
I know you wouldn't hurt a hair on my head and you wouldn't dare tear apart my feelings.
But I am afraid of loosing you and that fear, alone is far stronger than any magic you can do to ignite this flame inside of me.

Anna
Red hair fell like fire
on her thin shoulders.
Her wide, open eyes, now
seemed sunken in, and sadness,
for a moment, lingered there.
This was her last night on earth.
She again, ran through the events
that took place earlier that night.
When she was with him, in the back
of the Impala.
Images of the car's windows glossed with a
sheen of steam, blazed across her mind.
A smile blazed across her face.
She thought of his smile and her own widened.
She thought of the way he touched her, so gently,
like a feather moving over her. The way he left kisses
in a trail across her skin. The way he held her, as if
nothing on the earth could ever take her away.
Not in that moment.
But there are more than the kind
and protecting angels in this world. There are
demons. But even so, worse are the angels that
have turned their backs on heaven and now
work for the forces of evil.
The angels that would tear their comrades
from this world.
The angels
among
the
demons.

Crowley
Black.
Black as dark as night.
Black as dark as the inner
reaches of the earth.
Black as dark as death itself.
Black like blood.
Red.
Red as deep as warm, copper veins.
Red as deep as magma beneath
the earth.
Red as deep as rage at the sign
of betrayal.
Red like smoke.
Twisted.
Splashes of agony and hatred and
remorse stained his tattered soul.
A true evil radiated from his
vessel. A crafty and
malicious essence raced through his veins.
But he was no Lucifer.
Somewhere, deep down,
there was still a man who
longed to be loved. A man
who longed to be forgiven of his cruel
mistakes in his past life. Deep down, there
was still a man who longed to come back to
the light.
In a world so dark as his, the only light was the fire,
which should have brought comfort, but only
brought pain.
Deep down, he liked the dark.

Mary
Hair like threads of spun gold
tangled around her face. She was fair with
bright blue eyes that held
hues as heavenly as the sun-beaten
sky.
Soft, angular cheekbones sloped gently
down, a tinge of pink, coloring them slightly.
Locks of her wavy hair met her shoulders
but beneath her fair
appearance, she was a
rough girl.
A hunter.
She had seen things most terrible in the world,
thinks that no one should ever see.
And still, he remained a
loving mother and a kind person
in spite of
her demons.

Sam
Echoes of a former friend
rang throughout his
conscious mind.
Mischievous and
sinister laughter danced
around in his head like demons
howling and gibbering in
the night.
He could feel his brother's presence
and the angel too,
but felt only more unnerved
because he knew he was the
only one who could hear the voices.
Another shrill scream pierced
his ears and he ducked, holding
his head between two shaking palms.
Bright flashes of color exploded at
the corners of his vision and danced
around his eyes like a psychedelic
kaleidoscope.
He went spiraling again in his mind and
every color blinked out, like a light.
Everything went dark as the psychotic laughter
echoed throughout
his
skull.

Castiel
Over the hill moved a creature, round and
Glowing with a cold, white light.
Like a spectacular
Moonrise.
It had hundreds and hundreds of
Eyes in every imaginable color, faceted
Like jewels that covered wheels within wheels of
It’s spherical body.
It was an infinite series of intersecting
Rings that spun constantly in
All directions.
Like a gyroscope.
The rings looked like steel but
The substance was
Pearlescent and, like an oil slick,
Contained all of the rainbow within it.
Steel-like whips caressed the ground
And skies as it moved.
And at its center stood two
Wings, upright.
Feathers made from the metallic
Material rippled in the air. Around the wings pooled a
Sticky, warm light. A sheen of phosphorescent light coated the
Feathers and pooled around the wings.

Dean
Through the windshield, the soft
glow of a solitary streetlight glistened
over his cheekbones
and poured down
his jaw that had grown taught from
rapt contemplation.
His coarse, sandy-brown hair, was messed
from his last tango with a monster.
Brilliant flecks of gold danced around in
his hazel eyes,
entwining with years of past remorse and
echoes of both sad and happy memories of
being on the road.
He kept a firm hold of the wheel, gently guiding the
old muscle car down the road.
Tears prickled behind his gorgeous, tired eyes,
but didn't dare escape.  The plastic army
soldier stared him down, but he
could pay him little mind.
His brother, riding shotgun, slept
sitting upright, his long, chocolate locks
covering his eyes as he dreamt with
his forehead
against the cool window.

Lucifer
A luminescent beauty radiated from him.
Behind his tattered vessel's eyes, a blazing
light shined like a beacon in the night.
The fury of a thousand suns, and
the beauty of a million moons.
The bright and morning star.
The most magnificent in all of the angels,
yet far more dark than any demon.
Sinfully exquisite.
Those who say he has horns have never
looked upon his countenance, for the gems
faceted there rival the colors of the morning skies.
And a voice like silk, soft as the
timid pulse,
a voice that could lead you to your own destruction.
Hands both so gelid and searing, you'd quiver
at the touch.
Hands that have brought so many to their death.

His love was like an earthquake, and it rocked her world.

But one day, it destroyed everything she had built for herself.

I will sleep with
       my eyes  o p e n .
I will breathe  u n d e r w a t e r .
I will drink my coffee  c o l d  if that is
what it takes to become less like  y o u .
The thought of being like you is so  p a i n f u l , I'd
rather  d r o w n .
Loving you is the most painful memory-I'd rather
p e e l  off my skin in the places you left your kisses. The places
you bit and licked and left your
l o v e .
Some say, "it is better to have loved and lost, than to have never loved at all."
I cannot bring myself to agree with such words, because the pain of loosing you
was far too much to bear than the idea of never having known you.
Call me a ******* coward for running away from this pain,
but if I have to face it another day,
I would rather
d i e.

Suspended in one beautifully, eternal moment.
The wind didn't blow, and world stood still.
The only way we could measure time was through our heartbeats.
You smashed your mouth to mine with a lust you couldn't hide, even
if you tried.
And your intentions became quite clear, then.
You were falling for me just as I was falling for you.
If only it was more than a dream.

Loving you is like when the desert reaches up to kiss the crying
sky as it rains.

And my god, have I grown madly in love with the feeling of
water running down my cheeks.

She closed her eyes and shook her head in disbelief.
And I said simply, "My dear, if you continue to look at the world
through rose-colored glasses, perhaps you will never have to see the
demons at your feet.

The whites are missing from your eyes, darling, and there's nothing
I can do to bring your body back to life.

And my darling, you know that I love you, but you love your demons
more than you could ever love me.


Found poem from lyrics in "Demons" by Social Repose and "Waking Up" by PVRIS.

There once was
a moth that
had wings
of crystal
and when
he tried to fly,
he always dropped to the ground
and shattered into a million pieces.

Sometimes, I feel like that moth.

But I look into your
eyes and see
the
magic
that rests there
and I remember that
moths are beautiful, and
even when broken, crystals
are beautiful, too.

You were a drug to me, babe.
      You weren't the medicinal kind either.
                                          You weren't just a painkiller.
You weren't an antidepressant.
                                                     You weren't a Xanax.
                                                        You weren't ******.
You weren't even the good kind of drug.

                    You weren't ****** or **** or ecstasy.
You were the kind of drug that
                                           messed around with my heart and left my brain feeling clouded.
You were the kind of drug that left me confused and
                                                                               feeling worse than before I took you.
But I did.
Again and
again.
I told myself I would
break this vicious cycle of unscrewing your cap and
                                                                   hating myself for it afterwards.
That I wouldn't draw back the plunger and
                                                          force you into my veins anymore.
But I didn't.
Again and
again.

I told myself you
                                                would be the death of me.

Every high you gave me left me feeling
                                                                          lost in the clouds.

I might as well have been
                                    six feet deep.

Between silken sheets we let all of the golden clocks fall over the edge of our world.
There, we kissed and kissed until we could measure time only by the rise and fall of our broken breaths and knew no other taste
than the light in each others bones.

I've always dreamed of adventure, but now, I'm not so sure.
I grew up playing video games and playing pretend in the woods.
What I would've given to be Link with my own legendary quest.
But these are turbulent times.
Between my anxiety and the businessman-president and his blue-bird threats and the media, honestly, I'd rather curl up in a ball and stay inside my house forever.
But the truth is, no one ever caught a crocodile by hiding in their
house.
It takes real bravery.
And while I've got problems staring me down like I'm deadmeat,
I've got to be a crocodile hunter. I have to.
It's the only way to free the princess trapped inside.

You weren't the butterflies in my stomach —no, you were the ache
in my chest.
You were the lust in my eyes and the longing in my bones.
And there's nothing I can do to shake the stinging feeling of
wasps one my skin, in the places you should be.

I've had a hole
growing in
my stomach for
days.
Butterflies are
wrapped up
in the ribbon
in your
tapes, and
they come inside
and tie
confused
little knots around
my bones.

Every breath, a weight
on my chest, reluctantly
comes, being chased
only by my
quickening pulse.
A knife slips between
my ribs and with
every word that passes over my lips, it
twists.
A silent scream is trapped
behind my teeth.
Butterflies with knives
are cutting up
my insides.


Found poem from Automatic Loveletter's song "Butterflies"

I'll wear your
    bones like jewelry
in my ears, like
                       precious

trophies, and
like pins in
my hair.

I love you so much that
                   I wish nothing more
than for
                   you to be
with me

always.

It was rather beautiful the way
he put her insecurities to sleep.
The way he dove into her eyes
and chased away her fears
the way a tail chases it's
comet across a pitch-black sky.
Her eyes became a galaxy and
he could see the dreams she kept
coiled beneath her bones.

The snow drifts were
       quite high, piling up into the
northern sky, burying
      towns and trees and the poor souls who
    had fallen asleep on the grass
and had awoken with shivers as snowflakes
left little kisses on their eyelids.
    Except that, it was never grass. There was never any grass to begin with. There was no grass
      or spring
             or sun
                  or summer
                            or birds.
There was only winter and snow.
And the blinding, white terrain had become both a place of         desolation and
        s a n c t u a r y.
The Aroura Borealis danced like a beautiful blue fire across the night sky. Stars blinked in and out of existence.
And somehow, the halls always remained.
The blue halls.  
             Imagine, if you will, the Colosseum cut into halves and shaped like an elbow macaroni.  Drop it out in the middle of an arctic wasteland and wash it in the blue glow of the northern, night sky.
A bright yellow light poured out of the windows and onto the snow, but no one was ever inside.
Some say it's the doorway to heaven.
Others say it's the gates of hell.
And then there are the strangers. Strangers who wear their lavender, silk headscarves and avoid the rumors of such an exquisite and eclectic piece of architecture.
Others like myself.
"If there is no one inside, then where is the music coming from?" He asked me, his blue eyes shining as blue as the heavenly hues against the midnight clouds.
" The halls will hum if the wind passes through them just so."
We listened to them once more. A low and ancient hum emanated from the structure. It was an old sound that resonated within me-unnerved me.
The mysterious blue halls were not a simple door to some glorious silver city or the passageway to a fiery lake.
      
The halls were the most beautiful and interesting instrument the universe has even known.
"It's the harmonica of the gods!"
Perhaps one of them
dropped it.
Perhaps it was a flaw in design.
Perhaps it was meant to be silent and with one teensy miscalculation, an entire orchestra of notes were born by the wind.
Perhaps it is telling me to tell you that you should look not towards all that makes you perfect, but the imperfections because that is where true beauty rests.
And you are so beautiful.  The kind of beauty that doesn't know it's own beauty. Like when you are sleeping, and the moon washes over your face. I like when you are sleeping, for you are so beautiful, yet so unaware.

You were the definition of
             Satisfaction.
You were the    blood
                                  in my veins, and
the smoke     in my lungs.  
I was addicted to you in the worst of ways.
It was you who could quench the eternal thirst at my lips. And it was you who could satisfy the ravenous hunger in my bones.
You were everything I needed all at once. And You gave me everything I ever wanted.
A love that
                  consumed  
                             me.

Hello fellow poets and patrons of poetry!

I am making this post because I will be moving all of my poetry from my website here officially starting now!

I've decided to keep what I've already posted here and just post the rest of it in chronological order from 2016 to now.

That's over four years of poetry and nearly 600 poems.

It's going to take me a minute to get it all up and a bunch of it is old, crusty, cringy poems that I wrote just starting out, so please be kind.

You're going to see a lot of growth over the past five years.

I do hope you'll join me on this journey! Please leave your thoughts as the poems pop up! Any and all commentary is welcome, but please be respectful!

<3
—Payton

You can find me elsewhere:
Editing, Writing, and Book Blog: www.wonderforest.net
Instagram: @lifeasalyric

I have once again, left
open the door to
my heart and
the wasps have found
their way in.
The fluttering in my bones
was not from the
butterflies.
It was the sharp sting of
falling in love
with you.

You blew me away, like a
                                   feather in the wind.
The very first second I saw you,
                                                   I knew there
was no way I could keep up.  You swept me
             away with your wild currents.
          When I first met you,
                      I thought, I was weak.
I thought you would surely extinguish my flame
  with the tiniest whisper.
          But you showed me that I
                   needed  
                        you to be stronger,
          that I needed you to burn brighter,
not because I was weak, not because I needed a man, but
                      because you were my
other half.

I tasted
the sting of whiskey
on your lips as we
kissed, your body betraying
you one last time, it was saying,
“I couldn’t handle myself sober for this.”
we said our last goodbye, without
ever saying a word.

There is some kind of soft magic
in the way your hands glide
across my skin, half knowing,
and half discovering,
deciphering,
decoding all that I am.
The way you go straight to the heart
of the matter, yet in doing so,
you're perpetually awed both by
your new findings and by the
remnants of stardust you left
behind, last time.

You, earthling, how can you even
begin to attempt to fathom
what it means to live,
when you don’t bother
to attempt to fathom
what it means to love?

I’ve learned over the eons that
it may be air that keeps my lungs
full and my body alive,
but air doesn’t fill my heart
the way love does, and
air doesn’t breathe
life into my soul, the way
loving someone does.

I do not need alcohol to have
fun.
I do not need cigarettes to be
cool.
I do not need dope to be
creative.
I need to feel you in my
veins.
I need to breathe you in with every
heartbeat.
And even if you’re just a high,
I want to never come
down.
I do need you.

Golden-yellow, silky smooth skin
the color of honey begs me for a taste.
I mustn’t forget, the last time I came to
her seeking sweetness,
I was stung.

I'll whisper my secrets
to the stars and pray
you are far, far away,
because my darkest
desires, and
wildest dreams
were not meant for you,
my dear.
They were meant for the
boy with the tree at his
spine and
all of my fantasies
on his
fingertips.

I closed my eyes and in hopes that you'd
suddenly materialize, I breathed in, deep.
The darkness ebbed and flowed.
I slowly lifted each lid, revealing
an emptiness before me
and an emptiness within.
I wish I could summon
you here.

Why do I love
                   you?
I love you for
      what you are,
and for
what I am, when
I am with you.
  
The creatures, that love makes
out of us,
           are more beautiful
than all of the stars
                                 in the sky.

There is so much power
in the delicate touch
of your hands caressing
my own.

Yet, this power, a force
even stronger than gravity,
and softer than a feather
binds me
to you.

I thought after
all these years of
being bitten and scratching sores,  
I'd eventually grow a thick enough skin
to keep out the mosquitos.
I was wrong.
Even so, mosquitos are nothing compared
to the itch I've got for you.
You see, mosquito bites are only skin deep,
but I've got this ravenous hunger for you,
gnawing at my bones.

Like desert birds circling
bones picked-clean, you
keep hanging around here
like I’ve got something to offer.

Let me tell you, I’m all out of magic.
You bled me dry and though
I love you, I can no longer
be in love with you.

I’ve only enough embers
to keep myself warm these days.
A shriveled husk, the remnants
of a past flame are what
I am to you now.
I can be nothing more.

It was you who kept
me warm on those cold,
Winter nights.
I had you running in my veins
and your love was a fire that
left me burning
for days.

I’ve never had a deja’vu moment,
but I could have sworn I’ve seen you before,
after passing you on the sidewalk.
It wasn’t because you had a familiar face,
God knows I’m the worst when it comes to
remembering these details.
It was something in your stardust that
awakened mine.
I’ll never forget you.

The boy with
amber eyes
was
destined for
glorious things.
And all those
he met could
tell
he had a special
light
in his eyes.
but the girl he
loved
dimmed his
light
when
she fell for another.

I looked up at the moon with a curiosity,
I, myself, had never known before.
The way its Cheshire-cat smile taunted me.
                             Somehow, it unnerved me.
                                               It challenged me.
And at the same time, the cool, white moonlight
made me feel warm inside, as if it knew I was alone
and it was smiling down on me
as a sign of comfort.

You, my dear,
are very
much unlike
the rest.
Your antlers
have not yet
grown in
and you worry
they never will.
But the boy with
amber eyes
says that
yours will be
made of crystal
and not of
bone and
velvet.
☪

This is where the ettin walks,
two-headed, three stories tall.
I’ve never heard the ettin talk,
save for his rancorous call.
Here, he lumbers, like an oaf,
towing up into the sky,
watching down upon the grove,
with his four golden eyes.
This giant is a savage beast
with a ram strapped to his back.
He is almost never at peace
except when he takes a nap.
The ettin lives up in the hills,
and walks between the trees,
guarding the grove from unwanted foes
and attacking those he sees.
The ettin carries an enormous club,
made from a withered old tree root.
He wears little ragged clothes
and stumbles around barefoot.

Gentle winds rolling,
Moonlight pouring over us,
Silent bliss outside.

Everyone will eventually
fall
victim to some
addiction, and
I want to be the
ravenous hunger
in you
bones.

Before I go, let me pour this
over your head
it is not the skin or the bones
or the rushing hot blood beneath,
it is not the eyes or the hair
or the makeup,
it is not the clothing and it is not
even the way her footsteps fall
on the pavement
that makes her beautiful,
it never has been
and it never shall be
it was always in her words
and the way she loved

You don’t need anyone to light you up.
Don’t ever let anyone else become
your sun, you are your own sun.
I believe that it is necessary to find
your moon, the person that you
reflect off of, and the person that you
fall into special kind of gravity with,
but no one should ever become your sun.
You are your own sun and you must
be your own source of light and life,
because once someone else
becomes your sun, and once that
sun falls into another’s orbit,
all of the flowers you’ve planted
shrivel up and die in darkness.
You must be your own sun.

You are the pioneer
after the fire,
with silver-grey and
blue-green leaves,
pods filled with seeds,
and brilliant yellow
flowerheads.
When you lived in the
mountains, you were
dressed in white-
lichen and snow.

Of course, I’m afraid of being lonely,
but I don’t fear being alone.
Solitude brings its own kind
of freedom, but I don’t want to be left
alone with myself for too long.

Even in a world of darkness,
I become your midnight sun.
Wrap me in your arms and I’ll
wrap you in warmth and light
‘til morning comes.

Sometimes, the leaves fall off the trees
to be carried over the
wind and to a new home.

Sometimes, the leaves fall off the trees
to be trampled and smashed into the
rich, black dirt.

Sometimes, the leaves fall off the trees
because they made the mistake of falling
for your charming inventions.

Sometimes, the leaves fall off the trees,
because they too, are falling in love
with you, my dear.