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Aug 2016 · 532
broken.
Luisa C Aug 2016
the broken pieces of your promise shatter through my fingers and leave them red.
red for the anger beneath the scattered glass.
and if you think it's red for the passion, you're only right about one thing;
it's flowing and disappearing down the drain faster than the bullet you sent whizzing through my heart.
Aug 2016 · 2.4k
24/7/16
Luisa C Aug 2016
this place is a cage and full relaxation is an air of mist in the distance
and why must my hands be nets with too many holes so I cannot catch it?
Jul 2016 · 427
jar memories.
Luisa C Jul 2016
summer streaked skies with
glints of orange and soaring kites,
and called your warm hands mine
in its breezy voice like a wind chime,
accompanied by the chorus of crickets
while we sat glowing upon your front porch.

and there you pocketed my heart like the collected leaves
rested comfortably in an upstairs journal, like
the handful of blooming whites overfilling a vase,
like the jar of fireflies we caught to see if their light
could imitate the ones we shined at night.
Luisa C Jul 2016
How would it be to walk amongst the soft summer grass
tickling at our bare feet playfully?
To weave around the sprouting trees and hear the crunch of leaves
as the sun beams down its heat?
Your eyes would be lanterns,
guiding me when the dark cloak of night
envelopes us in a warm embrace;
your laugh echoed melodies of ringing bells
as we started our race across golden fields, under the sky,
to wink back at the specks of shiny pearl,
to lay underneath the windmill and hear the rush,
the blow of air through our dancing hair,
even the ticking clock not handing us a care.

But. . .would you stay in time to see the leaves change,
waltzing with melancholy droning across the front porch
where memories lay splattered in drops of rain
or in black-painted tears of pain
as the trees would give us one final wave
before shrivelling back into their flooded graves?
Why would it be so, or do I really want to know
why you would leave me frostbite in the snow,
waiting for the hail to overtake me,
for the sharp slap of reality to stake me.
the clouds hang low, sagging on their tears, as it all settles;
we are broke from the seasons, parted by this cold wall
that I want to take down brick by brick,
but my hands are numb, fog too thick.
It clouds the pathway in my mind where I recall
those beloved summer days I achingly long to return to,
for the sunshine and sparkling smiles of you;
but you broke the rules of the game, ran too far
to disappear in the dark out of sights from my heart,
and all that time I sat in solitude, in bitter waiting,
when I should’ve known our days were fading.

So, I really must ask, how it would it be to walk
once again with you upon soft summer grass?
If only we could make it last,
but I’m not longer stuck in the past.
How would it be, I am forever pondering,
if you didn’t run away so far, so fast?
-
eh why not share an old one this time
-
Jul 2016 · 404
want
Luisa C Jul 2016
i want to stain your neck with technicolour kisses
and bask in the feverish glow of our uneven breaths.

i want to trace flowers in your shivering skin with my tongue
and watch them bloom to life when graced with my delicate touch.

i want to fill your mouth with whispers of want
and empty your lips of any other beg besides my name.

i want to unravel you like a ribbon with feathery fingers
and catch you in my arms like a parachute.

i want to splay myself out against you,
spread across your heart like a knocked jar of ink -
scrawling my words for me in a permanent embrace -
and unscroll my map of hidden places and awaited spaces for you.

i want to cover every inch of you and use
every bit of me for you. i want to
love you. i want you to
want me.
Jul 2016 · 368
12:03 am
Luisa C Jul 2016
soundless you lay with thoughts rested,
and i fill with envy.
your name doesn't come with faraway smiles
or the warmness of invisible breath,
guilt comes in waves and i find myself drowning,
i can't bring myself to see the texts left,
no indication left, that you're still awake to see my reply
i miss you, i miss you.
wishing you were here is an understatement,
but state this properly i cannot. even now
i dread the heavy stones weighing on my chest
when i piece out each word i want to say,
each hurtful memory i want to relive.
so feel i won't do for you tonight, i'm afraid the tears
won't meet their end against my empty pillow.
and i hate it more to look heartless but either way
i would be just that because my heart wouldn't take
the aching for your arms around me.
i am sorry i am such a coward.
i do not know how to love properly sometimes,
i just do so in a way it doesn't hurt so i wouldn't
have to need you so **** much
all the time.
Jun 2016 · 931
exhale.
Luisa C Jun 2016
inhale emptiness,
exhale loneliness.
walls don't come with ears but
the feeling of madness as my crackling voice
bounces off of its dead cold surface,
filling the space with my desperate words,
and reminding me of the prisoner i am.

inhale dread,
exhale panic.
lungs don't fill with air but the torrent of ***** water
to leave me shaking and unclean, ease only arriving
when wondering if a rope around my neck
would hurt less than the thoughts cramming,
screaming in my head.

inhale smoke,
exhale death.
the candle of my soul is melting,
the last weak flames flickering against my unfeeling skin
and releasing the ashes through my veins.
set me free, set me free, set me
free.

but i can find a door within my cell,
or crash through it like a warrior.

but water can clear lands and clean hands,
washing away the pain with calming ocean waves,
flooding my eyes with newly made life.

but the fires can warm up my numb surface
and light my way out of the dark.

inhale hope,
exhale.
Jun 2016 · 421
i am
Luisa C Jun 2016
My brain is a wondrous thing. It's calm ocean waves drifting sparkles of valuable shells to the shore and tsunami storms crashing down houses and flooding eyes, soft cushiony fabric to dig your face into and sharp daggers to bleed from, a rocking cot and a resting graveyard. I am neither happy or sad. I can neither have pain or pleasure as a tattoo upon my undecieding soul. I do not live by what I feel but where those feelings take me. Moments are fleeting and identities are scarce. I am confused in a beautiful way, scattered in a gifted way, like colourful stained marbles across tile floors. I am the rage of light at day and the blooming darkening shine at night. But black and white I cannot be. My colours lie as a mess in the middle, my canvas life, my pallet the directions, my paintbrush the weapon, the creator. Many masks slip off, labels start to peel, and face paint washes away in the rain dance that is life. That is me. I am a wonder. I am unfitting jigsaws of all the things that make me think, and alive, waiting to be discovered and reborn, reshaped once again. Stardust and black holes consume my thoughts and both fill and drain my heart dry, but empty I can never be. For my soul is the universe, most unexplored, but never ending. I am a masterpiece.
Jun 2016 · 2.8k
hands.
Luisa C Jun 2016
How can you hold the very makings of disaster?
How do you ease yourself in finding trouble to hold onto?
You are gripping the hands that once
fumbled for a tearing of skin,
bore blood at the fingertips,
greeted the brick wall with excitement and shattering
my numbness along with it.
What comfort do you seek in weaving your fingers
with ones that tugged desperately on hair
and swept away floodgates of water from tired eyes,
proving to me I was weakened once again?

But I look down at the shaking documents of disaster
when your embodiments of happiness reach for them
and cover the wounds in an unhesitant embrace.
And I know those previous questions don't matter;
your infectious comfort of my hands rests in the palm
and spreads.

My hand is now only holding your hand.
Only.
And that's the only thing it should now do.
Luisa C Jun 2016
i cannot do.
make do i cannot.
to understand what makes only my surroundings happy.
what wrong keeps returning inside of me to leave me out?
envy those lucky and careless, i do, for i cannot
do no more than merely wish for a smile to spread,
not the numbness weighing down my chest, flooding the gateways of my veins with its poison like wet black paint.
i do not want to make this all i know;
its familiarity scares me.
what am i missing out on?
when sad longing eyes scan from the corner
over the strangers i do irritate myself seeing,
the fault in isolating myself is clear.
finding too many flaws and reasons to
throw away the key of eternal joy.
why do i do this to myself, thinking about
how upsetting it is that i find it sad how
i am not alive only in dreams.
my mind begs me to stop all this from happening.
it needs a get out jail card, but unfortunately these types
do not come for free.
because i cannot always feel what others feel.
i am cast out from having too much fun,
and jealousy accomplishes so little.
but indulge in too much pity i refuse.
the universe doesn't care about anyone
it does not keep promises for anyone.
believing in its reliability to keep you feeling
wanted, and with purpose and worth
is not worth it.
it does not stop for anyone
especially not to make sure i am feeling okay
on this gloomy monday morning.
i would rather be anywhere else.
Jun 2016 · 533
anti depressant
Luisa C Jun 2016
i cannot be your anti depressant.
i cannot transform into a warm blanket
every time you feel the cold.
i cannot seep into your veins and rest
underneath your scarred skin.
not all promises can be kept and
i am only trying to speak the truth.
try to understand i have my own demons to tame.

don't make your happiness so dependent
on my rise out of bed in the morning.
don't rely so much on this frail veiled soul
to mend each broken piece of yours
while i'm still only trying to kick myself out
of my own shark infested seas.
the speaking of pure fantasy only assures me,
i will soon be suffocated by your adding of more water.

you cannot intend on making me your hero.
you cannot be fixed by these clumsy hands that
can't always be there in time to hold yours.
so please. i am only human.
you have to save yourself.
because i can never be your anti depressant.
---
personal
---
Luisa C May 2016
The closet in the dim isolated room
Stores away so many of my bones
That store too many secrets for the
Weak hearted,
So each week I’m parted from demons
That are a part of too much of me.

But I can never see the difference, my two sides won’t show it.
It does so little to comfort me; what have I become?
Am I the walking dead and a watcher of the funeral of my smiles,
Whose continuous lives and illness discomfort and confuse all?
Am I fast asleep when dreams of a peaceful life take over?
Because I awake to find that I’m too stripped back and empty to find anything to give,
A signal I care, or knowing something has shifted
A tectonic plate in my brain,
Erupting the series of footsteps to the door
Of the insane, knocking furiously enough to break it.

The desperate pull of the veil over my mind
Disguises it as curtains for a show, a grand act.
I am the star of the leading role, too centred, too vain,
Perfect to match the unmatched mess I feel every day.
The genius illusion is that am I really acting?
Even I do not know.
The stage is my war zone; no man’s land,
Because I am obviously not human,
And I cannot let anyone else in.
It's bad comedy of a pathetic attempt at drama
For anyone willing to tolerate my oh so called woes.
I choke on the mixture of laughter and tears
I collect in a cracking overflowing jar and drink,
Getting intoxicated on my pity, and hazy on the self-mocking,
Gurgling manipulations of sharing the side dish
But also shoving away any takers.
I am greedy - I want it all to myself.

And to myself it shall remain.
I buy all the tickets and keep them to remind myself
How my dim isolated room shrinks with each entry,
How I refuse to give out any more keys.
Maybe the walking dead is what I am;
Surely life is not this lightless when it is lived.
At least I hope not.
May 2016 · 412
life.
Luisa C May 2016
would it help with explaining
how life has closed in all the ***** of its metal box
around me?

it's a
pair of headphones with only one working side,
the last needed puzzle piece that is missing,
and no matching pair of socks.

it's a
string too short to tie a perfect bow with,
not enough water to fill the whole of the glass
and hidden holes in a blanket to keep you cold.

so does that help explaining how life throws
its ten pound shadow
over me?
May 2016 · 707
de(void)
Luisa C May 2016
I'd like to dissolve in legends and myths,
Including the cosmic swirl within.
My fingertips, with light they rage,
I spin the planets at a steady pace,
My skies a canvas of gleaming futures and hopes.
I am mystery, I am beautiful;
No tearing comet will brings me tears,
And I know many things without the existence of fear.

But,
This is all I know:
I know this is a tale.
I am devoid but of a void,
An empty black hole
******* up all that shines.
The stars are dying and burning up early
And the world, I cannot control.

Because my sun's days end too soon
And quickly sets to rise the moon,
And the golden rays meet their doom.
The universe is not mine to keep.
It is merely there to show me all
I cannot do.
May 2016 · 638
present.
Luisa C May 2016
strip my mind bare. beneath the layers
a caged thought lies, aching to linger
upon my tongue, under your skin.

i keep my light open at night
in hopes of seeing you here,
meanwhile your name runs in ink
down pages of fluttering paper wings
my heart does hold dear
when you're discovered near.

your galaxy of smiles flood my mind's corners
and soothes worries with calming swirls. you are
the fringes of muse,
faint freckles of music,
pieced together with a bow of string,
and you are my present.

and you are the only present wanted,
and the only future seen.
the only thing, that i need.

.....

[ l . c ]
May 2016 · 313
proceed with caution.
Luisa C May 2016
I must confess, I'm a mess,
the contents of my mind too dark to address,
my tears at such subjects too big to suppress.
But you declare your love unconditional?
You may find, without much surprise,
that's near impossible.

Though, if a stroke of luck is discovered,
it will be unconditional under the conditions of staying clear
of disturbing subjects which result in tears,
triggers the mess of expected fears.
These conditions are a hard enough mission,
best to stay clear of me entirely.

It's clear that I am insufferable.
So please, do reread the warnings label
and proceed with caution and protective gear,
and don't be too surprised if you find yourself wondering
why you're still here.
Luisa C May 2016
1;
i'm not a thief, but i kept your favourite baby blue scarf in the second drawer of my bedside table. it still has that hole near the bottom when you frantically tore on your scarf because it started snowing and you wanted to go out and play.

2;
do you remember that night? i do. flakes of snow were floating into place like a crown upon your hair. i told you the heavens were filled with envy after we made snow angels, and you just smiled. and even through all that thick snow our hands met and a warmness no fireplace could beat filled my insides. it felt like home.

3;
lots of things felt like home. i could look into your eyes and know i lived in each galaxy they held. i could bury my nose into every sweater you have ever worn and name all the cookies they smelt of. i could hide under your sheets and in your arms like a childhood game with the couch, only i didn't need to have rules or a time out; time was a fragment of an unneeded past with you. a needed future.

4;
now this time the past is needed. regrets cramp my chest and texts you'll never read sit weighing with glue on my phone. it still has the case you brought me of the cat with yarn. i hope you can see it on the table as you set your cup of tea down. set your head down. the scream of silence fills every corner of the room.

5;
a few sips left. time is catching up and sneaking out from under the table, disobeying the game's rules. it is swallowing up the tea for you too quick and i wish my mind could keep up. words are clogging up my throat like a drainpipe refusing to spill.

6;
i want you to spill your tea over. apologise endlessly like you do. i'll clean it up and buy us more time. but the coins are scattered and few in my pockets and weigh a ton each for all the plans they can't take. please say something.

7;
say something, i used to say, urging to hear beautiful french words come from your lips. you'd giggle and push me flustered into the couch with your striped maroon socks. i wonder if you're wearing them right now. i wonder if you're wearing a smile too worn and frayed to button up all the things left to say right now.

8;
your tea is gone. there is nothing left to say. i wish there was; some dramatic realisation of a way to make things work again, because they cannot, and we know that. and the front door is getting closer and goodbyes are being said and i am getting desperate. tell me there is another feeling, something else. i want to unlearn knowing all has been done. i want to forget to remember. i want your car to break down as soon as you start it.

9;
because i know our mixtape will begin when your drive, but it's okay because i have another copy right here, above the radio. stay. let's listen to it. stay. please, at least one last kiss. stay. i need you. stay. we will miss out on things time set up for us. stay. i know snow angels aren't meant to last but all this time we were sunshine on backyard swings and you were my home. i still call you my home. i still call you.

10;
because without you i am homeless. i need a place to stay.

so stay.
May 2016 · 385
art of falling apart.
Luisa C May 2016
I sat with my back to the mirror
I always avoid people I don’t know;
Strangers are a danger.
And the thick fog that buries itself
Underneath my skin, makes me
unrecognisable.

My memory is as weightless as my feelings,
Down the drainpipe they go, scattering across tiles.
And I’ve met up with misery and held its claws
And it left with me with scars instead of smiles.
I’m picking at loose threads, waiting for my mind to return;
Broken and damaged, its pieces sailing off track for miles.

It’s the art of falling apart, to be vulnerable,
Trailing behind the spraypainted signs of my mind,
Left stranded, shipwrecked and empty, lost and deserted;
Smoke fills the void and nothing’s important.
I’ve said hello to the embodiment of my nightmare,
I see it in the mirror and I ******* under its stare.
So raindrops, will you gather and set me free?
Because nothing’s inside anymore to let there be tears.

And I want to find my way back home,
But the twist of my insides is like a maze,
Crown of thorns for this crowded daze.
And I don’t want the outside to reflect
what’s on the inside,
it’s a scary place.
May 2016 · 1.6k
punchline.
Luisa C May 2016
people are prone to telling me the same joke over and over again
though the only thing that i find funny is that i can't remember its punchline
maybe it's because i try so hard to forget
what i've become.
May 2016 · 436
I don't want you.
Luisa C May 2016
I don't want you, I say
as I stare longingly at my screen for
a message to appear with a certain name
that does things to me.

I don't want you, I say
as the tips of my fingers tingle
and my heart becomes a drum,
the soundtrack to your entrance,
to the live wire my body becomes.

I don't want you, I say
as I surpress a cry
when your watchable lips mutter a bye
and I feel empty without a presence
of something I can't get myself to say,
is a pleasance

I don't want you, no, not at all
Not only because I can't admit it
(Too proud and afraid to say another person makes me whole
That I become needy without control)
But because that it's not true
I don't want you -
I need you, and
Owning you is all I think
I'm able to do
Luisa C May 2016
It’s amusing to think how we use words everyday
Though it’s the unseen that says the most, the unsaid
That screams the loudest
The mouths of today focus on feeding upon reciting Facebook feeds,
The latest most liked tweet,
The filters for your selfies – the perfect painted veil for a background of a thousand shattered china plates,
Which you become the moment the day is done, the stitching of your smile
Sighing with relief, unraveling as only your diary fills with the truth from shaking wounded hands that once again tried to stop a plate from chipping,
Only your bedroom wall goes through its weekly routine of watching every tear fall.
And you see that same wall everywhere, blocking you from people,
Lowering the volumes of your pleads, you don’t want them to see you’re in need – you can’t.
The mask that blinds them has no opening for a mouth
You’ve become a clown, jokes automatic, juggling your struggling in one hand, the other
Straining around your new best friends’ claws: misery, isolation,
Emptiness overfilling, desperation for an exit sign over spilling
But silence is a killer, why let it continue killing?

Consider the conscience crowded with a clutter of crazies
Though tongues only dotted with declarations of sanity.
The way we communicate has become a prison cell with too many corners and no windows,
The sounds of our own cracked, empty voices bouncing back at us
The limit of 140 soulless, expressionless characters has shut us up and in,
The embodied pill of forgetfulness on how to pick the lock
And open up to get help, to admit a smile’s fake.
But has the rain of melancholy and judgment rooted our feet to its wet earth?
We, the raindrops, laughing, “get over it” with each pitter as we’re soaked
“She’s so emo” – that’s easy to say,
It’s not like we’re humans with these things I guess are called feelings.
It’s comments like these that stop us –
To understand the truth we have to seek for it, not hide it, shove it away because it’s too frightening to bare, to finally confront the hidden scars people wear
Sadness has become a much too common name, and yet no one can place its face – it’s that one post no one likes to share.
And I see a continuing suffocating aisle of different bedroom walls and want to break down each one.
Ignoring isn’t the solution, smiling is an illusion, so don’t mistake silence for pleasure when someone has become a victim of our weather.
We have to learn how to open up again, free what’s inside to unleash our true spoken minds
Hold a hand instead of a phone for a change, to make a change
And maybe you’ll also make a real sunny smile overcome the rain.
-
this is what i wrote for the slam poem assignment in my english class last year.
Apr 2016 · 365
strings.
Luisa C Apr 2016
i hear your laugh over the phone and realise,
i can touch every syllable from a million light years away.
i can pluck each of your heartstrings that tie themselves up with mine across landscapes
and it'll be music neighbouring galaxies can hear.
we don't seem so far apart when we make the world shrink around us. we are our own world.
your arms are a boarder protecting us from the sea,
your lips taste of ocean stars and your breath is the breeze
you bring life to the flowers blooming around me.
our hands are the bridge to connect laced footsteps
entangled tree branches, entwined roads.
we are maps to each other, leading us back when we're lost.
you are not here in the morning beside me in bed
as you are in the sky. i can recognise your rising light miles away.
you tell me i am your only earth.
and i need you because the earth needs the sun
to see a bright day.
we are our own world
and that's all that needs to stay.
Apr 2016 · 711
galaxy park
Luisa C Apr 2016
driftwood floating
amongst the sea of
fast asleep smiles
composing the ripples
of loving warmth
a lulling wafture
to the face of
reality
galaxy park awaits and
wakes
in my dream
and i arrive at
ease.
Apr 2016 · 796
.sinking.
Luisa C Apr 2016
i have grown so cold
i'm used to drowning alone
don't try to save me
overboard i will go
and i'll never come home

[l . c]
Apr 2016 · 401
bright ahead.
Luisa C Apr 2016
you say the moment you get a car
you’ll drive me to the beach at night
so we can lie down and count the stars
i’ll make sure to take down
the prettiest one for you

but i also want to keep it for myself
that way, whenever i miss
gazing into your eyes
i can take a look at the sky's piece
and not feel so alone

it won't shine twice as much
as you do, though.
Apr 2016 · 887
yarn (haiku)
Luisa C Apr 2016
Rolling ball of yarn
Sometimes just too hard to catch
Even for quick cats

- l.c
Apr 2016 · 1.2k
'destiny'.
Luisa C Apr 2016
Life is but a pair of dice
tumbling aimlessly across the board,

with the absence of fate indulging
in its residents' free choices.

And luck is mere smear of hope
desperate enough to illusion us.
Apr 2016 · 543
train.
Luisa C Apr 2016
I'm on a slow moving train
Rickety, unsafe; chugging desperately.
Swaying under constant beating rain,
And I sit trapped and sick in pain.

Empty compartments, curtains torn and charred,
Boarded windows, seats worn and scarred
And there's a lock on the door
Where laughter and chatter flitter from the walls;
It becomes louder when we pass
The graveyard

The smoke from the screeching wheels
Dances its sinister rise, and is all that I breathe;
I choke on the fog and water fills my vision
People mistake the invisible devil for air.

And I think, what's scarier?
A train going nowhere with no destination
With my ticket lasting a lifetime
Or a train with an eventual
dead end.
train metaphor depression misery imagery
Apr 2016 · 645
flames.
Luisa C Apr 2016
i know nothing more than the
crippling weight of my self hate
the familiar bitter taste of pity
i spit out in doses as i laugh in mockery
but this time i could learn
how to sink into someone else this time
learn to unpick their seams
to crumble and unravel and fall apart for me

i am burning inside.
don't get too close, you'll feel the scorching heat,
the flames that flicker warning you of the ash to come
i beg you to run away yet strain my hand tighter around yours
(fingertips blackened; a mirror to the soul)
while certain a finger of two is breaking, and not stopping.

i am the embodiment of hurt.
i'm a mess of splattered nonsensical pain
i want you to hate me yet i do not want you
to hate me
or leave me.
i want to leave the fire started in my chest
spreading its destruction
but that would be the desire for something impossible
and that is laughable. like me.
like you ever loving me properly.

because no matter how many salty tears i cry
the pathetic attempt to calm the flames
i only create an ocean we both drown in
i am the anchor to your sinking  bombed ship
pulling you down with me
i am the coat i never want you to take off
even though the heat is overwhelming.
and i want to keep you safe from me
but in my mind, the thought concludes to the action
of adding more layers.
and then the seams
burst.

i am sorry you love me.
an example of one of my typical run-on-sentences pieces during a time my mind is a messy storm of complex thoughts and it's almost 2 in the morning and editing it will take out the extent and rawness and sincerity of it to me so yeah here you i guess a rambling of my stripped back brain (this included)
Apr 2016 · 809
Stars.
Luisa C Apr 2016
You need not fear the night
And its sky dipped in darkness
For there still exists the light
Poked through the cloaked canvas

Little pinholes of stars to see through
And touch what still remains;
A shine of something hopeful
No matter how far away
Apr 2016 · 1.4k
- renewed -
Luisa C Apr 2016
worn out leather heart
chipped glass lungs
with smoke glazing the crystal
and a death coated tongue

then suddenly a cotton candy gaze
i want to press my scarred hands
into the sinking softness
and overdue my stay

now the glass is thick
and the smoke isn't smoke
but the second hand air i breathe
to fill my veins with ecstasy

and i don't fall on your lips
because you've broken my falls
you simply catch me
so no more am i broken at all
Apr 2016 · 547
too human.
Luisa C Apr 2016
oh what trouble it is
such a shame
trying to place two lips
to align perfectly
they are not of the stars' magic
the cosmos of flawlessness
they are simply too
human.
Apr 2016 · 325
Untitled
Luisa C Apr 2016
Sadness is worn in many shades
Fringed at the edges, rough to the touch
This is the brand everyone hates to love
I model misery with a sickly laugh,
While my eyes imitate what I've seen of the dark.

The suffocation of sorrow
The throb of numbness replacing your heart's job
And filling your veins with lead
I wear fabrics of sharp prickly thorns
And the mocking costume of a smile,
While my eyes imitate the dead.
don't know what to call this
Apr 2016 · 502
3:34
Luisa C Apr 2016
a blanket of galaxy
tucks me in with a warm breath
sending ripples through its sky
waving hello at me
the stars twinkle their acknowledgement
and i know for tonight i'm not alone

the rain is a gentle drum on my face
a memory shocker of what it is
to feel, to live
the clouds part their curtains
allowing me a part of their hug
and i know for tonight
i'm not alone
Apr 2016 · 462
snow.
Luisa C Apr 2016
Hand me a torch and a pair of gloves,
I’ll be shovelling through snow until dusk.
The ice in my mind slips me off path,
It’s dark and cold and windy, but I laugh,
Because winter can only last so long,
And I remember snow can be fun to play upon.
It’s thick but melts in puddles on the floor;
That’s what it usually takes, nothing less or more.

And I realize my strength doesn’t belong on the shore
Where the waves so easily take away the pain,
Rolls me under and hands me a slice of pride a day.
No, comfort is hard coming, and my shortness of breath
Leads me to know, my strength
Hasn’t yet met its death.
Apr 2016 · 2.9k
certain afternoons.
Luisa C Apr 2016
belong to me.
not the house that puts
a thousand miles between;
allows just a few hours seen,
of a cautiously passionate dream.
so i suggest the whisper of more hours to spare
is the only lie you need speak.

the bus ride home must be lonely.
be back in the arms of my sheets,
playing with the edges of my clothes,
with my heart's speed.

link your hands in a new home
and lock your eyes with mine
and throw away the key.
belong to me.
Apr 2016 · 538
(us)
Luisa C Apr 2016
(windows)
   shuddering night, gentle callings,
   dim light, reckless
   heartbeats.
   identical, yours&mine.;
silence.

(fireplace room)
   trembling fingers, tracing
   soft skin, mapping each galaxy:
   beauty, depth.
   mystery, now
knowledge.

(roped eyes)
   shaking breath, light brushes
   over laced fingers,
   heavy ripples in its wake.
awakening.

(lips)*
   floating gracefully upon
   tender star-filled seas,
   pulling me under,
   shaken breath taken;
shared.
one of those simple but not simple poems done in the early dark hours of morning.
Apr 2016 · 419
clung.
Luisa C Apr 2016
i'm not good at letting things go
and your hand
holds so many of the things i feel
bliss, joy, comfort.
sadness
when it i let it go.

so i'm scared to find out
which of those feelings
i would need to let go of,
which one would overtake,
when i find your hand
to no longer
hold mine.
Mar 2016 · 372
.excuses from a stranger.
Luisa C Mar 2016
8 a.m.
An excuse to leave the bed
Leaving behind your warm ghost
But no hands to hold as I rise afterwards
Your hands - as an excuse -
Hold the cold mug, raise it to your lips
An excuse to not share the mug
To share a last kiss
Those hands, opening the front door
Your feet walk out - a mumbled goodbye
Being late is always a good excuse
I remain alone at the table
The ghost has left the room and entered my thoughts
That soft gaze never meets mine
Like it used to, after I stopped being a stranger
Am I becoming, once again,
A stranger?

Your smile, now a straight line
There are
Casual texts, half hearted laughs
You start forgetting to leave your shirts behind
Remember you have dinner with a friend
And your favourite chicken
Grows cold with each passing waiting second
You don’t moan as much as you used to
The once tinted sparks have faded
And my bedroom floor grows cold
With each expecting second
Of stumbling feet, thrown jeans
Crumpled sheets as two bodies meet
But bodies turn away on their sides
When nights only become about sleeping
And sleeping becomes forgetting
Forgetting to remember I’m still there

And, your hands,
Now clinging onto a cold metal bar
As a train pulls your further away
Has forgotten what warmness once felt like
Laced fingers slipping, loose, distant
Opposite of our lips
Tight, closed in, nothing to say
No reason to open and fall on each other
Only a reason to fall, away
And away you go each morning
Excuses ready
Love has been set in stone, put on hold
Because hold my hand, you do not
The past finds itself, repeating itself
And we are strangers once again
Warmness has become
A stranger
But in the desperate hours
Of early morning excuses
The ghost of it lingers
In the spot you slept in

— The End —