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Aug 2 · 100
Luisa C Aug 2
taunting, twisting
laughing from the shadows
mocking, visiting
me in my worst hours
they’re toxic and dangerous
showing happiness in times there’s not
addictive and scandalous
give me more of what i haven’t got
send me hoping and praying
reality will give me those moments again
hopeless and replaying
better pasts disappearing away
i warp them, manipulate them
worship them, mutilate them
make it hurt less to cope
as they taunt and mock and twist
the knife further into fragile hope
cruel puppet strings they are
playing with a vulnerable mind
all the better to forget
wishing this will be the last time
Feb 21 · 173
Luisa C Feb 21
the imagination can be the cruelest thing
because it's not reality that hurts the most
it's the wanting of a new one
and realising
that you cannot have it.
Oct 2018 · 130
Luisa C Oct 2018
when i catch myself dreaming
i pay attention and listen
to your heartbeat that's found
in my own when it's missing
Sep 2018 · 228
escape / embrace
Luisa C Sep 2018
I like the world at 3 pm,
where the lights are out and the streets are silent,
raindrops tiptoeing on the glass
giving me comfort in the lonely space,
the house settles for sleep in a softening hum.
My mind bursts to life in swirling colours;
I could open the front door and run out,
lie down on the road and count the stars,
watching them dance and spin in glitter and glam.
I could escape on an empty train
and watch the world fly past in a blurred daze,
still and unmoving and dreaming,
taking its residents amongst flights of desire,
of higher planes and greater distances
while lying motionless in their bed, warm
and for a second, at peace.
I can wish the world away and retreat
to the playful corners and trick mirrors of my mind,
open my soul with hidden keys and unlimited time,
but for now the universe drifts amongst the sky
with an welcoming invitation to its home,
and I watch with wonder and awe,
floating within the galaxy's embracing arms,
letting it open my doors for me
and opening its own in return.
Sep 2018 · 360
midnight myths
Luisa C Sep 2018
I could
kiss you without meaning,
touch you without feeling,
let thoughts of you fade in with shadows of my mind
passing and unimportant and

I could
pull such empty phrases,
empty my heart of lonely senses
let thoughts of you run wild only with
your skin to mine burning with desire.

But I can't
get back to the past,
there's no point in denying
late at night I find myself thinking
of you more often,
late at night my heart isn't lying.
I can't feel
soft hands and warm arms I want back,
secret notes and wind chime laughs
even though I can't stop myself
from trying.

I could
stop myself
from sinking into the memories
but there's no point in denying
maybe I'm missing you more often.
Maybe that would explain the crying.
Aug 2018 · 150
Luisa C Aug 2018
what a foolish thing to do
to think of you,
and so late and quiet in the night too.
if you were here
and together were we
i couldn't keep from being a fool to you.
confide in you, so close beside you
and forget my lessons from before.
the past happened to show me
i can't be a fool for you no more.
Aug 2018 · 480
last night.
Luisa C Aug 2018
I thought of you again last night.
Dooming myself to repeat the mistake
of revising the memory of a muted light,
our quickened breaths, our hearts on fire.
I visioned a fantasy of you last night,
where my house is empty and silent,
and the heat tells the truth of what I really want to do,
taste the lips that once belonged to me so violent.
I hated you again last night
for how you make me so vulnerable to miss
a body to hold next to me in bed
the countless times you gave me bliss.
The times when the aching of my heart only meant
I had too much love to share,
and not the selfish need of wanting to feed,
to lust and touch and cast away cares.
I thought of how late in the night
our new year's day dance is not all I want back,
I want the comfort of your smile as you so confidently say
you love me like you did on a now distant day.
But I thought of you again last night
in the only way I know how to,
shedding the meaning of my lonely pain
for a momentary passionate touch of you.
I thought of you again last night
and promised myself this time was the last,
for I cannot spend the night longing for a kiss
I know I will never get back.
Aug 2018 · 235
Luisa C Aug 2018
I know if we met again
and by chance, alone at your door,
we happened to kiss even passionately,
it wouldn't be the same as before.
I know the masks of stubborn pride
and the fake replica of it all
if we tried to recreate whatever connection
there might have been before.
If we tried to meet without quivering lips
and hurt memories running through our eyes,
then by chance, we could have one last dance
but for now it's all a lie
I know I won't be meeting you again,
there will be no knock on your door,
outside my dreams the passion is gone,
there is no hope for us anymore.
Outside my dreams it won't ever be the same
as before.
Jun 2017 · 265
they come in the night
Luisa C Jun 2017
they come in the night
whispering, crackling voices
in my mind
hissing, cracking through the surface
when out are the lights
they come in shapes and sizes
and voodoo dance before my eyes
cackling, lurking
in my mind.
they come in the night.
night mind depression thought thoughts sadness misery depressed sad poem
Jun 2017 · 233
Luisa C Jun 2017
i know you think
flaws do not apply to you
when you disentangled our strings
and pretended i was a stranger
but it's the other way round
for you are the stranger i barely recognise
resembling little of what i know,
of what i used to see.
thanks for reminding me
how messed up i am.
but at least i'm not a fake
and warp myself for other's sake.
see, i'd rather be myself and alone
than wear a mask and have millions.
i just thought
you were better
than that.
Feb 2017 · 374
Luisa C Feb 2017
I want to find the words
to explain to you
how incomplete my heart feels
without the strings bounding yours to it
but how can I say anything
when I've realised I've lost something
I thought I knew,
even after all the time spent with them.

They're just another memory
made to be laid to rest and fade away.
It's hard to know I find myself not able
to say anything
to someone who I don't recognise,
someone who's now become a stranger to me
once again.
Dec 2016 · 336
Luisa C Dec 2016
my life is like a glass,
it isn't empty but there's very little water.
and it's not the type of water
that tastes better than usual;
it's just flat and bland,
not even lapping like calming beach waves,
or an excited dog.
it just sits motionless in its trap,
transparent and devoid of colour.
is this bad i'm sorry
Dec 2016 · 556
Luisa C Dec 2016
be careful with who you put your heart on your sleeve for;
they might accidentally crush it when reaching for your hand.

l . c
Dec 2016 · 432
11:33 pm
Luisa C Dec 2016
don't just give yourself a planet or a star.
give yourself a whole galaxy,
be every swirl of cosmic matter you can find,
and never let a black hole
take away your shine.
inspired by something i saw.
Dec 2016 · 3.3k
Luisa C Dec 2016
am i scared of living without you,
or just scared of being alone
Dec 2016 · 492
still but moving.
Luisa C Dec 2016
it's strange the rides your mind partakes in while it sits still in your head.
i am unmoving, staring at the endless rows of grey spotted ceiling tiles from a bed, while my mind cartwheels and bursts into flames, cosmic colour, ribbon dancing through its many seasons during my quiet sit down. it swims through galaxies with graceful strokes, leaping joyfully into nebulas and leaving behind a shimmering trail of sparks. it speaks in starlight and dances hand in hand with planets.
the peaceful space of the space in my mind
bursts to life.
this is probably messy sorry
Nov 2016 · 843
Luisa C Nov 2016
I wish my head would stop turning in the direction of my phone,
waiting with batted breath for the writing of text, an indication you're still awake.
I wish I wouldn't fill up with overwhelming waters of disappointment,
because I already know that you won't reply.
I wish you would text me first because I don't want to seem clingy.
I wish I could stop my eyes from glancing at your name every five seconds,
wishing it was a name belonging to a person I didn't want to need.
I wish I didn't miss you so late at night.
Nov 2016 · 2.4k
Luisa C Nov 2016
am i sad enough to miss you
or am i missing you enough to be sad?

l . c
Nov 2016 · 778
Luisa C Nov 2016
gather up all the colours of your life,
hold on to your collection of stars,
so when the world decides to turn grey,
you can still find your rainbow in the sky,
no matter how dim the beam may be.
Nov 2016 · 585
tonight's thoughts...
Luisa C Nov 2016
sometimes i do not know where my life is heading,
where the roads are leading me.
i know my mind travels through space and time,
through shining galaxies of wonder and ripping black holes,
meeting at the ends of the earth with a crashing wave.
but i do not know whether there is a lighthouse nearby,
whose light shines me a way out of the dark,
pointing to a place where i can rest my aching bones.
i do not know which colour my soul is yet,
still picking away at the palettes that change every day.
sometimes i do not know whether to laugh or cry,
and why sometimes it is best to do both.
sometimes i feels stuck, like a box has caved in on my surroundings,
metal, not cardboard, so even the mightiest of pokes can't break its surface.
sometimes i feel time draining away from me,
slipping through even the tightest of grasps of my fingers,
disappearing like an air of smoke in a misty lake,
and i cannot swim fast or hard enough to catch it.
and sometimes i feel like i am wasting my life,
and the smiles, real and pure, of everyone i meet, determine one thing:
they are using their time wisely, happily.
thoughts of storms do not linger in their brain long enough to shatter the roof and let raindrops pour down their eyes.
and i don't know whether to feel jealous or sad,
or cast feelings away altogether until i am nothing but a shell.
but most of the time, i do know for sure,
i am just always unsure on how to feel.
Nov 2016 · 425
how to take care part 2
Luisa C Nov 2016
take time learning all the sides of your soul.
be gentle with your hands as you rest them assured on yourself,
be loving with your heart to your mind.
be careful on the stepping stones, waves underneath might crash
and keep you off course.
think about what stops you from sleeping at night, and
why your bed keeps you trapped in the morning.
life may not always be a rainbow,
but neither does the colour black stick permanently to your canvas.
learn to paint it with as many shades as you can;
you control the brush.
note to self: don't generalise life.
Nov 2016 · 232
how to take care.
Luisa C Nov 2016
if you feed your monsters they will grow.
instead, laugh in their face and give no indication of attention,
except a wave of the hand,
shrinking them back into their dark corners.
you can beat this.
Oct 2016 · 419
Luisa C Oct 2016
if this is love then it is both selfish and selfless.
i am selfish because thinking of you spending and enjoying time with other people can't help but stake me.
i am selfish for wanting you all to myself.
i am selfish for getting suicidally jealous.
but i am selfless for wanting to give every part of me to share with you,
like a jigsaw puzzle waiting desperately to be complete.
is love a synonym for pain?
why is it often associated with happiness when it is mostly the opposite?
why must love come with a risk of broken hearts and no cure,
with dangers and stepping stones made of land mines,
days filled with misery unpredictable?
love may be breathtaking, in both meanings:
it enchants you and it eventually kills you.
it drains you and it pains you.
it brings out the fool and whining and the mess,
and why must i get myself into this?
because love pulled me towards you.
a waste of time this may be but ignore the warnings i do,
for you make it worthwhile, the bitterness and jealousy,
an experience i'd rather not miss out on,
even if it ***** me dry from missing you all the time.
and am i filled with regret?
i think not.
Oct 2016 · 562
1 am
Luisa C Oct 2016
your hands feel like fireplaces in mine,
and the bed is an ocean for us to float upon,
coiled around each other like colourful bits of ribbon,
lips connected with a single effortless touch
and skin shaking under wandering fingers.
i open myself up to you like a galaxy,
and even though the room is a dim spotlight,
i see you make up all the shine of the stars.
and though sleep lies heavy amongst the world,
and night has now rolled under,
you are my sky of suns, my favourite memory,
wrapped up in the sweet essence of us.
i would rather time stutter on its breath,
so i could relieve this moment in your arms
til my dying day.
Oct 2016 · 706
Luisa C Oct 2016
I will learn how to swim.
I will steady my breaths and relax my aching chest,
my hands cupping the water in a loving embrace.
The rough waves will not frighten me away,
I will view them as inviting to splash in.

I will learn how to ease my arms
and kick my legs through powerful torrents,
not stopping even when crashes of blue stake me,
even when the pain runs throbbing through my body.

I will learn how to conquer the storm
and be one with the fish,
unafraid and invincible
through the sharp broken shells,
swimming towards the light of the underneath corals.
I will pass ships with pride and be brave enough to close my eyes,
using the sea as my resting pillow.

I will learn how to swim.
And against the waves I will win.
Oct 2016 · 265
little things.
Luisa C Oct 2016
it's the little things, like
sleeping in on purpose so your appointment gets cancelled,
or avoiding texts from a friend
because you know they like to talk too much
and you'd rather not talk to anyone.
it's lying to your friend group that you have work to do at lunch,
and spend time in the library trying not to fall apart.
it's the crying before dinner and worrying if your family might've noticed your red eyes.
it's the late nights of trying to fill your brain with something
but you're too numb to think of anything to distract you from the weighing of your chest.
it's the self pity you feel when reading back on old diary entries - pages upon pages of written sadness -
and the confused unrecognizable soul you see in the mirror,
with shaking hands and the same clothes on from last week.
it's the plans you fail to do, like simply going out,
lying to yourself there will be a next time.
it's forgetting to get out of bed and spending 4 hours sitting still in the dark trying to figure out what is wrong with you.
it's the strain of your hand when you're writing a stream of thoughts you could never show anyone.
it's wishing you didn't have the ability to think sometimes.
Oct 2016 · 2.5k
my neighbour depression.
Luisa C Oct 2016
My new neighbour depression,
lives in a house rotting in the ground,
scarred wood torn away and roof tiles scattered,
with garden flowers withering away,
trees cracking at the slightest move of the wind.
Ever since he moved in a storm cloud
hangs low over the neighbourhood,
soaking my lawn and treading on my grass.
My neighbour depression
throws heavy stones to crack my windows,
leaves untidily scrawled messages of hatred in my letterbox,
leaving a trail of black paint up to his backgate.
My neighbour depression
takes advantage of my protection of thin walls,
and each day attempts to crash through them like a wrecking ball,
slowly dimming my lights and making shadows in my room
appear darker and bigger.
My neighbour depression
walks down the street like a black hole,
******* out all the sound around him.
And my neighbour depression
is starting to make me forget what my voice sounded like.
Oct 2016 · 470
Luisa C Oct 2016
i'm not sure how to not feel like i've forgotten how to breathe
when i think of how you're having fun without me,
and the lost time you could be spending with me
wasted on other people.
it's selfish jealousy that riddles me with a heavy chest,
teary eyes, and it's pathetic.
but i love you to the point it hurts,
to the conclusion that i don't want anyone else in your presence.
but for now i'll stare silently at my wall,
trying to pretend i don't know you,
and trying desperately not to flood myself with
mindless wanting.
i miss you.
and i'm trying not to hate you for my own selfish reasons.
Oct 2016 · 623
i once had a teacher
Luisa C Oct 2016
i once had a teacher say to the class "use this free time to space out"
and i couldn't help but laugh and wonder
the dangers of that activity once i ventured into the depths of my mind.
see, a good idea that was not for me.
i've spent enough countless moments and wasted time in my own head to memorise how skipping away into it went.
you do not skip, first off; a tightening rope bounds your legs and demands you to stumble into an endless pit.
rain plummets like bombs upon your unfeeling grey skin,
and a dark shadow's sharp nails dig into your chest
and leave a gaping hole, unwilling to be fulfilled.
your throat closes like the door behind you, so there's not escape,
no screams ready to echo off your prison cells walls,
no hands steady enough to reach out for an exit,
just the blind mistake of opening up a trapdoor,
like an alleyway where you live in fear of each corner you turn into,
and falling into the arms of laughing silhouettes of embodied tears,
whispering lies of how you'll be safe with them,
dimming the light and muting all sounds until
only your thoughts can keep you company,
burning static and fuzzy against your aching brain,
and handing you the long list of reasons
why a smile shouldn't be on your face.
so teacher, may i laugh again at the suggestion,
and shake my head in disagreement,
because believe me,
i do not want to live through that
Sep 2016 · 10.3k
Luisa C Sep 2016
i'm taking in your scent that still lingers against my hands
before i go to sleep,
to remind me one last time of the day i had with you,
and to pretend you're here whispering goodnight
with soft protective arms wrapped around me.
Sep 2016 · 3.8k
Luisa C Sep 2016
I’m just a more miserable version of myself
and my pen is my weapon that it uses,
Leaking out the gas I consume
and fogging the paper with words of death.
It carves out my pain to a permanent grave,
doing the bleeding for me,
slashing across the page; ink runs,
tears run, but I
can’t run.
Sep 2016 · 7.6k
Luisa C Sep 2016
I do not want to feel the pain of missing you.
I don't want to walk to the end of my street without a hand to hold, and I don't want to stare at sunsets alone.
I don't want to sit next to an empty swing at the parks we roamed, and I don't want to only bid you goodnight through meaningless letters.
I don't wish to seek the comfort you bring, and the dull ache that follows when you can't. I don't wish to be so dependent on your presence.
I do not want to love you in the way not spending time with you stakes me.
But I still love you in the way missing you means ultimate sadness.
Sep 2016 · 602
to be in love.
Luisa C Sep 2016
To be in love is to be sad,
when your side doesn't meet mine in bed,
when a message sent stays unread,
when not even a day with you fulfils
the ever filling cup of need I have for you.

To be in love is to be scared,
if this time is the last to hold your hand,
if you've had a change of heart,
if you're not sharing enough of what
I want to give to you.

To be in love is lonely,
thinking of all the time lost when it's not shared with you,
wanting to slip in the bodies of other people you talk to,
just so I can be close and never miss out on you.

But to be in love is to be comforted,
a reassuring shoulder for tears to splatter on,
a lantern in the dark, a hose to the fire;
to be in love is to smile, to free the mind and soul,
to entwine heartbeats even when days grow old.
To be in love is to be fearless.

To be in love with you
is worth it.
Sep 2016 · 792
from the back of my mind
Luisa C Sep 2016
i shall remain as a hidden piece of a puzzle,
puzzling myself to pieces on why storms
swirl daily around the absence of my brain.
and on this rainy friday afternoon it should be no different;
wondering how i came to be, perched away
in the back of the room to watch a flood of unfamiliar smiles.
when did i become so lonely and outcast?
the dread of not liking most of the people i'm around dawns
and my jagged edges of a puzzle piece emphasise.
i do not fit with these people. they are
too sure on their happiness.
Aug 2016 · 314
Luisa C Aug 2016
games too rough and concrete too hard,
a cry heard from across the park,
a healed wound covered by a playful sticking,
and a slip up cared for and forgotten.
i can carry on with a smile;
i had thicker skin when i was younger,
times when tears were only shed at accidents.

a once unrecognisable beat of ecstasy,
put on repeat when your face surfaced,
when your fingers met my surface,
but soon dug into them too deep and left scars.
now pieces lie around my feet and red drops
leave my aching hollow chest from where you took
a once alive merchandise of our love.

too much caring leaves me astray
in a dark city awaking at late hours,
craving something that can leave me numb
and forgetting parts of my thoughts exist.
trails of white disappear in a sniff,
a sigh of relief, and i know just for now
i am not doomed.

a bathroom door locked,
water running freely just as crimson joins it.
watching the beading of the last thing i feel
as skin stains, eyes drain,
nothing is worth it.
i am doomed but at least i
controlled it.
Aug 2016 · 4.0k
Luisa C Aug 2016
i wish i could forget my regrets as fast as i make them.
i wish i could end my sadness as fast as it stakes me.
i wish the sky above could change to black and put a stop to the thoughts as i succumb to sleep.
i wish i fell asleep as fast as i crave sleep in the morning, waking,
i wish.
and i can only do just that.
Aug 2016 · 237
Luisa C Aug 2016
do not waste your time.
fleeting is life through the slippery grasp of your fingers' attempt.
the past was not made to be repeated
or present.
do not trap yourself within it's reach.
there is never a warm up for the future;
hurry to catch up before you get
too cold.
Aug 2016 · 659
Luisa C Aug 2016
They use soft gentle tones,
as if the scream of already known truth
is feared to burst my eardrums
and shatter my seemingly delicate china glass
of a soul.
I am not as broken as they think I am.
My mind may be frayed in places but
never do the patches become too worn and the seams
unravel and burst against my will.
They can throw all their unintelligent thoughts at me
and mistaken my non-catching for clumsiness.
But I have myself by my side and that is all that is needed.
Pity is a misguide and a sentence of the weak,
and I know I am better.
They are wrong, and
I am strong.
Aug 2016 · 420
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 · 2.3k
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 · 340
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 · 353
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 · 299
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 · 714
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

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,
Jun 2016 · 351
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 · 1.4k
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.
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 · 456
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.
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.
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