He smells of nothing
sometimes of trees, salt, rain, and everything pure
he is the colour grey under flesh, muscle and cloth
like rain; fresh, gentle yet violent
elusive but perhaps far more beautiful
The paths have fallen in love with your footsteps
there are cracks in the asphalt where flowers bloom
I swear they are trying to wrap themselves
around your ankles when you walk
I stopped counting
while the mountains stopped screaming
and Sohrab, you are beautiful and breathing
On mountaintops these echoes
are hollow and empty as they should be
exactly how I feel when I look at you
and how I feel when I don’t
It’s a battle of sorts
I need the reminder that there exists
the ability to feel so hard the cold will not win this war
but I know that in the end it will
I know that you are scared to breathe so deep
your ribs scrape the underside of your chest
tell me, who wants to be reminded of their ability to feel so hard?
It’s a tremor under your bones,
you’ve plunged your hand into your chest
to stop the heaving, the hurling, the surging
but everything is fading violently,
in a decadent whirl of stubborn silence,
and eyes that refuse to meet
Nothing, I am nothing
If I were to see you,
I don't think I could say a word
For I'd be much to captivated
And every phrase would be misheard
If I were to touch you,
I think I just may faint
For your skin is a canvas
That my fingers yearn to paint
If I were to kiss you,
My lips would catch on fire
For my body and my heart are scared
Of the love that may transpire
If I were to lose you,
I would simply fall apart
For you know the truest me
Darling, you've stolen my whole heart.
Quick free write
I wandered slowly
Through sidewalk cracks and broken pavements
Finding my own piece of Gethsemane
So that people would know I exist
I was a ghost
To eyes that didn't even care to look
A boring book
To minds that didn't even bother to read
A blank canvas
To those who didn't even try to understand
That I was somebody
All of them only saw me as an empty bottle
Not knowing I just want to be filled with silence
Because silence is a beautiful symphony
And I am the conductor
I am a human being capable of owning a soul and
Live through a thousand lifetimes
I was never the boring book
In fact, I am the author
Writing my own story on Life's pages
I am an artist
A dreamer who can create masterpieces even on
A blank canvas such as myself
But most of all, I am an introvert
A carapace even I consider a home
Because it makes me who I am and
Not because of what you say I am
Vegetables ~ loose LEAF
Candy ~ passion
Meat ~ words
Utensils ~ your hands
Every meal (poem) needs a healthy balance of these things (:
The nights are cold
and the days,
they are long.
Another sleepless night,
wondering what went wrong.
And my thoughts,
they whisper to each other
constantly, keeping me awake
as I lie in bed.
Over and over,
a cacophony of confusion
inside my weary head.
For the problem lies not
with words misused
or words misread,
but with the ones which
were more than often unheard,
and much too often unsaid.
The words are again unspoken; the feelings,
repressed, and unwoken.
I am left broken.
and caged behind the bars I've made
Down, I am laid.
And as the days becomes long, the nights grow colder
and every waking moment I grow
just a little bit older.
A familiar darkness comes,
A harrowing feeling thaws through me.
Tapping a touch upon my shoulder.
It wears a dark cloak and holds a scythe.
It offers, like many times before
to release me from this life.
But not just yet.
the noose hangs loose.
And my wrists covered.
And the sea waves silenced
and those thoughts smothered,
just for now.
It's that time again.
I've found heaven
by looking into her
Though I fear
she has found
hell in mine.