Grab my hand* he says
I know what you're going through
The cycles of firey independance
That you can make it, on your own
The wrenching despair
The flashing moment where you don't want to be here anymore
And it all seems so pointless
I know it
We don't have to be here anymore
Take my hand he says
I take his hand
And when the ensuing darkness falls around me
Like choatic endless falling stars
I do not run, I am relieved
My heartbeat is the last thing I hear before he leads me
Into the wild, overgrown garden of sleep.

sleepless midnight
crisp evening air
turquoise darkness
figures, waiting
painted the dawn
swirling blue
dreams, pooling
caramel lullaby
vacant home
no longer alone

you are the burning house
that I want to live in

she was an artist.
there was no other glow to compare to the beauty she saw, it reflected onto her skin and into her pale sunken eyes. the night is a dull and wonderless place. she watched other artists in confusion, wondering why they painted with ashes and blood onto an empty canvas. she painted with white onto black and into stars made of glass that sprang from darkness.
but she was no artist.
the lines spilling from her hands to her feet made a trace back to her heart and tangled her hair with frustration and breathless lungs. there was no longer room for a paintbrush. there was no longer room for air. the canvas was born empty. the stars were born without light. now evening towers above her, aching goodnight.

there's a rhythm behind
these sunken eyes
thundering  storms without a voice

where red ribbons are tied
nooses swing from the sky
gasps are lost in the dead of white noise

notice cracks in your skull
thoughts are foggy and dull
clouds will echo a slumbering plea

and until you've woken up
with your mouth sewn shut
you won't know what it's like to be me

my brother, my home
we were born from the same sunken star
a pair of old weary souls

still far apart, falling apart
I miss your nearness to me
but we are a bit closer among the universe

if you ever feel like
your world is uninhabitable
you can join mine

because I cannot remember if you're
a dream or a memory
I swear we've touched before

although I had always been wishing
you weren't a fragment of
my own imagination