So many thoughts to write,
without the voice to place.
So many thoughts with which are left unspoken,
cloud the heart left incased.
Perhaps these shackled thoughts
interlaced themselves around the tongue,
for no words can be spoken.
With the look from his eyes,
all the words border the bridge of her lips,
held shut so tightly,
and silence becomes once more.
To fathom the power of thoughts,
can be tested with the reign of time
raging behind them.
How long has it been?
The days escape she who is held
within the grasp of his eyes,
and to what is this compared?
A lock without a key, maybe...?
At one time,
it was time to run.
However, now,
with arms open in welcome,
the thoughts are here to stay.
For when his eyes look through once more,
the words,
"I love you"
will spill from her lips,
once too afraid to speak.

We are the capricious youth,
desiring farewell from monochrome stencils etched onto our once blank canvas destined for a mixture of hair dye, blood stains, and beauty like no other;
a band of misfits.
We are the abandoned bunch,
free from moral restraint and expectations of perfections as the reigns break from the hold of their eyes piercing in fury with a judgment heartless and rigid;
Fugitives from the box.
We are the bats in the belfry,
mad as hatters and rich with curiosity, the true descendents of Alice with our cheshire grins and cups shattered at the edges creating our own wonderland in lost treasures and spare parts;
welcome to Wonderland.
We're are the criminals of time,
Our minds yearning for adventures of mass destruction to ignite the fires in our eyes as our hearts lust for one night stands and temporary lovers until we find whom of which tames the beast of our innerworkings;
Our perfect mistake.
We are scientists of our generation,
experimenting with love in temptation of others and blissful passions not specified by gender, but by the content of their character, and they who love purely scream ******* to those who say otherwise;
Pride is not prejudice.
But most importantly,
We are who we want to be:
The girl with the colored hair and artistic skills unparallelled by others,
The boy with the piercings and mathematic expertise who incipient a revolution,
The timid girl with the voice like an angel's who soothes the souls of those damaged by fear,
The boy with an ear for accoustic melodies and a taste of eccentric chords with the potential of a thousand choruses,
Or the those who haven't the idea pictured yet,
We are exactly who we make ourselves to be and the creators of a portrait by our hands,
That is how our story begins.

She's drowning,
blissfully.
In silent harmonies,
she screams.
No words are spoken,
left unsaid.
No air is given,
left displaced.
He can't hear her,
he never tried.
He can't see her,
evanescent in the light.
A memory forgotten once more,
but without purpose,
she is nothing more.
She's died,
in consecutive pursuits of him.
Why is she always chasing him?
Why is it her heart pines for him?
The curiosities plague her,
as does he,
but such thoughts are useless,
when they partake on one sided doubts.
She's drowning,
kindly.
Beneath the eyes of emerald,
meaning is washed away in salt.
Those eyes,
those emerald eyes,
pain stricken with anguish,
they're broken.
Irises cracked with emptiness,
cloaked by oblivion,
and painted by stars.
Her eyes gleam with a tear of hope,
what if...
what if...
The night hovers just beyond the window,
enveloping the sky with sweet nothings,
and whispering sorrows.
Her heart beats,
softly.
thump thump.
thump thump.
And slowly,
so slowly,
She closes her eyes,
one
last
time.
She's  drowned.