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Mona Jan 2015
A beautifully ordered
sequence of words.
A combination of letters,
stringed together into thoughts,
translated into ideas and emotions,
thrown onto paper. A delicate, fragile,
yet unbreakable truth that enters
your mind, and runs
down to your bones.

Books are characters and themes
and mental experiences offered to you when
you are displeased with Earth.
When you would rather be in
a world secured, confined to
a selection of papers brought to you in one piece.
A beautifully binded collection of thoughts
carefully protected by a hard, colourful cover,
with a simple label: A 'title' and 'author',
so you know where you're going, and
exactly who is taking you there.

Flick through the pages,
embark on your journey.
Here: this front cover is your ticket.
Mona Jul 2015
my head can be filled with red clouds
with electric sparks in every corner of my skull
with words floating about my conscience
and sentences twisting around my brain
it causes ripples in my psyche
other times, my head is empty
my skull is incapable of breaking,
my brain unable to acknowledge pain
and my cloudy mind condenses into rain
that trickles down to my lungs
I feel numb and unemotional
I feel tired and unchallenged
until the clouds form again
and words wrap around my nerves

a few words are pulled together
as if by a magnetic, chemical force
and i wonder:
Is it better to feel everything
or nothing at all?
Mona Jan 2015
Your eyes,
blue as the sky,
soft as the clouds.
A palette of shades
layered like spiralled
concentric circles.
They overlap
like waves
softy crashing
within the glittery sea.

They draw me into
the warm, comforting water.
They're fun,
and busy
like summers
and colours
and timeless days
where the present
does not acknowledge
the past or the future.

Your eyes,
fun as the sea,
blue as the clear water,
make me feel comfortable,
safe and secure.
As I soak in their freedom,
I feel the rush
of the sea
spreading through
my body,
my heart,
my soul,
my feelings for you.
Your eyes are as
beautiful as the sea.

But your eyes,
deep as the ocean,
dark and dangerous
as its depth,
they pick me apart
and vandalise me.
They scare me,
hurt me,
confuse me,
and disgust me.
I hate being picked apart
by the whirlpools of your eyes.
Stop them from
spinning my emotions
round, and round
and round.
They throw me into
a wave of evil,
plunging me to
my shipwreck of a heart
and watching me
sink, all the way
to my deepest of fears.

Blink.
The ocean washes over me
and I float into a beautifully
blue sea.
The change of setting
confuses me, because
your eyes continue
to control me still.

I stare into
your eyes,
diving into
the countless shades
of blue, as I realise:

The ocean is much more powerful
than the sea.

— The End —