Mornings with you
Are sad mornings too
They’re the saddest hellos
And the bestest goodbyes
They’re the greyer mellows
And the forsaken sighs
All fill the air with hardened conversations;
With lines of monotonous emotions
And gasps of bored, strained laughter
So regret comes thereafter
This remorse is not for the hidden indifference
But for spewing lackluster exuberance
(fake, all is fake)
Such a waste
It goes on and on with distaste
Neither one willing to shed the mask
Making this a pretender’s task
This masquerade will carry on
Spiraling us into decadence
The chance of us seems forlorn
I might never ever get to say “Good riddance!”

The blood of the youths run
Luminous  through the night
Pulses with passion
Races with heartache
And desperate to fill the lonesome
Desire flows in the night air
And the moon,
The moon it stays white and pure
And it watches all of these things
The youths think they have to endure
Mindless fun for some
Sore pulled strings for some
So close yet so far?
Is this who we are?

Beyond the late night adrenaline
Are streams of pretending
The darkness enwraps us all
In a blanket of delusion

The devil’s acts scratched into your skin;
Scald yourself with your own sins.
**** his soul out through his chest;
Ink it out- **** his quest.
Her mind in torture, her lack of amour
Fills her with fear- a ruptured shiver
Here he clutches a deadly dagger
Stabs the prey with morbid hunger
Stalks the hundred blackened souls
Digs a hundred hardened holes
His huge wings sign menace
Kills their passion, screams, “There is no grace.”
In his head, he feels misled.
The way he sees the girl
“I’ve always wanted to tell you,” he shrieks
“You used to be so beautiful!”
The sockets in his face leaks
The conjured up image in his head is dreadful
He lets out a final bloodcurdling cry
A signal of his goodbye
Before he stomps across the sunken boat
Tilts her head and slits her throat.

She sits,
still and cold in her glass jar
hunched and molded against its rigid
shape.
She wants them far, out
while they try to break in.
Sealed herself in this vessel
shut tight
air stale
untouched.
There is a coldness that touches her skin,
a fragment of her heart, a silver sliver
she uses
to scratch the words of solace
on the surface
for herself
and everyone like her.
But they come and go
they leave her,
isolated in this empty shell
that even her own presence
seems to
cease to
exist.

You are this untouchable tower
of which I twirl my fine, unsaid words around you.
Coiled around your every curve
Fitting in all your lines,
(whispers so faint you don't know I am speaking)
Intertwined into clouds of invisible words

For you, I fell so hard
Uncountable crossing lines
In all the silver instances
Pretending you were mine.