like the bubbles of a bath
coalescing together
the sky is one great sea
i’m sinking clean in
rivulets of cosmetic colour
where the glitter are stars
i’m sinking in this night
as clouds clot to one another
cheetah print hover
i’m sinking in my footprints
headlights break the silence
playlist play a song to break
my vision sinking
senses swimming in
play me some 80s synth pop
until i fade into abstract image
am i a stain on the universe
or am i some profound detail?
play me like an unrendered
record player, nonexistence
parallel to my existence
the vibrations tuning into
my sinking frequency
i’m falling up into the horizon
what impression does my
splash make in the ocean
of this sky?

i’m in the same place where i wrote a poem about yew
where eye compared the dawning sky
to your aura of light
but i forgot yew can fall just as much
for potential instead of for who
yew are.
eye saw what i wanted to see.
yew bristles around me
sap drizzling thru my wounds
words of red berry yew dripped
onto me like a cloying poison.
i choked sweet in Faerie
hungering for more which i cannot
taste. hollow bark hollow branches
reaching for my spirit(s) as eye
cross onto another plane of existence
where yew cannot follow.
eye am hardly free in this place
childhood memories under the
yew tree making virulent memories
laurels & wreaths wrap around me
eye am guided? eye am saved?
by yew? following yew across
Hell’s rivers. the Styx looked back at me
in the eyes of myself. Acheron stung
like the needle of yew thistles.
The Lethe offered me cleanliness
but as eye cannot forgive
i do not deserve to forget.
Phlegethon scorned me like yew jealousy,
the Cocytus bade me deafness
thru my own wails & eye ran
these yew trial me, seeing if eye
cling like a cicada to your bark
screaming and shedding skin in graphic
rebirth of the self against yew.
eye run from the truth but i have yew
to thank. guide me threw
steer my path correction course.

the axe finally lands. yew fall.
eye use yew bark to burn away
what remains of you
&
eye.

i went to the place where
we first met,
and there i saw
the corpse of who you were.
i stood over you
i let the flies hit my face
i watched the vultures circle
waiting, waiting
until i finally left &
they could pick at your bones.
i stood there
as the clovers ate you
as my hands were left with blood.
i saw your corpse on that hill
where you said my age didn’t matter
i could still send you nudes
at seventeen & in love
with who i thought you were.
the you i thought you were
died on that hill
as it should have
when i asked you to stop drinking too much
and you didn’t
when i asked you to stop smoking so much
and you didn’t
when i asked you to never leave
and you did.
you died on that hill.
and i stood over your corpse
with my own blood on my hands
after killing myself for you.
i watched decay eat you on that hill
and i stepped back into myself
and i walked away.

i didn’t bother to bury you.
the vultures ate what was left.

I REMEMBER THE FIRST TIME YOU TOLD ME YOU LOVED ME
AND I PRETENDED NOT TO CARE BECAUSE I WAS TERRIFIED
I REMEMBER THE LAST TIME I TOLD YOU I LOVED YOU
AND YOU DID NOT ******* CARE.

may i be the tower in tearing down
your structure.
in the same breath i am the chariot,
carrying you forward in light
past the destruction.
a living example that all of us have
to fall in order to pick ourselves
back up again, & carry on.
to rebuild back stronger you must
leave behind the ruin
to rise anew.
rubble ghosts blind the eyes
from the heart & jam into the wheels.
tear down rotten structure & leave
behind the thoughts of the mind
to refuse change & recovery.
i am a human with incredible buoyancy;
nobody else tears me down from
this tower better than myself,
just as nobody else can pick me back
up & make me get back to work
all over again, repeat the process
until you learn.
repetition cursing karmic cycles
break the chains of rigidity
embrace the cycle of chainge, cyclical.
the sun turns the planets which in turn
turn each other. as the earth
turns the moon, & the black hole at
the center, turns all of us.
remember to myself, this is part of the
process. lows are just as necessary
for learning as are the highs.

when you water it.
where you water me.
don’t overwater, please.
i’m already rotting.

my body is
always moving the water
with the power of a heartbeat
inconsequential waves
infinitesimal ripples
we are so small
but so powerful
and i don’t know how that is.

you smelled like
cheap leather,
and cigarettes.

no wonder i had
headaches.

i’ve begun to learn i change like the seasons.

in spring, i come awake in the thaw. water trickles from my skin, i can dance & laugh again. i am leaping, blooming like a flower after buried so long beneath the snow.

i breathe. i am free.

in summer heat i am feral and alive. shining under bright sun i burn & my skin peels away in rivulets to reveal who i am meant to be. the sunflowers still turn to the sun, but their eyes are always watching me.

i create. i am peace.

in autumn i am cloaked in nostalgia laced melancholy. my leaves are shedding one by one in bright burst colour to blanket the Earth. fire laced borealis preparing for the freeze.

i release. i am bare.

in winter, the cold comes, and i break. my skin cracks open like sorrow & i bleed. covered over with snow, concealed, hidden, lost in subzero. isolated behind ice my eyes turn blind. i know myself no longer.

i cannot hibernate with no home.
i am hollow.

the groundhog sees his shadow. the sun shines on me no more. i am dim, faded, hidden behind glassy eyes.

i will warm again.
but when?
when?
when?

breath turns to frost in my lungs, to flower petals, sand, leaves. i choke & ***** all that i had been, have become.

i begin from where i began, again.
i am changed.

i’m trying to write, right
write right what has been wrong
i lost myself in breakdown
retrograde spinning backwards dizzily
can’t remember who i am, who i was
or who i’m meant to be.
i need a hand to hold, as you held mine
and tried to remind me,
i’m here, i’m complete.
but words ring empty when
i still feel so hollow, i scooped myself out.
am i dissociating? a persistent occurrence
for weeks four weeks.
i take the medication and feel separate
from myself but when i don’t i am myself.
i hate myself.
i wish there were a medicine that could
make me love myself.

i want to clean out my closet
all the clothes that don’t fit,
never have never will.
all the skins of myself i hang up,
too tight, too loose, too wrong never right.
i’m tired.
i know i’d miss myself,
a self i never was and i’m sorry
i gave you the impression i was different,
and worth understanding,
when i don’t understand myself
hardly at all any of the time.
i just want to know why
where i went and will i come back,
like dad who left for milk and cigarettes.
i want to move away,
forget everything and start again
where nobody knows my name, who i am.
i’m so sad.
i’m sorry i’m not myself,
i wish i could be, for you,
for me, too.
i’m tired of searching.
this constant skin shifting itching
like a rash i scrape at myself
only to make it worse
and i just have to learn
to let sleeping dogs lie,
and let the caged bird fly.
i want to come home. i want to belong
within myself,
but i’ve never felt so out of place.
i think it’s time to take my medication.
i’ll see you someday, wherever i went.

the moon looks like cheshire’s smile tonight
i think i’ll go by myself next time
just to unwind myself, alright
i’m tightly bound like a thousand page
my spine creaks every time you turn me.

my favourite time of day is when the sun speaks
i can’t think thru moon whisperings
cards of illusion murmur to me
what they mean
i am the false reality.

every moment i spend with you is like
ten tabs i can’t take back
i’m trying to make sense of what is
right before me but i can’t see
anything, i can’t feel anything.
the streetlights of highway streak my vision
i have a billboard headache and
this isn’t a street race we’re not fighting for relevancy.

An unstable corona
glazed with astonishment
paralysed.
intricate flows of power
unraveling
racing at the speed
of light
blaring
silently into the aether.
a continuous,
incomprehensible,
stream of awareness.

broadcast
hidden messages from
the corners of the
mind
defying
time as relative.
quantify this
immaterial bliss
enveloped in consciousness.

dreams are one with
form, froth on
effervescent liquor of
image and desire
and cognition and emotion.

no sustenance.
blood let, bleed out,
husk of brood being
the Weaver of
all that is not.

a universe
in tanglement,
trapped asphyxiation
hanging
from nothing,
a big bang beginning
at the end.

what is left?

i think i miss you too much
as if i forget this love is fleeting
as all are with me.
and it doesn’t matter how much you promise,
because i know what will happen
as it always has.

i struggle with the fine line
between yours and mine.
and i will never stop apologising,
i’m sorry.

i’m trying to mend many things at once:
myself, my relationships, my environment.
my hands will shake. & i will run out
of breath. i will need to disappear for
a while to collect myself. so i can carry on
again. i will take my time to respond.
thinking about what i say with as much
scrutiny as i can muster, is a taxing task.
i am trying. i am trying with all my might,
with these broken hands, with this broken
body covered in scars no one can see.
with this broken heart bleeding,
to make right what is wrong within myself.
i will plaster these cracks behind this
mask, with your words. forever reminded
of how i can do better. and i will
keep going, with these broken bones.
these chains, i will carry whoever i can,
whoever i can save, the way i couldn’t
save myself. and i will mend whoever
i can, the way i couldn’t mend myself.
with these broken hands. with this
broken heart. with this broken body
with this broken mind. behind these
broken eyes. i have lost too many pieces
to piece myself back together. but i will
try. & i will try to put everyone i can
back together, with the pieces of myself
that are left.
& i will try, to mend what is broken.
even if i can’t be mended.

the sun sets at
four pm today &
here i am again.
reading poetry with
a stolen cup of
wine from my
mom’s cooler in the fridge.
as my cat sits next to me
coaxing me back from
a depressive ledge
for half an hour
as i read & watch
people richer than me
go shopping on the
television.

you kept me company for
a day & a half
and yet
it’s less than 24 hours
later and i want to jump
again.
i can’t tell you my last
words because then
you’ll try to stop me &
i can’t live with that.
i haven’t been able to.
and if i don’t call in-
don’t call back about
that job application
i always let
everybody down.

i wish i had the sleeping pills now
because this liquid courage might
let
me
drown

i’m falling out of place again &
i’m sorry we haven’t spoken in weeks
i really liked that boy i did
& i thought i could have a friend again.
i don’t know.

i’ve been working all week but when
is that an excuse when you’re eighteen?
sometimes i feel i should be twenty-three
barely making ends meat
i want to go to parties i shouldn’t
be at and drink until my heart’s content
and my liver protests
i want to dance all night long under
flickering black light pitch night
(take a photograph through
****** filter lens)
in clothes i’ve never worn before
where i can feel your hands through my
shirt without taking any of it off
show off
i like the smoke around me but never
inside & i think i’ve done enough tonight.
i’m tired.
please come inside.

sometimes i can’t remember what i was doing
and i forgot about the bruise on my neck
you lick slicked polished
and i don’t think anybody here cares
i’m a gas station worker behind the counter
begging for ID’s as cigarettes sit between two still sharp teeth and—
i hope yours never break like theirs.
never rot or fall apart like your mind is already starting
to and the only people who care about the mark you left on me are the
men who want to make their own
as if seeing a consenting form of affection deserves hostility
toward me. but they forget, too, it was your lips
versus my neck
and i once compared you to a vampire but i guess
now it’s true
but i couldn’t resist you
then
and i can’t resist you
now.

let them growl & grovel at my feet.
you grew fangs to bite me and i will
grow talons to claw their eyes out.
we’re all leaving here with marks tonight.

mind boggling the difference between
conceived and reality.
how young i must’ve been
to convince myself to have a mind-altering illness
just to fit an image
just to fit in.

the dark thoughts were only conjuration
and i wasn’t depressed at all
though now i learn that the people
around you can shape who you are
and who you will become.

i aged &
didn’t know hate until
i woke up and met myself.
i slept through the days &
walked along highways.

when i was young it was easy to fake
and make a spectacle of the brain
when people thought they cared because
it was easy. i could still
laugh, and eat, and sleep normally

instead of in class isolated
depressed with a dying mind i
couldn’t comprehend why
it was easy the first time because
it was so much less complicated.

and people only like you when
you’re fabricated but as soon as
you become real the monster becomes
real it’s a conscious decision to let go
when you need all the help in the world

to not let go i was hanging on by
a thread when before it was a rope
ladder but it doesn’t matter when
you decide to make it all a noose &
hope they see you swinging

like it was always a sick spectacle.
people love depression when it’s fake
but the first night you try suicide
always ready to label as ‘bait’
and maybe i’m still not okay

but i’m over it. i understand the difference
between conceived and reality
the only lesson i learned was to hide
just to unlearn again that i can’t
listen. i thought i knew what depression was
at thirteen enough to act like it
and it mattered then more than
my actual depression.

i wonder if people catalogue you
like time in their mind.
if there’s an allotted space for you
hidden between the hands of the clock,
passing by hours without thought
are you sectioned off somewhere
a time of night people don’t go near
the streetlight hits you and i see
you touch you to call you real
the space where you were becomes
smoke through my fingers.
i wonder what time of space you
exist in and
can i come in?

i can’t write
****** poetry
though the lapsing
hours spent
are ***
and you said
it can’t hang
from your rear
view
and that’s how
you knew
that car wasn’t
a cop.
they don’t have
an aesthetic like
you
forgo the
hula girl
there are better
palm trees
than me
with brighter colour
and better design
but you hang me
from your rear
view mirror

I’d like to wait a moment
I think I’m in deep.
my eyes. ever so gentle.
my lips, light as a butterfly,
lovely I sighed.

rumbling inside
starting to pull away.
wrap around me.
all that my heart felt.

pull back,
I had done something wrong.
I had done something weird.
wearing like a cape,
watching me run

memorial magic disappears
& I am left grasping
at nothing, again.

Love cannot live here.
pulse fluttering reminder of mortality.
years are nothing, will die, will abide,
becoming less as time passes.

your ghost, a flash
I, this hideous thing.
That touch, crush what thrums in my veins.
easier to speak of than this feeling in my chest,
my heart, carved out of me
I, a fool.

looks like broken
Make it easier. Don’t be pathetic.
Not yet.
desire more desperately, revelling in the warmth
the curve beneath my hand.

I breathe Against my will
I sway, a Ghost seeing nothing
feeling nothing, bleeding, a shadow.
Turn around, my past whispers.
I don’t. I hear no goodbyes.

spelled out in the stars
heavy as a rain-filled sky
raw, frantic, born of desperation
confusion, something stirs.

It is a dream. I am dreaming
I must be. I have wanted for months
I have heard your voice in my head
you are dead.

so much red, and none of it light.
the way it stole beneath fingers,
life spilling across the floor until
that horrible cusp, the instant when it ended.
stopped being a person and became a body.
No transition, no ease, gone and there, there and gone, gone.
bloodstained fingers searching out skin.
They whispered their sins,
listen, look at me, I’m here.
Corpse, a simple word that did so little,
failed to describe what was now a shell.
the same colour as a soul, but empty,
useless the moment it left veins.
Violence begets violence, monsters breed monsters,
rising up beside the red. shadows twitch,
looking down at itself right before death.

Laid down, the only answer that can be given.
Clearer light, separate and distinct, from the same fountain.
Ambition, to counteract ambition.
Human nature, to reflect on human nature.
Angels were to control itself.

Divide and fortify. Natural defense, safety. Absolute negative connection between this weaker and the weaker.
All the power surrendered.
Evil will render This, turned against, broken into.
Justice is the end, pursued until it be obtained, or lost in the pursuit.
Unite and oppress, anarchy to rein as a state of nature,
not secured against the violence.

Lightning never strikes the same place twice,
but the phantom pain remains as the Earth
grows into new skin, again and again.
As I attempt to accept this heart & soul
on my own, willow wisp wishes to keep me
company. My clothes cling to my limbs, I am
soaked to the bone in my own ocean.
Barely grown oak trees caress my aching
body, to bring me back home. The scent
of petrichor floods my senses, and I know.
I am clean again.

this will never go away,
i know with certainty.

when i see the way
your hair begins to curl
as it’s growing out.
the way you look,
i remember your smell.
the feeling of you in
my heart.
beside me.

my heart will always
beat for you.
my soul will always
shine for you.
i will always
feel for you.

these palpitations will
never leave me alone.
no matter how much i
want them to.

[PRESS PLAY]

there is no light in this
place where i reside.
my eyes go black and
there
         is
    only
            condemnation.

can you imagine being devoid?
a soul like nothingness.

what allows you to imagine?
what allows you to wonder?

[PRESS REWIND]

once i had felt the light.
once i was the light.
now i am lost, eyeless.
if only i could unsee.
if only i could unspeak.

what to do when such
secrets blind you, silence you.

[FORWARD TO THE FALL]

i thought i was sunlight.
i thought i was kind.
now i understand
         i understand.

nothing can be undone.
it can only be remade.

you want to believe they will grow to miss you. you know you are wrong when you say they will realize what they let go. they never made a mistake; you didn’t either. it was a flame meant to suffocate. while you got hit with the explosion, they had lit the fuse. they were walking away and left you to pick up the mess that was made. what pieces of belief you had were shattered; you worked so hard to put them together. soon, your skin will harden to protect those parts of you that are so naive. bombs will fall around you, and you will get knocked off your feet. but the more they happen, the stronger you will grow, and the easier it will be to pick yourself up off the floor. this is what life is. this is the danger of love. this is the danger of hope. this is the danger of trusting anyone besides yourself. you can’t even do that anymore, though.
you will grow.

They have slain the life
who lit my eyes alight.

They have slain the sky,
in all colourful starlight.

They have slain my flame,
leaving dead coals unbright.

And they have slain
all my feeling.
My moon, my sun,
all is dead and gone.

And they have slain
the mercy inside me.
I will break the stars
to bring back what was
ours.

Now I have slain,
and as you wait for me,
in the skies beyond the sea,
know you were my mercy.

archeologists brush dust away from bones,
like memories from empty homes.
here i sit among rubble and ruin,
amidst broken picture frames strewn.

this is the scene i remember the most.
my words are written, jagged,
in a notebook forgotten, ragged am i
as my eyes shine like broken glass.

my bones turn to rust, to dust.
i brush away my remains from this grave
of a home i no longer remember.
among portraits i am no longer a part of.

november comes around with its bells,
bellows loud that i am not welcome here.
it brings fallen petals of blood red rust.
i am stained with agony and painful lust.

for a time that does not forgive,
and as the cold sweeps in i know,
november is the time of sin, for me.
i was born in a time that does not forgive.

the picture frames will not let me back in.

i / am / absent / here

what a lovely thing it is
to know
you gave your heart
but not
your soul

yet you still lost it all
because you forgot
that when you signed
your heart away
your soul was
the fine
print.

this is what you get
when you try
to share
your life
with another.

We gather here tonight
To bask in Fate’s delight.
A tale to tell our path,
A tale of Fate’s dear wrath.

Who is fate up there,
With her shining silver hair?
Arranging constellational myths,
From her fingertips.

What can we believe of Fate?
Basking immortal in the sky,
To her we wonder why--
The stars are wrinkles in time.

What drives the stars to shine,
And what can we ask of them,
In lines and curves and light?
Can they guide us through our life?

Can Fate tell us all of this?
After all, she is made of myths.
She burned the flying Icarus,
And cursed dear Prometheus.

Who are we without our fate?
Do we know our own way?
What are we without dreams?
What are we without prophecies?

“Where is Fate?” we ask.
“Can we coax her out?”
Instead she whispers down,
Fate is found inside ourselves.

statue angels and stone cold kings.
mine their hearts and steal their rings.
turn them into crowns for nobles unbound,
sitting with Arthur at a table so round.

ancient martyrs and modern heroes.
tales of rebellion and battles they go.
fighting horned demons and winged serpents,
with blood on their hands they feel the repentance.

they drink their *** and consume the alcohol,
waiting and watching for the hammer to fall.
yet no news came of the hellish flame,
that was said to burn them all.

my love, he enjoys the springtime.
the butterflies / they follow him
like dogs on a leash, cover him

they make him a crown from their
beating wings, like hearts upon
his head. he begs for deliverance.

only the butterflies hear his
whispering words to gods / he
hopes will hear / but he forgets

yet again / that he is a god himself
made of everything / they have ever
known. he is substance and lack of it.

i envy him with his hands of grace
his tongue / of lace instead of knives.
he asks for liberation but he liberates

my soul into worlds / unknown
filled with golden feathers and halos.
my blood runs thick / his runs thicker

with soft hair that / turns golden in
the sun, he shines as bright
as anything / i’ve ever known

brighter than the halos of the angels
filled with colors that could best
the boldest / painters, he is a painting

in motion / this i know
he is art come alive and dancing
through the clouds and heavens

to reside in the sun, where holiness
runs free like children in the street
and i hope he is never forgotten

like how he has forgotten all
that he was and should be, like
he has forgotten / someone like me.

what are we without our dreams?
our imagination, inspiration, aspirations.
what happens to a dream forgotten?
when our thoughts are like dough,
and dreams are no more.

what drives the stars to shine?
what drives the gods to thrive?
what drives a human to be kind?
what would be of us if Prometheus
didn’t sacrifice his freedom for our knowledge?

dreams in us strive, thrive, make us kind.
we are humankind with the stars on our side.
we shine with the hearts of dreamers,
and with fire in our hands,
and the dreams in our heads,
we will make our own constellation.

they see him running on sunbeams in the early morning. stars are tied to his toes and they rattle behind him like chains, but he has never felt so liberated. there was a time when atoms were exploding in his lungs and he could not breathe, colors would fly behind his eyes and he could not see. his skin was numb from too many suns burning beneath the surface. he used to curse the morning; now he holds it in his hands and sprinkles it down upon us.

he still sees himself as human, is that a surprise? though he is stardust and the remains of energy, he is flesh and blood first. he came from the womb, not from the sky. he knew his hands before he knew his wings; he knew his words before he knew his magic. he dances with the snow on winter nights only to melt it away in the day. he drinks golden wine, it’s gods ichor he sips. he twirls his curls around his fingers and whistles tunes only the bluebirds understand. he runs barefoot through forests and though his feet may bleed, he brings the sunlight with him and that’s all he needs. he trips on skies and sips waterfalls, throws his wishes into wells. he can make miracles happen. what being in the world would want to make such magic angry?

a thousand suns have tried before, to hold him in their burning grasp. there is no force known to us that can contain him where they lack.

I have always known how to breathe, but around you I am breathless.
I have always known how to feel, but with you I can’t place it.
At times I feel safe with you, I want to hold you close and never let go.
Then other times I want to hurt you or myself or anything else to keep from screaming.
The sun and the moon were always set to collide, but I have never felt more at home in your shadow.
You call me magic but you are wrong.
I am no god or angel or otherworldly being, I am human, it is all I have ever known.
Gods and angels would know how to feel or they wouldn’t feel at all.
I may have power running through my veins but against you I am powerless.
Blood may flood my chest, but if you are the cause then I will call it nothing less than ecstasy.
I was always the boy with enough air in my lungs, but with you I am utterly breathless.

Galaxies and wonderment;
Suns brighter than suns;
A collection of constellations
Woven between my fingers.

I cry sunsets and
Hold sunrises on my shoulders;
Like Sisyphus rolls boulders.
This is my eternity.

I see demons in blue light;
Dancing around the firelight.
I see angels with charred wings;
Heads adorned with golden rings.

I have galaxies inside of me;
Worlds they will never know;
With grass that caresses the feet,
And air that smells sweet.

Then there are the withered parts
Of me that I hope they will never see;
With monsters that prowl the dark,
Creations that I pray I will never be.

Stars twinkle above my head.
I look at them and know their dread,
For I am in the space of limbo;
A realm where the winds always blow.

I can feel claws on my skin,
Tearing to rip my head open.
Inside is found stories untold;
Languages only the angels know.

Here I walk among the trees;
Here I walk among fantasies;
Worlds of my own creation.
Here you know my imagination.

who would have thought it ends this way?
The stars, how they had warned us.
Now I don't know how to make you stay.

I can feel your life slipping through.
My hands shake, you are cold,
and I never guessed, I never knew.
My heart breaks as I let go.

We never knew where this led,
and now your blood is on my hands.
As the lamb makes his final stand,
I wish this wasn’t how it ends.

And now the sands tell your time.
As the wolf shouts to the moon,
the stars above you, they align.

i think i see you in my nightmares. my therapist says i am insane. i say it is the heartache.

for once i wish to forget what it feels like to be forgotten, even if it means forgetting you. i wish i hated you while you loved me, so then i will know how it feels to be forgotten by me like i have been forgotten by you.

i scatter myself into piece like broken mirrors at my feet because it is better to be broken than to let them see me bleed. i tape myself back together and hope that they will never know what i have done.

i want to rip out my ******* hair because you are the reason i can’t breathe but you are also my air.

i hope you drown, sink to the ocean floor and let the fish swim among your bones.

it doesn’t matter if you stay or go. i promise this, i will still see you in my nightmares.

people write poems
about subjects
such as him.

with painted nails,
glittering eyes,
polished skin,

he is like poetry
about women
with lipstick
the color
of sin.

and as he drinks
his wine, they
will sit and write
poems about
subjects such
as him.

if he is such an angel
then why do i see him
in my nightmares?

i know he rules over
sweet dreams and
fantasies, but he is
not in my dreams.
only in my memories.

so the moon rises
another night,
and i say to him,
hello there,
the angel from
my nightmares.

I hope you can't hear my breathing,
Because the lies I've told are unsheathing.

And I walked through Hell and back for you,
But I suppose you wouldn't know that...
...Would you?

my cards don’t line up.
i know yours don’t, either.
if love’s a game, i call bluff.
you lay your cards
and think you’ve won.
we’ve just begun.
if love’s a hit and run,
you can play that perfectly.
if love’s a game,
then i will never lose.

bright yellow suns
make up his soul.
a sense of wonder
that could never fade.

a small yellow flower
with petals so fragile,
but the seed remains.
he will grow again.

a sense of wonder
he does contain
that speaks to him.
question everything.

a sense of hope
he does contain
that speaks to him.
the sun will rise again.

the moon stood in the sky
with tools upon his back.
so he’d work through day
and through the night.

he forged the weapons of
warriors throughout his land,
and for one it was quite special
to hold a blade made from his hand.

the sun gleamed in the day,
but the moon was far away.
a star catcher he did make
to pull the sun into his wake.

eclipses aren’t made to last.
but their energy stays
a never forgotten past.
the moon enjoyed the sun’s rays.

so should he stand in shadows,
he was content with his fate.
at least the sun lived day to day.

the moon hid his pain, day to day,
for he hurt in way that mortals
could not know, could not speak.
his sorrow made gods fall to their knees

and so the moon toiled, day to day,
while the sun lived away
but he could not weep.
the sun was never his to keep.