Jan 2014
Lately, I've been leaving my heart open; screaming in terror through your silent devotions.
Bury all your skeletons in my heart-shaped casket, for it is as vacuous as the very arteries which carry but only drops of sanguine fluid through these vacant chest cavities.
I profess that even through the thickest of scars, over my third degree burns, I still feel the searing hurt. But, please know that love, you won't ever see me at my worst.
As free as the wind shaken petals in the dusky streets, once suspended in animation, their cotton candy-raspberry tinge, drifting languidly in the balmy breeze. Grounded by the Siberian cyclone that reared its ugly, malevolent head; slithering in a phantasmagorical fashion over the cobblestone laden streets and finds its way in between all the cracks that I have seemed to patch inadequately.
Impermanence is supposedly inevitable, or so I've been taught to believe. But the wicked wind slips through my box-spring, and drags me callously out of the few hours I find sleep. And the only demonstration of this inevitability of impermanence, speaks through the empty spaces in my sheets. Wrapped in this cocoon of desolation, no exchange of love for body heat.
For I have no reason to believe that you'd ever really even want anyone anything like me. Let alone give your pulse the permission to accelerate enough to ever love me.
Maybe it's just psychosis, maybe I'm too high
But are you the angel telling me lies?
When I actually come home at night. I sit and I read and I cry and I cry.
I drown in my tears only hoping to finally find,
your glowing, everlasting light of a smile.
For some God must've had some wicked sense of humor for trapping my ancient soul on this earth for so long.
Destitution, whittling away at my core
has left me all but strong.
An oddity of the industrial world, I long only for a pure light to follow; so many sweet sincerity's
have left me nothing but hollow.
You are my Mr. Sun, shed your UV beams upon my dampened face. Look into my eyes,
bring your lips into my space.
Butterfly kiss my sunken gaze, bring light to my soul
and dry the rain
Replace the fire on top of the heavy ashes Jack Frost snuffed from the flames yesterday,
before the starlight in my eyes
combusts, and fades away.
Bury all your skeletons in my heart-shaped casket, for it is as vacuous as the very arteries which carry but only drops of sanguine fluid through these vacant chest cavities.
I profess that even through the thickest of scars, over my third degree burns, I still feel the searing hurt. But, please know that love, you won't ever see me at my worst.
As free as the wind shaken petals in the dusky streets, once suspended in animation, their cotton candy-raspberry tinge, drifting languidly in the balmy breeze. Grounded by the Siberian cyclone that reared its ugly, malevolent head; slithering in a phantasmagorical fashion over the cobblestone laden streets and finds its way in between all the cracks that I have seemed to patch inadequately.
Impermanence is supposedly inevitable, or so I've been taught to believe. But the wicked wind slips through my box-spring, and drags me callously out of the few hours I find sleep. And the only demonstration of this inevitability of impermanence, speaks through the empty spaces in my sheets. Wrapped in this cocoon of desolation, no exchange of love for body heat.
For I have no reason to believe that you'd ever really even want anyone anything like me. Let alone give your pulse the permission to accelerate enough to ever love me.
Maybe it's just psychosis, maybe I'm too high
But are you the angel telling me lies?
When I actually come home at night. I sit and I read and I cry and I cry.
I drown in my tears only hoping to finally find,
your glowing, everlasting light of a smile.
For some God must've had some wicked sense of humor for trapping my ancient soul on this earth for so long.
Destitution, whittling away at my core
has left me all but strong.
An oddity of the industrial world, I long only for a pure light to follow; so many sweet sincerity's
have left me nothing but hollow.
You are my Mr. Sun, shed your UV beams upon my dampened face. Look into my eyes,
bring your lips into my space.
Butterfly kiss my sunken gaze, bring light to my soul
and dry the rain
Replace the fire on top of the heavy ashes Jack Frost snuffed from the flames yesterday,
before the starlight in my eyes
combusts, and fades away.
