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May 2014 · 469
Untitled
moriarty May 2014
I've been staring at this page
and switching through
my blog & music tabs
trying to find the words
to say this thing
but nothing comes to mind
because no words are strong enough
there are no expressions, no metaphors
to say these things
and how much i miss you
but want to hit you repeatedly as well

what is left after a tornado?
only **** turned upside down
and i'm not afraid to say that
you were always the tornado
and i was always trying to
rebuild myself after you came
and teared me down
sank me to the ground

and for years i've blamed myself
for all the times i cried were
for nothing
because you were absent
you didn't hear me out
and i was left there to bleed
between tears and trashed papers
on my room's cold ground
through winter and summer
because you were ******* gone
you ******

if metaphors could paint me
slamming the door shut and
sliding my back down the wall
dramatically, all dramatic, as if
i was in a movie
that'd be it
me curling into fetal position
and wishing to disappear
me screaming and hitting the wall
with ****** knuckles
because you're still gone and
not coming back.

there's no poetic way to say
that i feel like ****, that i want to
hug you and maybe die a little
drown in alcohol until i'm throwing
up again, like the other night,
and try to forget you and all my pain
that's nothing more than that:
pain.
note: don't mind me.
May 2014 · 711
15/4/2014
moriarty May 2014
I'm still wondering
if you see the moon
the way I do

because I can't
look at her
the same way
since you're gone

I can't see the face
without thinking
how many times
i looked up and only
saw you

countless times
i thought about us
watching the starry nightsky
together, in silence
and holding hands

or whatever.
it'd be enough.

and now it's empty
with a bright moon
that looks down at me

and calls your name
how can i tell her
you're not coming
anymore

how can i let her down
on such a way
so pure and pristine
and you're not coming
anymore
we were really over here and i finally had the guts for writing about this.
May 2014 · 281
29/12/2013
moriarty May 2014
tell me about the moon there
I want to know if we see the same
is it well-rounded?
do you see her face?

the moon smiles at me
in complicated ways
tells me peace does exist
but, what as she seen?
so far away

so I want you to tell me
about your moon,
the one you might looik up at
and see something different
through your clear eyes

do you find peace?
do you see the woman
looking down at you?

I've heard and read
many legends about her,
but I only want to know yours;
so, please, show me your moon.
this is older, because we were over at this date already. i just passed it to computer that date.
May 2014 · 564
lady
moriarty May 2014
maybe it wasn't in the way she
bit my lip and
silently
exhaled against my neck
it was so much more
and
wordlessly
we sank deeper
in our sweet daze, dismissing
how bad things could get
because it didn't matter, hell no
as long as our skin was touching

because maybe, just maybe,
this... thing
it was right.
funny how it is fundamentally over.
funny how i never actually touched her.
funny.
hilarious. obviously.
Mar 2014 · 351
Red
moriarty Mar 2014
Red
all the red spilled,
like ink,
like paint,
a canvas.

it was thick
and resembled
the loss
the anger
the hate
an endless pain

red was spilled,
it stained fingertips, nails,
it dug out and carved
into porcelain
into steel
its laments and fury

how to protect
from the red
from the spilled

— The End —