Your shine hides from your own view,
Storm clouds behind those pale eyes.

Yet you rise, silver skies above each day.

How you miss it is missing to me,
Mystery shadows through your window sill
To lay on the floor dust of your soul.

Smiling at the vision, I shake my head, turning away.
I've answered this riddle for myself,
And know what to burn to light my own path.
The question itself is the darkness.

This poem is dedicated to the girl with the invisible light:

Someday you'll blind yourself, and know I was right.

I regret that it's not today.

The road behind bares us a backdrop, too many nights find us fractured in our thoughts and the dreamers we once were are far from the two people who stand today.

We're broken, mere splinters of our shipwreck past, driftwood on a shore that drowns every time the ocean breathes.
The path is littered with slaughtered dreams that didn't bleed.

As time and tide wait for no man shall we find it a tragic scene?
simply erased with the sunsets demise?
No one gets away without a scar and mine speak a road map to chaos
and a found hello to you.

Mine own scars are fingertips
gouged into the sand and faded
but salted by tears of the ocean, inerasable by the tide.
A soul washed up upon the shore, a road map etched delicately into fine bones.
You can trace where I'd been before. All roads lead to your hello.

In broken lines and have uttered phrases and one too many empty night.
Backdrop of chaos does paint in the darkest colors you could ever imagine .

How does it gets so flawed by our own creations and vices my dear?
Does it still ring ever so true?

The bell rings true whispering distant voices
Empty nights are just bottles lined up as dead soldiers
We contemplated our own truths and fell victim to our own vices
The backdrop is black, no colour beneath skin.
Honestly? Where does our downfall begin?

Two ships underneath the nightscape past the spark once understood the flame and nothing more .
In empty alleys, like cats to prowl, we find our moments, and then bury our thoughts to lay for no others to see.

half written papers and half heard conversation the keys of the piano haunt the silence as myself shadows that still remain.

Nothing is but a thought and those are like dead flowers laid to waste a reflection of far better times

The night crawls to meet the day as it has so many times before.

The thought of the minds bottle lay empty upon the table.
A fond farewell is but a sugar coated goodbye.
And I seldom have minced my words to mask their sting.

The page forever bleeds.

Pages that lay scattered on a ***** floor
Bleeding ink into cracks
that will forever more
hide the spirit of our souls.

We were two severely broken things
and though I was promised someone to mend me
I couldn't bear to get better before you.
so I replaced all your lost pieces with my own
and glued you back together with the blood I lost from slicing my hands when I touched you.
And when you were whole again
you decided there weren't enough parts in the world to fix me
and even if there were, I wasn't worth the effort.
And now I am even more broken than before
and there aren't enough pieces  for anyone else to mend me with
and I wonder if you ever touch your wrist and feel my veins under your skin
or look at your eyes and see my glass shining through.
Because I can feel every piece I lost
and every time my mother hugs me she asks me about the crater between my shoulder blades
that piece went to your ribs i think
and every ******* time you get hurt I know
because I can ******* feel it
and I can feel her cold fingers on my neck every time she touches your leg and I just want my ******* pieces back.