Morning sun, pale gold, clearly skied,
Blinded me oh so sweetly.
You stole my breath
Without so much as a breath in return.
My eyes danced and swam,
Glazed in the pale glow
As gold dust danced across my skin.

Breath pooling and curling around
My nose, to fade out into
Oblivion
Encountered stars above my head
Our star-crossed romance.

Stars danced upon my tears
Like rude stardrops
The tears, not knowing
If their parents were glee or misery
******* tears betrayed me again
To your soft words.

Alas! This world is too harsh for me.
Strike me down again, hot iron.
Steel, steal, iron's cherry hot, white.
So blindingly white.
Much like the snow that dazzled me
Glittering like lost dust-diamonds

Stars decorated the trees
Glittering in the forever-twilight
The blackest ice dusted the cold walk
However gold
Painted the clouds without abandon
Radiating long rosy fingers
Speckled with stars
Painted in pale gold

Again, lost in a swirl and blur
Of pale gold, a honey snow drop
In the beginning, an annual event
Where bottled stars are served and
Drunk, silly to our heads and our
Hearts.
All amber and pale gold.

The rush, embrace.
The dizzy effect, of staring down, pondering
A fate, to disappear into oblivion
Leaving only a quaff of stardust in our wake.
We court disaster and dance, strafing one another
Together.
Among the pale gold and blinded.

Havock among an Eternity.

Confusion, abusing
underused.
Apathy is only a mean to an end
and it has served me well in the past.
Like a particularly sharp tool,
chosen with care, to sculpt and mold
the clay between my fingers
into something presentable for the world.
Who are they to judge what I make,
who am I to judge what my fingers shape?

A stoic face outlooks the world
shaped out of clay and sharp edges
contrasting on the face
just below the meniscus,
turns to soft and gritty
emotions boiling down the surface
of what used to be
a smoothly carved face.

Do they linger,
like spider-webs in your hair,
silky and smooth,
yet dark and dour?

The memories dull
like a bright silver blade
crescent like the moon
does dull too

Sharp is your tongue
like the cry of a Mocking Bird
mimicking the sounds of others
as if for help

You too are these things
never staying
eternal like that which

sing like the Mocking Bird
dull like the moon
and linger like the spider-web.
Do they linger?

... I feel jealous, in a way.

I feel like I have to get this off my
chest, even if it has been so blatantly obvious the ENTIRE time
I've known you... I've always liked you; more or less,
I've loved you, Jack.
I always admired you, and no matter how much
I try, I can never stop.

I feel like I'm just an eternally smoldering,
nearly put out ember;
I burn brighter on occasion,
but the rest, it's come to pass as a dull, aching pain in my chest.
I've tried to bury it down and away with
Dan, and I was indeed, happy for a time.
It can just never last, unfortunately;
if it had, I would never dream of disclosing this to you.
You don't know how many times I lay
in bed, thinking about how different things
would have been if things never fell down and apart.
Most nights, I keep thinking that you fell in love
with the wrong Lillian.

I feel like I have to prove myself to you at every
step I take, trying to make myself valid
in your *eyes, but it seems like all
my attempts are in vain. You told me, that if I really
loved something, I would let it go. You
basically wrenched my hand away, and unfortunately, it feels like
I still have a single thread of your shirt in my fingers,
twined
tangled so deep
that the string may never come loose.

It kills me, as
I must be faithful to Dan, and see you fall in love
with this engaged girl,
it just burns me up so much in jealousy,
because I see you in love with some other girl named
Lillian and I just can't help but wish that was me, wish
I was that girl, wish I had your love.
I don't want to **** up, and I want to be perfect
in your eyes, and it stings something
fierce when I'm yelled at by
you.

I feel like I can't fully devote my heart to
someone, if another has a piece hidden somewhere in
history, and this is true. I just... I just can't move
on. Please, I beg of you;
keep this to yourself,
don't speak to--

I feel like I’m almost obsessed with you.

**And... May I say, it doesn’t feel nice.

I just can’t continue to feel bottled up like this anymore.
I finally thought I was over
you, and I finally realized things will never work out;
I’m doomed either way I go, and both ways
hurt to know that she won...
she won...
because I messed up
I wasn’t thinking
I was selfish
now when you date this girl,
this girl who has two friends who
want nothing more than to just help
her and be there for her to the end of time, you realize
how much that hurts?
How much it stings?
How much it just wants to make me
scream
rip out my hair
and just look up to see you walk away from me
walk away,
walk away,
that smile never leaving my dreams, the funny odd faces you pull
never leaving my memories,
and even now, as I think of them,
I try to laugh, defeated, through
the tears.
That string’s become wrapped tightly now
restricting my blood flow, and turning my finger purple.
Purple
such an ugly color
I can’t help but adore.
I emulate you to no end, trying to appear
attractive to you in some way
I don’t know if I want you,
I just know that I want you to be mine.
Getting close to you by talking simply
got me addicted again;
thirsty for the feeling
of having you around. I want to be your friend,
I want to be your lover,
I want to be what you want me to be.
**I want to be perfect, I need to be perfect.

This is just to say



I have smashed

Jack’s computer

that was on

his desk



and which

he probably

needed

for class



Forgive me

it was so fun to smash

so messy

and so crunchy