we keep
searching for words
that sound
like flowers

echoing
in autumn
before they fall

but all we ever find
with tired
hopeless eyes
are the words
that sound

like crumbling
petals

I can feel the shoreline fill my lungs.
Summer is on the tip of our tongues.
We'll dance towards the ocean without even knowing,
The gleam of the sun keeping our smiles still showing.
I can feel the grass caress me now.
It tells me of the rest it will allow.
The breeze sweeps me up and tells me tales
Of past respite its given us and our sails.

If waves could wash
Away
My memory of you
I'd sleep in the rivers, and
Drown

It's odd to think about things that we should let go.

A song that was introduced to you by a friend who is basically a stranger now.

Someone who's bad for you.

Nightmares that led to nothing but your death.

Pictures drawn years ago that shouldn't matter now.

Promises broken by people who mean(t) more to you than they know.

some days

some days i wake up
feeling warm and lovely and happy
feeling whole and right in who i am and what i appear to be

some days i go to bed
barely holding my eyes open against the weight of dreams
barely staying in reality a moment longer

some days i want to create
a dream of imagines on paper
and spill the ink of my mind out onto the world,
eagerly showing the creations of my mind and what excites me as far as
what i can imagine and bring out of the ethereal into the only slightly more tangible inner chambers of my mind palace

other days
i want to destroy
to tear, end to end, the world i have created in my mind and every piece of it i have brought into existence
to shred myself to pieces to rid the universe of such and inadequate creature as myself who dares feel more comfortable as a fluid being, more free to explore and weave in and out of the norms set by society

and then i fall, weak and hollow, to my knees,
full of life and brightness that has been pressed to aside by the gaping holes of heaving singularities within my gut and soul
and i feel dark
and wrong
and numb

but then every so often i get a spark of light in the inky dark of me

and it flutters close

circling my form slowly and giving out the slightest bit of light and warmth

sometimes this first Good Thought or Good Feeling will be crushed
snatched from the air in the claws of a demonic and wild gargoyle

but even so, one by one the light spots will gently blanket the gargoyles,
forcing them to lie in wait once more

for who can fight the gentle persistence of a butterfly