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Why am I like this?
Constant chaos and pain,
If only I could go back,
There's a lot I would change.

I would never stop dreaming,
Of a brighter and richer life,
I would never stop smiling,
Despite the inevitable strife,

And I swear to ******* god,
Most of this is my fault,
I chose this life for a reason unknown,
With my heart stuck in the vault,

When I feel hurt I hide away,
Caused by my Cancer moon,
Maybe my life would be different,
If trauma wasn't present so soon,

Everything happens for a reason right?
At least that's what I want to believe,
Because I don't know how much more I can take,
Before I set my soul free.
Casey Sep 8
Maybe we didn’t have to fall asleep
to be blind to what we see.
We used to stay up late,
wishing upon the stars.
Hoping for someone to hear us.
I wanted to be something greater,
change something for the better.

But any astrologist can tell you
that those stars aren’t real anymore.
They’ve died long ago.
They’ve left me staring at the ceiling in the dark,
awaiting something that will never embark.
Most of the stars that we can see are dead. The last stanza is about insomnia and also seeing the night sky as it actually is.
M C Sep 3
Sole stars shine together in a nightly swirl
sharing light with the collective whorl as each wink in turn.
I am only my mother's son in this moment.
As is everyone a bright point in the lineage of our family,
looking up at a familiar heavenly mirror.

Even the heavens fade.
Minds reflect on this godly tact.
Entropy is a fact that we fight
or are we acting?
Afraid to admit how warm the embrace of coldness?
Clinging silence saturates space between bodies,
between sparks of life.
Fretful existentialism balanced by... nothing.
Whole galaxies begin, submit,
only a simple hello reaches me in the twilight.

Countless hellos overwhelm.
Connecting with the universe through metaphor is beautiful
but after all, we are only human.
Messy in our emotion.
The restless observer should practice patience to find peace under heaven.

Stoic stars accept a proper pace of degrade.
Us people struggle
to fade with grace.
Jules AA Aug 22
The stars will drive us mad
Dragging spirit left to right,
Like flaming arrows the starlight licks our skin
And bites our lips,
Always pushing for more,
Always desiring the unattainable.

Run in the moonlight!
Nobody will watch you swim naked
And run barefoot through the fields,
Despite what we tell ourselves.
She is not watching.
A mother does not always have time for all of her children.
Yaryna Aug 4
I saw the Sun every day of my life,
I  never knew you were his son.
So bright and beautiful and pure,
You have been kissed by stars when you were born.

The eyes that made of gold,
Your skin is like the veil of the tulip,
So proud and bold when telling all the truth,
Your voice is like the roar of the lion.

Those gentle lips that taste like sugar,
Or maybe not, I still don't know.
But yet in my dreams every night
It's yours the tastiest scent that haunts me.

I wish I could read from stars about your soul,
To get to know about your fears and hopes.
But they can't tame your freedom,
They will keep you from the others hands.

It's like you have been everything and everyone
I was looking for my long, chaotic life.
And in the end of a day, I have a dream:
To conquer once a Sun and to be loved by him.
acacia Jul 28
You live in a died of obscurities where you have field beneath the strangeness of your morality, yet, still seems to encumber the idea of factual (fractioned) evidence behind blatant vaunting of amour propre that only comes off as discreet in your "jagged, skewed, and isolated" projected matrix when, in fact, it's the most squared and neatly folded linen-textiles. Facile you are. But to me, the angel, it's okay. The angel will consider perpetuating you, even if it is against morals. (Neither cruelty nor kindness will influence the transit of the angel's verdict.) And, perhaps, the delusion of godhead soothes you with an old tear-soaked pillow from many purple skies ago, for you are the only one to break the poison-green chains of your own mind. Self-reflection does not imbrue you (with no follies), for there is no self to reflect on due to—not constant hammerings of your ego—the lack of introspective ability to see your body as fuel to a fire. In conclusion of that one fracture alone shows the vast difference between the bedroom door (Uranus/Saturn) and the bathroom door (Mercury/Mars)—if one were to take it literally, anyway. Almost nothing can not never be a stretch (do I mean stench?) of you, since three negatives means it is a lie; and it is all revolving around the sun-lighted Twin, whilst the other Twin is never going below the twelfth house—forests this idea of shallowness and this idea to never drive to the next town. So, please, end this.
Luminaries; girlhood is a synonym of godhood, celestial, sanctitiy
acacia Jul 26
What are you? All you are is blatantly morbid with a subtle hint of fidelity, just like my wretched citrine.

What am I? All I am is whisked and blended Uranian, Neptunian, and Saturnian beauty—that is all.
I don't mean to compare or make you seem like you are just a speck in reality, you are much more than we know, more than God himself realizes (implying you are God*)

(*implying we all are God)


Seth and Rosaline, this is for Seth and Rosaline.
Secure in warm sand

Urchin on a sea-washed shore

Covered & exposed
zebra Jun 11
i fall and ascend in a sea    vantablack
spiral light
fire ghosts and ice
that cut the soul to pieces
like scissors
that split rabbits

industry of a hissing creation
polluted altar of sleeping lakes
and scythe
bludgeon and howitzer
prods of push and pull
in a grindhouse
necropolis of craters
scattering snake eggs and tumors

i am here born to you thin of bone
mother of catastrophes
on a colossal ball of scab and callous
that moves sonorous dazzling shapes
careening through
ephemera workhorse torches
of doom

you fill me with knots of terror
and desperate dreams of stairway wings
veils and glimmers
resolutions dissolving
petaled apertures of desire
and night whispers
in a spider web of sonic bulls

before undertows gravity
i was vibrant
but then i died into the rock ash of earth
they called it my birthday
my parents with party hats and balloons
blinked fetters
against nights of concrete and stone

i got deader still
until i was nothing
but an imagineless gob of mud and breath
an eye looking out
behind red nerve forest fires
and tears shook tambourines
down heavy lashes
cascaded fluttering  tassels  

i am born to you mother of senile seas
citadel of shattered glass
in a slate cube of cyclones
mute and screaming
my fate deep shock
encased in mausoleums led nautilus

blatting hells jaundiced shriek

Pluto conjunct Saturn
Dexter Jun 15
where I was rash and coarse
he was confidently unconfident
so sure of what he didn't know
he was all soft spoken words, wit dripping off of every word
I wanted his soul
I wanted to memorize the way his eyes twinkled with delight when he talked about something he loved
I wanted to be the thing he loved
he wanted to save the world
I wanted to be his
but I wanted to be the noncommittal sag and run and he was oblivious and beautiful
the world seemed to work against us while simultaneously not caring enough to keep us apart
edging us on long enough for me to fall face flat on the pavement of realization and while mending my bruised ego I sourly admit
I fell in love with an aquarius
100% written on a whim, much like most things I've posted so far
and yes I'm absolutely smitten with an aquarius
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