White is the promise of purity revoked.

Red is the stain of lipstick on your fifth cup of coffee.

Orange is the succession of sunset to sunrise without an ounce of sleep.

The color yellow peeks through the blinds and dances across his skin.

Green is the color that burns your lungs until you're in a haze of numb.

Blue are the eyes that haunt your consciousness and tears that stream silently down.

Purple is the Galaxy pattern of hickies and bruises littering the skin he touched.

Black is the static you hear in the moments after, when you lay panting in his arms

...just before all the color fades again in his absence.

purple prints
smudged on the canvas
of white skin
the only remnants
of the great requited love
that once softened our bones
waves of passion
that broke onto
the beach of violence
blame
and bruises

It comes in blankets
Grey blankets that cover the sky
And it churns in blue and black
Like purple bruises painting the sky
I want to cry
But the tears won’t come
So I’m stuck looking out window
Searching for any bit of sun I can see
Only stormy eyes show themselves though
And tears streak cheeks
And if I cry myself to sleep every night
That’s only for me and the stars to know
They twinkle knowingly at me in the dark
And I want to yell at them
Don’t tell a soul
But they ignore me
They tell me I’m sad
And I knew that already
But I only see the stars when my grey blankets are gone

People just don't understand that my scars are part of what make me who I am,
I may have created them out of foolishness,
but they were debated over agony in the purist.
You may look at me differently because of them,
and of course I understand that,
they are not what make me pretty, nor friendly.
But they remind me that I am not always correct about everything.
They remind me that pain is real.
That I can feel whatever I want to feel in this insane world,
and even though I did make them myself,
I can remember the pain that was felt that in fact inspired them.

and now late at night when the silence creeps in,
I cannot sleep because I remember back then.
and the pain that you dealt may have been done in secret,
but either way you knew that I would hear it, and I will not say a word of hate towards you,
because we were small people in the middle of the sea.
And when I look down I have a constant reminder of that,
but I am stonger now, because of all the tears you caused me to cry.
I will stand taller now, because of your cruelties towards me.
I'll know not to cry next time.
Because in that situation it made things worse.

Wooden hands
Bruising random shapes
On my bare thighs.
Wooden hands
Leaving me covered
In rainbow lies.

And when wooden hands
Cross my mind,
They come in the form
Of sunshine.


F.Z.N

it's 3am,
and you're sitting over there,
with bruises covering
your body and you came to
me for help, and there's
nothing i can do for you
but hold you, and
you don't want me to
because my hands are
shaking and i can't seem
to reach them up to your
face,  i can only
feel the blood pounding in my ears,
and see the way your eyes
light up when you're
looking into them,
screaming and crying
for me to help you
but i don't know
how to and no one's
around and your hands are
letting go and your
breathing is getting
shallower as your tears
are getting deeper.

Runaway,
Feel the pain
Taste the rain
For me.

Catch each drop to wash away
All the moments that we kissed.
You were always sorry,
I was never amused.

Read it through
Drink this
Forget my name,
Please.

Drain your thoughts to your ears,
Let them spill this liquid that thrills
Wait, let me spill my guts to you
So that you can fall harder.

Punch the wall
Bruise your hand
Make marks
For her to see.

Caress her porcelain skin
With your black and blue hands
Abraded and rough, maybe it's enough
But now she thinks you're brave.

Bleeding blisters
Metallic taste
Waste of space
That pretty face.

Tear it to pieces that you can't read
Strokes of wet red for all to see
Just lay back down in the ground
And try to sleep.

Please set me free now;
Let me go escape
Into the abyss
Of my wild daydreams
Clotted up by fact;
These chains leave bruises,
I've held it in long
And palpable thoughts
Are much sweeter than
Hard, cold, solid truth.