Piteous silhouettes hung loosely in the dark
bloodstained pools evaporated, staining like a birthmark.
Even the wind was mindful not to be found in this place.
static was the air like corroded snowflakes,  stark
reminders that this was decaying like a living carcass.

Pictures woeful reminders of moments when life exhaled.
But nothing is collecting only the whispers veiled
behind nothingness. The threshold of dismay was
as quiet and suffocating that none were failed
they just lingered behind the walls, breathless life in pause.

Conception of what lay within the ebbing stone walls.
Feathers onyx as nightfall were called angel falls,
for no crows were seen, but the feathers fell, was this
the gateway now to hell. Trapping all within its halls.
Dismay as life ebbed around, live consumed by this abyss.

I've never been good with words

I won't build you a castle with broken phrases and incomplete sentences, I couldn't defend your honor with an unsure voice and trembling lips

I can't make flowers bloom with clumsy confessions of love and the moon will never weep over my attempts at romance

I'm afraid I'll never be able to look you in the eye and declare my undying devotion for you to the world

I've never been good with words

But with my hands I could construct a grand mansion, and offer you comfort and security with my gentle caresses

I'll plant flowers in your garden that will grow to be magnificent, while the sun and rain gives them sustenance

My kisses would allow you to see the stars, the universe clinging to every sweet gasp that slips through your soft lips

I won't be the one to write you poems and sing your praises, but with my actions I will convey exactly how I feel, I'll let everyone know just how much you mean to me

LONDON HAS HAD TERROR
BUT WITHOUT THE DESIRE
PEOPLE HAVE BEEN KILLED
IN A HORRIFIC BUILDING FIRE



WHERE WERE THE BUILDING CODES
THAT KEPT THESE PEOPLE SECURE
IT WAS A CLADDING SCANDAL
THAT CAUSED THE FIRE TO ENDURE



WHEN WILL THE OWNERS OF THESE BUILDINGS
LEARN TO PROTECT THE PEOPLE INSIDE
INSTEAD OF CUTTING CORNERS
AND ALWAYS TRYING TO HIDE



WHEN THERE IS INADEQUATE SAFETY
A DISASTER WILL EFFECT THE PEOPLE WITHIN
NOW HEARTS ARE BROKEN
MANY LIVES ARE LOST
THE OWNERS ARE RESPONSIBLE FOR THIS SIN.

I feel like a brick building with graffiti on it
Special on the outside
But the inside is empty and the walls are solid.
I want to be an art gallery with a bright red door,
I want to lure people into my world and show them my organs
And let them take me for a spin.

Building a relationship takes time.
A slow becoming of each other's identity.
A steady student in a firm desk where attendance is vital and homework isn't necessarily done with pen and paper.
To willingly give until nothing is left, to get on each other's nerves and have the courage to look each other in the eye and admit that your wrong, to say I love you deeper. Finding compromise in the smaller things.
Discovering new meaning rather than dismissing yourself every chance granted.
The building blocks to a firm foundation.
To create a support system that relies solely on devotion.
The care of another through sickness and in health.
To humble yourself in another, to find wisdom in sharing yourself.
Falling inside and out of problems without knowing the combination to every lock.
Each locker holding something different.
The impact found in arms reach of each other.
Where communication is vocalized in a different tone.
Every moment is precious, allowing yourself to be yourself with another.
A student whose back pack otherwise empty, now filled with knowledge.
Finally finding to solve for X when different variables are thrown in parenthesis.
The Y no longer important, finding a deeper meaning.
The things otherwise they never teach you at school.
Finding a love that never takes constant glances at the clock

I build homes in my heart;
with bedrooms, bathrooms. With kitchens and attics.
Winding staircases- gardens.
They beat in time with my blood
and with each pump, become a little larger.

I am the only resident.

The Agrophobic Architect; never invited elsewhere.
never to know another's heart-home.
never invited in.

So i built homes in my heart
and slowly
the foundations decided to b/r\e/a\k
apart.

Love, such an abstract thing.
Spread across a canvas.
Made seen by the help of brush bristles.
A vivid depiction of clear bottles made a mess.
I hope your not afraid of painting with ***** hands.
The feel of paint staining clean hands.
Here.
No one is innocent.
Not even the canvas which is neither seen nor heard

I sit here
counting windows;
six, twelve, eighteen,
et cetera.

How much money
could the contractor
have saved
without them?
Easily thousands,
but would it be worth
blotting out the sun?
Workers shivering
at their desks,
wishing for
brighter lives.
Clients choosing
the competitor,
who's employees
shine a little brighter.
The windowless building
closing its doors
because they couldn't
afford the bills,
all because
they saved some
money on the windows.

I sit here
counting windows;
six, twelve, eighteen,
et cetera.