She ruined you in the way
Water erodes rock
And time obscures memory.

She was the gentle fawn
That nestled within your contrived roots,
The soft fog
That embraced your unchanging peaks,
But went away
One season too soon.

Too soon,
She was the comet that shot past
And would only reappear in another lifetime,
The painted lady
That touched upon your concave petals,
And then took flight
One moment too soon.

She ruined you in the way
A woodpecker chips at trees
And watercolor makes inked lines run.

Too close,
You let her come too close,
Until you were tangent lines in an otherwise beautiful work of art.

Somebody had to go.

– so when she left,
She was ruined
   In the way human breath
   Makes pure water acidic,
And she ruined you
   In the way acidic water
   Wipes every detail
   Off the face of an architectural masterpiece

The winged beast circle about.
More for presence.  
For pity.
There is no sport in prey that serves itself.
Yet draw blood regardless.
Taking small morsels of flesh with every pass.
And still no restistance.
As if dying slowly was a feat to cherish.
But isn't resilience a defining trait.
The Heros of every story.
Willingly go in search of new ways to destroy the body and mind.
Their deaths are held sacred.
Glory bestowed upon any who would courageously reduce to ash.
From the hellfires surging within a dragons innards.
At what point.
Does suicide.
Become heroism.
The tools are the same.
Fear.
Blades.
Resounding mental capacity.  
Resolve even.
the words and actions may differ every now and then.
But one fact remains.
Blood is blood.
One persons valiant deed.
May just as well be anothers.
Horror.

i) Countless casualties
lost and faded
among
the shipwrecks
of
broken hearts
caused by
indented rocks of love.

ii) The docks seamless
with the horizon
swarmed with infinite
paper sails and boats
resting in the warmth
of the tranquil sunset,
the sunset. The Sunset.
An undertone of *love.

Here's a toast
To those who never asked for it
Because they really need one
And i for one am not letting them out
That would be wrong of me
And wrong for you
You got to think about the things that you do
Even if they appear as minor
They're much larger in the other portraits
This card game shouldn't end in a forfeit
But those few seem to anyways
High stakes, low stakes
Makes no difference to me.

We all are so terrified to live entity,
To genuinely be gracious,
To genuinely giggle,
Or howl .

And to pageant the world,
Who we truly are,
But yet, all so awed to die,
We are terrified of unfamiliar,
And loom.

To show our sensitivity, and our repentance,
Anxious of what others might convey,
To our face,
And trailing our back.

What's left to do?

I won't let myself douse,
In the agony of society,
Encompassing me.

I will emerge,
I will emotionally respect,
With every spark,
Of light in me.

I will be the discrepancy.

What's the difference between existing,
and living?
Which one am I doing?

Everyone would liken my dark eyes to coal
Until you came
To see them
As black pearls

a boy who spits out apologies like they’re tied to the roof of his mouth,
a girl who’s apologetic about existing.

a boy with eyes as reflective as sea spray
a girl who always fantasized about drowning in the ocean.

a boy that has hands that look like chiseled marble
a girl that’s used to being carved by other people.

a boy, struck with the thoughts that makes him unaware he’s art
a girl, who’s seen the greatest works in European museums, seen the crowns of kings, blood in the bathtub, lovers leave without grace, struck with the knowledge she has never seen a masterpiece like him.