she tells me words i never
want to recite again. i don't
start sentences.
i become sentences.

the nights pull me in.
it's fulfilling.
they tell me to wipe up the
poison and bury the cloth.

a tree grows from the cloth.
it's leaves are sickeningly green.
something inside me wants
to cuts it down.

i bite into the fruit it bears.
it tastes like warm pie.
it heals my wounds
as i live in fear.

my hours become smiles.
i lumber deeper into the trunk.
fires don't die in there.

i fall for a forest nymph.
she bathes in a river eight
acres away. the river i
bathe in is only an acre away.

a human is no a match for
a creature woven by nature.
the forest and the river blends.
i cut down the tree while
it's spirit converges.

my hands are stained with poison.
i flush it down a void. the darkness
replaces what has hitherto been empty.

something about pain

Her skin
Was his canvas
His hands painting
The milky way
His kisses mapping  
The universe
Unfolding into a cliche

Another quote from the lyric wall because why not.. I can't thank you all enough for all the love and support so far Keep spreading the love ~BM

My hands miss the rain
and the pitter patter of hail
December and all it brings
and freckles that don’t wash out.

They miss the dim yellow light
that shone through your teeth
that made them into thieves
filling them with blood
that stole my pulse.

And your eyes like wine
that brought the stars upon them.

My hands can’t think straight anymore
they fumble and cry.
Fingernails bleed,
they cling to one more hour of night
They forget to breathe
starved of air until they crack open
joints swollen and askew
Unable to point

My hands are now stained
with henna and tears
as they itch with longing

August, 2017

Tortured time traveling;
the mind unraveling.

Hands which cannot hold hers to console.
They forever move forward
spending time we cannot afford.
Alone, he will find, he's a man out of time.
Day dreaming of things he'll never see,
imagining ways he'll never grow to be.
No future he'd prefer
than to find himself with her,

but he instead lives life loving how they once were.

Ryan Holden Aug 9

Keep this hand close to
Yours, you will never know when,
It stops you falling.

Elin Roberts Aug 7

ignore this mess babe
clean your own sins
my hands are a lot stronger
when they're not holding yours

random thoughts
Leif Strand Aug 7

I love you like a single drop of rain
The ones on cloudless days
The ones you never expect
Of all the places I could fall
I fell into your hands

And you looked up and wondered
where could that have come from
but I looked down and sighed
where could I ever go
but into your hands


Hands which cannot hold,
hold one purpose in life.
When we die, they will not comfort us,
will not sense our fear,
our anger,
our sadness.

They will simply be as they have always been.
We'll feel desperate to have them turn back,
to make some sort of change,
to reach out and hold our own;
but that will never be.

The hands of time,
they are not kind,
not compassionate.

When we die, and we all must go,
they will continue on,
ever so slow.

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