It seems like you're on my mind
Your eyes that glow so bright
Your lips so plump and soft
Your hands so soft and smooth

Our memories together flashes
Through my very eyes
Vivid yet so clear
Happy yet so sad

Hidden feelings ruined me
Every fiber of my being
Calls for your presence
I just miss you so **** much

A memory is just a story altered.
Every recall differs from the one before it.
The details will fade, though the essence remains.

An orator of the mind spins the tales,
Our experiences catalogue them.

The bitter ones grow even more bitter.
The happy ones grow even happier.

But this mind of mine refused my request.
Figuring some memories are best,
left behind.

And so in my unremembering,
I ponder the splendid and mundane,
that has all been locked away.

sometimes,
i just don't know
how to get
other people
to listen to me
in return.

i give them
all my time,
all my love,
all my attention,
yet it just
feels like
i don't get
reciprocated
the same way
enough.

i need
a listening ear
and a shoulder
to cry on, too,
you know?

please
help me.

Rocks and scissors
Pen and paper
Tell me what it means

Many places
Covered faces
Stranger than it seems

Songs and paintings
All erased by the incoming tide
Facts and figures
Left to drown as they are swept aside

Tell me please just what you see and don't you try to lie
I'll uncover all the truths and the silence that you buy
Cant help you now
Welcome to the underground

In a forest, tucked away
hidden between padded ferns
and angered flowers,
whose roots grew wider
then the seas,
was a heart crossed
of all the thorns
she didn't need.

these songs i wrote,
the chorus intertwined with thoughts of you,
you sing along without a clue.

-lilac

Rose petals
Sharp knive
Sparkling ballgown
Dazzled yet heavy crown
White gloves
Damage heels
Unbearable armor
Complicated manner
Tricky mutuals


you know? being a Princess isn't that easy

Easy will I give blood to thee
My love of anger simmering.

Tough mutts and breezy gates shut up while I'm walking up the paved path to heaven.
My shadows carve depictions of their home across it's border, until the time that obliteration comes preceding daylight.
Presently, the senses tell stories of alleyways, bending, screaming, dark, and hollow niches where cells holding cretins feeding on easy cons, closely eyeing the greasy pawns that wobble across rotting paper, voodoo art a secret guarded closely hidden in the hole a beating heart long ago vacated. Robbing rich snobbish ****** their childrens life of ignorance concerning newfound addictions.
You know the type.
You know that I know you too, and how you prefer to shape the ghastly forms these predators take, turn them into your thralls discarded soon after rehearsing the parts of your play, writtin precisely to incite your own addiction to probability gamble gaming intuition. trashing skits naturally reactive to exhibited patterns laughing mad at the victms thrashing quiver, stashing films of the accidents in your pack to gift the sadistic mastiffs  attack and ravage and tear and
Sadness.
The fictitious movies play out onto the skyscape of this mind we share, and attempt to accept the last thing you truly fear.