Wide eyes wandering,
To settle upon such an empty space,
Yet willingly, they must trace,
That vast collage,
The most toilsome jigsaw,
How loving that imagery,
Our hearts pieced together,
To accept you,
As my beloved forever,
A puzzle untimely broken,
Lost to a box, Eternally unspoken,
Yet, afterimages a-flickering,
You inhabit this place,
My forsaken heart, an utter disgrace.
we sit. weary pupils dilate as we watch
the dying day mourn lilac tears onto
eyes widen like it's an action movie
and the night has begun to wake
its warriors - or worse,
it's a documentary, and
someone's burning van gogh's stars
back into oblivion. lord, we're watching
universes fall and bleed
-but the film stops there.
our sentiments are unscripted,
it's just that chill that creeps up our
collars and strokes our
and i daresay, to our sightcaptor
who begins to reach her way in
and withdraw, simultaneously,
i dare speak:
but it's hard to stay cool
when you love the face of the sun
and must sing her to sleep.
August is the dreary, immobilizing heat at the height of summer weariness
and languid romantics.
It is alone on the trail in the woods,
head thrown back,
against the pavement with sleep in mind,
a hand dangling over the edge into the pool.
It is feet dragging through the dirt below the swing,
back and forth,
beneath the dome of stars and the hazy mahogany clouds sauntering past the burnt hue of the nearly colorless sky,
and the heat lightning and the blue and green glow that rests upon the blackened treetops that surround you on all sides
on a canoe in the middle of the lake as mosquitos nip at your skin,
but you care little because you feel just about as small in comparison to the universe as they do in comparison to you,
and you wish that you were as hungry to bite at the world beyond the horizon's trees as they are.
They prick your skin for the blood that lies beneath it.
You only wish you had the courage to strike the earth.
The radiant sun beating down on your porcelain skin cannot warm the coldness of your heart.
You're a dream, your face is a masterpiece and your eyes hold unlimited universes but the words that grace your blossom lips are venom.
They sink into my flesh like fangs and I'm wounded. Your presence is captivating and I'm haunted when you're not around but it's a heavy feeling.
You're unkind, spiteful and deceptive, a thesaurus cannot fully label the horrid personality you created for yourself. You were blessed with an angel's face but you sinned my life with a devilish grin and the words that lured me in.
I'm standing here,
My limbs are shaking,
I can hear my teeth rattling like the sound of a plastic Halloween skeleton blowing in the night air.
Speaking of, the wind is crisp,
It sends a message of ice down my spine.
It dances it's way into my lungs,
I'm breathing it in like cigarette smoke on an early morning.
My insides are slowly working like churning of thickened ice cream ,
And when I look at you it feels like the sudden drop of a bowling ball that has soon to land on a wooden floor in an empty room.
My eyes have leaked but the sprig is now frozen to my cheeks. My skin tingling with each crumpled movement of my face, slight sounds of my dried tears cracking is like the stepping on of thin frost on dewy grass.
I am cold but I will stand here.
My body is cold but your memory keeps me warm,
you're worth it,
I will stand in this cemetery if it means I can share some more moments with you.
A girl with a roar too big for her body
sharpens her ribs into points:
a trap for her tender, thunderous heart.
She’s been here too many times
before, counting seconds
until the inevitable,
the call to arms, the battle cry.
A summoning to the field soon to be
stained red, where grown men fall the hardest
and the survivors do not celebrate
because this is not victory.
There is no after-party.
You can’t fight with your foundations
and escape unscathed,
these wars take their toll in the end.
She’s lost her loved ones here before,
you see, and this is her returning to the crime scene,
taking a walk through memories half-faded.
She’s coming to terms with the blood
on her own hands,
one wound at a time, one heartache,
one less voice at the end of the telephone.
People like her know
the truth behind silent suffering,
feel the acid rising in their throat
and know how to stomach it.
Don’t pretend to know how this ends.
It’s different each time
and sometimes the strongest stumble,
caught off guard by an unfamiliar rhythm
in their lungs. Too easily choked.
Not everyone is as ready as she is,
unprepared with their soft
exposed, bared to the world, to the place
where it all ends.
She hopes they’ll make it
but it’s a free-for-all
and she’s made it this far.
This isn’t where she falls.
You feel the onset,
a coming of age
chapters that came
now changing phase
of children's firsts
hints at marriage
or spiritual birth
you can't halt it
hope to grow wise
if you can help it
the rhythm of life
is always of change
if you remain stagnant
your skin will age
To see the end,
oh a noble feat
a crying old woman
she lost her husband
her first and young
this was years ago
arms of iv's
and infected blood
of objective question
at medical attention
Though chapters change,
not all are the same
a spring to come
or hell's cold rain
I wish you the best,
upon your journey
In a black sea
Of mourning bodies
I stand quietly in
Pale chiffon. My
Heart is dark and
Lonely, cloaked in
Sorrow as I bid thee
For years I’ve seen
You suffer, lose your
Life and luster with
Each passing breath,
Our love was once
A blooming garden,
Bright and lovely
Before it succumbed to death
It's nearly our bedtime and you're asleep now,
you have been for hours--actually--just as I knew
you would be when you first lay down tangled
in a net of blankets, promising, "I won't, I won't"
with drowsy confidence after asked if you were going
to sleep. "I just want to lie down," your gentle hand
shooed me away. And so I went, leaving a light trail
of kisses so I could find my way back.