today

I will fade away,
or maybe

yesterday
I have died
just to be awaken
in another bad nightmare,

I will never know.

Vulnerability and sensitivity,
forgotten in my memories,
left to decease amongst my bitter mind.

Optimism can be a solution for a lifetime,
happiness through virtue and materialistic belief,
yet this bittersweet taste won’t leave my lips.

Writing of a virtual fantasy to take over,
while I screech at others to remain realistic,
it’s foolish to believe it’s only an idea – not a dream.

Entrances of desire can be discovered on trampling triumphs,
I wish to wear these heels of hope towards the platinum kingdom,
yet must I tear away the typewriter to write with my fingertips instead?

Embarrassment discovered through emotional outbursts of immaturity,
apologies scattered within forests of no sounds, reverbs or life itself,
leave me in both a desired yet painstaking isolation of romantic fantasies.

Mind reading is impossible to the ignorant egotistical individual,
assumptions lead to the destruction of blooming lotus flowers on a tainted feeling,
for honesty’s beauty is desirable – only under management of the mature one.

For the mindset of two cannot be replaced through absent-minded behaviour,
through words of the time, dreams of past lives, an ocean of hope mixed in with sour taste,
the skies show illustrations of words collected throughout time – not our goodbyes.

Finding love is to find unfamiliar beauty, noble and true,
pure in the eyesight, throughout duration before death,
a beauty that demands indulgence and conquers one’s
personal soul, their total being, consumed in every
pocket of essence. Stronger than the Devil. Oh lover,
I’m being torn apart beyond violent sobs in the corner
alone. In genius ways, it's like I’m being applied to evil
for when I’m cursed to be not around you. I vowed to
never write poetry again, if you accepted my hand.
Until then, I’m sure you’ll enjoy master of this world.
As the Devil runs riot and commits himself to his
own death, no longer able to rule earth.

He
adores
the
idea
of
his
non-
existence.

The doubt is with the night
forever hanging in the head
it sips all the fire
the flickering stars, the
bickering meteors
the maelstrom spews hate
over the pinned madness
the magnetic field emits hate
over the pinned sadness
if it sincerely wants
to be accepted
look no further than
how life has been enacted.

Turn me into a metaphor
Any metaphor, I don't care which one
Either I'm the raging storm or the silhoutte against the moon
I'm the sunshine on your wet hair or the rain drowing you
I don't ask for your love
Just make me into a literary device
Pen me on paper
That is the only way I'll feel alive
When your words caress my presence even if your hands don't
When I will be immortalized in your works
I don't care if you stay with me for eternity or let me go
I want you to remember me and construct me into prose
Which maybe people will recall
And feel something, anything at all
I want you to use me to create that warmth
That sensation that the lonely strive for
So break my heart
Use my pieces to scratch out words
Use my blood to ink them into sheets
I don't care what you do to me
Just turn me into a ******* metaphor
And store me in your poetry

my picket fence
is ablaze
the white paint
begins to flake
as the fire
of my thoughts
uses its flame
to burn me down
plank by plank
theres nothing left
nothing left to hide
there's the burnt house
that I am
doomed from a previous fire
I could not contain

Dreams, the friendly version of the ghosts in unfinished business. Constructing ****** minds and arguing morals, while privately respecting the Devil. Shaping poems, turning ethics to ashes. Sweeping fashions over this world.
Well done. Life given freely to living souls. Death is owed. We’re all in debt. The forbidden fruit always tastes better and generally more successful.
It’s too bad.
Dissent friction. Sparking life. Duality of individuals. I’ll keep going back. I’ve looked behind the curtain and saw everything evangelical. Faith not required. Dogma becomes an addiction. Conformity in actions of order-impressions. Laughs and hugs.
And if a philosopher is asked, reality is depending on perceptions.
Power and freedom are this world's best lovers. Enticed drawn in by people.
For some, the difference between God and the Devil. One can be meet before the act of dying as the other is waiting for you to cross over to be judged. Following one will provide freedom here on earth as the rest compensate to be completely corrupted. Don’t sin in my steps. I’m going to be punished by hard-living. Best kept secrets are told in tender moments after ******* sessions. I’ve got nothing but love for the mystics in penitentiaries, soldiers of the century. I’m directly organized and their husbands will never, because I got away. When I die, teardrops will soak into earth, I’ve got meaning in exile. I’m long gone.

I noticed devices,
the signs used in books to foreshadow
to hint at the written future
and at what is ahead to come

like our strides while we walked
or the difference in our shadows
that hints at our now-passed future
and at what has already come

it has been six months now
half a year since we have grown apart
and I'm not asking for you back
to be as close as we had come

just please think about me
was I important to you at all
if you left me as fast as you did
even as close as we had come?

just please think about us
and I'm still not asking for you back
it's just something to think of
if you have time left for me, love