I gaze as the Sun retreats to its hollow cavern of darkness,
The stars a faint reminder of the vast emptiness that lies beyond.

A dove flew across my view,
And a daffodil gently landed on the windowpane.

Yet, it wasn't long before I realized that the Sun had set before it even rose.

Like a candle,
The reflection of our shattered, but beating heart continues to grow Dimmer
As the passage of time goes on;
Kindled by our growing sorrow and the want to be ignited yet again for one final time,
The hours fleeting by as flowers wilt
And the ever-lasting rain ceases.

A shard of vintage hope
Stained with no scope
Painted for an antique emotion
Which was drowning in a deep ocean
Woefully against all of my notion

On the edge of a chasmic cliff
A forlorn shade of my soul, stands stiff--
She stares down in the fathomless abyss
Not fearing the abysmal crisis
In which, she will plunge in a gorge of vices

Flames dance and flicker towards her heart
And, breaking the iron-wrought cage apart
Alas! To only find a ghastly grim cavern
Engirdled between lungs and ribs,
Her once-alive heart--was torn to shreds
All whilst, a monster gently caressed
Towards the harrowing path of an eternal rest

Soaked from the rain.
                                         Surrounded by figures.
                      Invisible to all.
                                                I heard it:
'You want to be loved.'
             The gray clouds enveloped the sky.
                                    I shook my head.
       Everything was crumbling.
                                                             Emptiness.
                                            Worthlessness.
                             Complaining.
                      Hatred.
              Distain.
       Apathy.
                                          I was seen,
                       But it wasn't me.
                                                                       Stop looking.

                                  The grass withered at my feet,
Turned to mud behind each worthless step.
                              My suit worn down with grime.
          Stained with dirt and blood.
                                  It looked nice,
                                             The stains were covered.

                    The voice:
     'Not loved for how you are.'
                       'But loved for who you are.'
                                     'Despite who you are.'
              'You want to belong in your existence.'
                              'You want you,'
               'The real you,'
'To be loved.'
            'Not the manufactured you,'
                                  'Not how you look,'
                                                 'Or how you act,'
                                                                   'You.'

                I laughed at it's words.
Feeling the urge to ***** and cry at the same time.
                                      But only smiling.

                                               Then I said no...
                                ...I said no...

At the eve of another summer
I found myself in a Paradox
Longing to painfully suffer
due to a beloved lost vox.

The greatest pain for the greatest joy,
quite the paradoxical alloy.
For a voice to be pandora's box,
fate of the shattered heart boy.

The promised call, refused in past,
For no heart could possibly endure,
is steadily approaching, at long last,
to ellicit a heart-rending overture.

An opera of pouring pain.
Even the sad tears cry in pain,
but everything cries in vain,
for her heart was washed by rain,
and will never be mine again.

The ambrosia out of reach.
Its scent alone is enough,
to relive blissfull memories
and dreams of a future... a bluff.

A world where you're next to me,
but i'm forbidden to hug, kiss
or tell you i love you more than life,
is not my world, but Tartarus itself

In my world it had a simple name:
forgivable human confusion,
led by pressures, human, all the same,
inconsequential to our passion,
once ours, now mine.

Our worlds shan't collide
in any future fate.
Your friendship i must decline,
to be reborn and not desintegrate.

The green hills of my heart,
the blue ocean of my eyes,
the starry sky of my mind,
the nature masterpiece of my soul... Is gone.

All that remains is a heavy chest,
containing Schrondinger's heart,
with a decaying undead hope,
to both reunite and forever stay apart.

There once lived a boy called freedom,
And his twin brother loneliness too.
Quite the same in face and body and mind,
But the townspeople saw them as two.

Everybody loved the boy freedom,
But loneliness was hated it’s true.
With love for one and hate for the other,
They grew apart like most differences do.

As the men grew older, free lived like a king,
But lonely, he rotted and withered within.
One of lonely’s enemies, Naivety by name,
Plotted all night and came up with a game.

To Naivety the only way to be free,
Was to end this man loneliness for all to see.
So he packed up his case with all manner of terror,
To set about making lonely a horror.

On the day of his reckoning, loneliness sat,
Wearing an old gift from his brother, a ******* hat.
Whilst freedom, about in town was adorned
In a red shirt that once loneliness had worn.

So when naivety set out to do the deed,
He crept up to lonely’s house and what did he see?
But freedom standing there in a ******* hat.
‘Hello freedom’ said he and that was that.

He strode on into town and caught sight of some red,
‘I know who owns that red shirt’ naivety said.
With a swish of his knife and a click of his gun,
Naivety believed that his deed had been done.

When loneliness learned that his twin had been slain,
He cried for the fact that his face was the same.
‘If only they knew’ wept lonely in pain,
‘Then freedom and me might have been brothers again’.

Yesterday I swallowed a tiny glass capsule
much like that
I've been walking around in for years
amongst these picture people.
My palm clung to walls made sticky by the heat,
skin to pane,
I could not bear to let go.
I wanted to enjoy their stapler smiles
but the fog made it impossible to see.
I only called it what it was
when I breathed it into the glass.
It was always there.
I wished it would fill the whole thing,
wished I had a match,
so it would serve some purpose.
So my capsule becomes gray and troubling
against its paper background.
So they stop and stare,
Look at the girl in the bubble.
I think she's suffocating.
Like it's a revelation.
Like Gabriel himself hand-delivered
tiny glass pills for them to swallow.
Let me be their spectacle.
Let me be the object of their pity.
Let me be a one-woman-glass-capsule miniature show.
I'll be their tired metaphor.
I'll choke on shimmering shards so they can watch my blood color their roses.
I'll drink until I'm heavy with turpentine.
I will destroy myself.
I will make it clean.
Tiny glass capsule
in my wooden palm
who did you once hold?