There are two opposing things that define me: a poignant in eulogy, a melancholia in a deep blue sky and a parallel and current; it is boundless.
My love is an empty cage, grown in an innocent body, tearing flesh by flesh, yearning mouth by mouth, a chest is a garden full of butterflies, my veins is a vial of momentary currents and curves molded to each caresses of something that lingers.
These parallels are a loose thread that bounds a brokenness, and on each pull of the gravity, I would ache to skin and bone.
There is another thing that the sky is covering up to, parallels are invisible strings that connect us.
You are a myth that the muses talk about, they tell me how far the stars that I wouldn't reach you and how I wander my hands on my brokenness. It was the traces of how beautiful the blue in your eyes and the memories of red lanterns lighting up our way home, I feel the terror of we might forget the sound of the eerie cold night.
Parallels are constellations in the skies as if we are remnants of history, Each night we wished we exist.
From the warm breath of bright light, blue sky breaks through our dormancy. Cool breeze still keeps on bare air, whilst curved lines rise bound in time to care for the meaning of life.
We're expected to expand or contract, responding to vast constructs set upon us. It's easy to forget measures of the present tense. Stillness often corrects parallels to connect, as impulses bubble up to ****** inside the mind.
Characters unseen play amongst the set, there are integrated games we gain but our existence is said to be simplistic. Focus on your sense of self and betterment, less complicated within the riddles of preconditioning. Here to give, win and begin again.
When the world said I’d made a choice, I agreed Because you are the one, I’ll always choose A place the roses are white, and doves red No matter in which parallel universe, you’re the one I’ll kiss Though if I could move away, I’d look beyond the furthest star As in this place, you’re the one I’ll always lose Outside tonight the doves are white, and roses red In this parallel we’re the shooting star, that’ll forever miss
i'm in too deep so maybe i should just take a leap, a leap of faith in which i let go. and maybe take control, speak through my heart and soul. speak through my heart and soul to say three words back to you, i want you.
this is inspired by a song by the band, why don't we.
I've scrapped the first fifteen versions of a poem I don't want to write or maybe I want to write it but I'm afraid I won't like it or am I just afraid of what I might say, of what my subconscious will convey?
Ink drying up like dried blood while the blood in my veins pulsates and my head throbs as I try to decipher how much of what has happened to me is actually because of me.
Is it me? Are my experiences mine because I made them so, or did I happen to just stumble into the darkness?
A sour mashup of self-love and self-loathing, it's like I have two minds intertwined double-analyzing double helix radioactive brain DNA
Am I great? Am I awful? Am I even worthy of such extremes? Where are all the adjectives to describe me? Can I write about it if it changes daily? Is it possible to know yourself perfectly and also not at all?
Questions generating more questions, hypothesizing Eye must seek before I find.