She's my constant reproach,
My thorn in my flesh, my neighbor.
I crossed the street to walk the other side.
Then I heard the **** crowed, and wept.
Remember the years when you thought childhood would never end?
Remember the years when you thought time was so slow?
Remember the years when you thought you were too small to matter?
And now, childhood comes to an abrupt end.
Now, time is as fast as my heartbeat.
Now, I am starting to matter.
Does that mean that this new life is better?
Should I be grateful for my further understanding of the world?
I yearn for the times when I had no responsibility.
I yearn for the times when I had nothing to lose.
I yearn for the times when I was totally and fully myself.
Without being scared.
I am scared to fail.
I am so scared to fail that I am scared to even try.
And I think that is what makes this life not better.
I wish you could freeze time on childhood.
I would spend forever there.
Adulting is hard. I want to go back so bad.
Little bunny was so adored,
Little bunny then grew up
as Peter Rabbit.
Peter Rabbit was so loved,
Peter Rabbit now becomes
Her guinea pig.
Alice was her name,
Alice in the Wonderland.
Alice liked Peter,
but treated the rabbit no better than a mere guinea pig;
for her experiment—
in her Wonderland.
Thanks for experimenting on me, *****.
The umbra of the firnament
to see through your eyes
and the wind from your skin
to ****** me
Raindrops quiver me
like from the veil
you used to wear
Forever you said
will float into the river
of life and death
Why did you
i cannot follow
I order the fates
your blood through
my vains to flow
To fade together
A poem that i inspired of a Peter Gundry's song https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qdEV-MpgNm0
to the words we left out
in this sunburnt tree
we call them a well turned phrase
because tree corpse
makes books feel macabre
and we love books
like we love words
like we love giving trees
hugs to release oxytocin
but none of this will help you read
between the lines of your unease
so do not look for help
between murderous sheets
self-help is called living
It doesn’t come from a book
and yes I’m aware of the irony
of writing that in a book of poetry
to these burnt out words
stop cutting down dreams
Self help, wellness, being, meaning, understanding, trees
Painter sits down
Strokes sun light dipped in moon light upon fjord.
Crystalline blood blooms from valley.
Bird flys high in the sky.
Wind speaks for the earth.
The waves crash amongst each other like uncontrollable dominoes.
In the forest
Alone are the spirits
Wolves and deer stand restrained by there own silence as the golden sun rises.
The painter redips his brush.
and i was
you were always seeking
for the intricacies of
that you considered
the one standing before you
as a vestige of existence.
and when i finally let you go,
you still searched for
the great mishaps.
and i am merely
a surfeit of mirrors
that reminded you
to grow up.
you refused to let go of youth.
When i heard
You had gone home without me and left me behind
They said: just a slash to the wrist
The pills quickened the numbness so that the blood could just flow out
Until there was none.
We're suprised it didn't happen sooner...strange one that one was
I didn't think of you strange
I felt betrayed so
I didn't go to your homecoming but I could imagine
You, dressed in white, the breeze blowing away the stench of death, your face ridden of all worries
I could imagine you were content
As you lay in that box
All I knew was that
you had gone home
So that closes it off
That night, as we walked in the dim light of street lights
darkness all around us
You kissed me,
Your taste metallic on the tip of my tongue
Your hands, those cold bars of ice
Locked their way around my neck, waist and wrists
Your heart, that barred block of ice
Beat violently against my chest as we collided into each other
You pulled back abruptly,
looked me in my eyes
I don't want to die
There we sat,
On that old fallen tree you like
In the middle of the woods
The wind, wove itself in between the long threads of grass
Making an ocean underneath our feet
But we didn't drown
You said: perfect place to hang yourself, all these branches
I looked into your solemn face that speaks so easily of death
and you smiled, shrugged
...and jumped into the green Grass Sea
We walked underneath the waving leaves of trees
Wind, so steady and flowing
I looked at the roof,
an ocean ebbing with tranquility
and there we were, caught in between two oceans
but we didn't drown
We found shade underneath a solitary tree with branches that kissed the sky
The cool of the wind kissed your sweet skin
And as we lay on that earthened floor,
You said: one day I'll make a blanket of the soil and a home of the granite we step on
I turned to you and stared into your orbs
And you said: we were born into dust and in the dust we will die
So then we watched the clouds, the sun setting
The rays of that star, a halo in the heavens
And it rested on your head
and you finally went home
This poem confused even I. As i was writing it, i felt a sensational surge of emotion that didn't really allow me to work with logic