Sun 9h

He was
     my favorite book
           Few pages could bring tears  
                   in the corners of my eyes
                            unknowingly. Softly
                                
                         Most of them
              could make my heart
     smile widely
                
I touched every pages
        every words behind words
                     My soul craved to read him
                             for a thousand times over
                        My solitude ached for him
    like Sunflowers missing the Sun

Resign to the solitude with your dispirited shadow
Walk the steps with your hesitant feet
Preserve the love in your failing heart

the phone rings
and as always i recoil
my body not set to the ups and downs
of volume,
far more comfortable in the silence
and open space

i think of the x-acto knife at home
how it will shred through the layers of
paper like tissue

tissue like
skin
like tears
like my breasts
like the soft space between my thighs

a collage though, put together and patched-up
perhaps i've forgotten those envied bits
long gone are the nights of lovers lying soundless
the room filled with the scent of lust
my tongue and mouth dry, lips cracked from kissing

a drawer full of clippings all ready and i'll glue
color and light, texture and contrast mean almost everything
maybe, mostly, wantonly
withdrawn and blindly i imagine the outline
the way the picture will move and i will be seen

a microscopic view at best, even from over there
turned away and forgotten, like the art of long ago
she once flew higher and faster
skies ahead shouting for her to catch up
days like raindrops splashing on the darkened blacktop
now it's more swamp below than land
footing uncertain and pain inflicted
hands ingrained, lashings she deserves

how to come so far and yet be stuck so violently to the web
spun around and around
blood dripping and draining
and the flies circle,
they wait aware of the unraveling of the fleshy pieces
wanting only the remains

she is a sinner, she repents
but the crime, what of it an whose crime is it really
does she walk with these painful heels or flutter off
reminded that time will heal what space has not already
years of distance and she becomes less human
less herself
less anyone
less

Sun 1d

She used to hide herself in poetry
    Words could heal her best
       The safest place was a feeling
        Like a paradise on the Earth
     A home was always empty
without the warmest hug....

Somewhere beneath the endless sky
     She used to dream a life full of love
         Her trustworthy shadow adored her
   Like Moonlight could touch her from afar

                 Before dying....
           she lost her every wounds
        each sigh in poetry
   The best part of her life was
       writing words on a breathing canvas
           read by a writer, the love of her life
             from Northern hemisphere
                A soulful cry smiled the sweetest
                    when read by heart

                     She was remembered
                 when she was long gone
            She was missed in memory  
      She was loved by Poetry....
            No one could break her heart truly
                 Her broken pieces would turn into
                       words of splendor beauty
                  She used to hide herself in words
                      She was nothing but a Poetry
                                                ~

Sun 1d

Poetry is the rhythm of her soul
flows through her veins
dances in her mind
swirls throughout
her days

She stands strong on the ground
never thinks of falling
She speaks stories of solitude
with her shining hazel eyes

She meets life at the edge of wonders
Unspoken stories
Unravelling yet to ponder

She looks upon to the stars
forgetting darkness behind it
She seeks solace
in rapt of silence
Poetry becomes her
bluebird days in Moonstruck

ambient 3d

it's the same old nothing
now at 10:08 p.m.;
flopped flat on the bed
with my shrunken white belly,
the radio lulls me
with some Bach.
the doctor once recommended
that I go out more
and
get some rays about me,
but being behind these walls
with a cacophony of silence
hasn't yet done me harm.
it is bad enough,
anyway, to be out there
for 8 hours
among 10,000 faces of the mob.
it's not a matter of
being caught up with by death;
it is something that works,
will work and forever work.

12-14-17, 22:08

the kitchen darker
your steps
planned with precision

amounts of time
pass quietly
but changes
are a different breed

the coffee mugs abandoned
still know my lips
better than yours
the humming stove
is singing songs
you used to sing to me

each day
your broken heart
collects tiny
atrocities
each day
the lamps lose more of their
forgotten dream
to shine

i accept the course you have decided to take
even though
it is not in my best interest
that in order for the both of us to be together
we'd have to surmount tempests of such measures
even those of strength could not handle them
those embodied with such dignity could not bring themselves to walk through them
as though we are in the eye of the storm
the sight of sunlight is too far from reach
rain is the only one who meets our acquaintance
and though i long for unity
i am given separation though i seek peace
i am handed chaos
even though i yearn for silence
i am ravaged with sound
i choose ecstasy
presented to me are cloudbursts and gales
i want to shake hands with lightning
and not let its venomous touch remind me of every vengeful memory i've grown accustomed to
i'd love to be moved by the words of thunder
but its piercing voice rings through me
just as yours did all those times before
i know you're blinded by your own vain
though you play the role of the titan
you are nothing more than a lightweight
though i know this is a lost cause
i will never rest till i find its meaning
-c.alejandra

Inanna 7d

Addicted to solitude, euphoric isolation,
Some call it loneliness, others damnation,
Bask in depression, immerse in elation,
Hooked in ecstasy, on pure desolation.

Doctor the signal, fine-tune the station,
Selected to grieve, emptiness, education,
This is your time, your inner cremation,
The coldness inside, it's lucid, liberation.

Blessed with detachment, and inner admiration,
This joy inside, it's a utopian vacation,
I'm bleeding love, it's a fucking fixation,
I'm bleeding love, for all of creation.

the yellow sclera of saffron gold
shined like a lemon.
bordered by a quadrillion question marks,
it sits on it’s stygian throne
alone, alone and so alone!

I kinda have an obsession with the moon, this is an ode, i guess you can also describe this as a ode to solitude as well I guess. Also, the question marks (stars) represent my uncertainty of the future due to my bipolar
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