I hadn’t really known
How objects could be emotions
But this--this is an emotion like none other.

This is the glass conductor of light
Whose soft rays became symphonies
Singing praise to Iris.

She is the blood-red film
Which cuts through the air alongside
Streams flowing orange and violet
And every color in between.

Like a jouster
She throws shards of rainbows
Through each clouded pane.

Their tranquil beauty is alive
Breathing in the wind
Teaching me that my lungs are a restriction.

That my body is a metronome linked to the time
Which will signal the stop of my ticking heart
And I don’t know how many acts I have left to find my resolution.

And though I cannot figure out
How to even begin to comprehend just what that might be
I know only that I do not want to depart this life
As a mediocre play cut off mid-scene.

I want the chance to write my own ending
So that I can tie off the loose strings of my anxieties to balloons
And let them lift the burden off of my shoulders.

I want them to carry my depression along with it
So when it rejoins natures tear ducts
Which first brought it life,

I can free myself from this prison
Which made the atmosphere look like a gas chamber
Trapped by the ever looming clouds.

I saw more through opaque glass, than I ever saw in myself
And so that stained glass window which showed me perspective
Became a home for my restless thoughts.

The twisted truth escapes your mind
when you’re intoxicated with the lies
You can't run, hide beneath the black sheets that console you
You are cold, alone, nowhere to go
Emptiness boiling your blood to release the virus
But once upon a time, a few tragic lives ago
You remember the whispering wind
Light that tolerated the unforgettable future at the palm of your hands
Simple happiness seen through the transparent smiles
So foolish to think this desecrated world would grant mercy to feelings
And then your stuck once again, the mosaic stained glass shapes like an hourglass carving distance faster
The few seconds to feel when the Utopian world slips and
cuts you like a paper cut
So you remember picturesque scene but not a perfect world

You say I'm lovely, baby; my soul's so free
Yet you imprison me like an animal
Behind bars for being so mesmerizing;
What a sin; you keep me put to watch and revel.

You say I'm strong, baby, but I'm only glass;
Maybe not a mirror but a stained window
So spectacular, as my light trickles out;
Your own Northern Lights; I am breakable, though.

Funny thing about living art is: it dies.
Sad thing about trusting love is: people lie.
Honest thing about heart is: it's in the mind.
Fables about romance: feelings can be kind.

You are bonfire smoke
Clinging to my favorite clothes
Washed my hair 30 times
Felt your hair in my fingers
Every single time

And when I look in the mirror
I wear your smile
This glow in my eyes
Is reflecting off your skin

If I pricked my finger
It'd be your blood
You're coarsing rapidly
Through my veins
*I need a transfusion to escape

I've never hated an object more than when I found that little red notebook of hers.

My heart sank to depths no ocean could reach when I saw how stained with life her words were, despite her claims of hollowness and a dead soul.

Her words mocked me. They were still alive.
She wasn't.

My pride is stained with memories of you
Like the way clothing is stained by coffee
It's no longer 'perfect'
It's tainted with the blackness you left behind
I've tried to wash you out;
But all I'm left with is a sad soft brown
Traces of you still in every fiber and stitch
Now in every smile you can see shades of sadness
In every laugh you can hear my shattered self esteem
And in every word I speak you can hear how timid I have become