#aesthetic
w e a r e t h e o c e a n . . .
y o u a r e t h e s u n s e t . . .
I a m t h e s t a r l e s s
s k y . . .
Nov 13, 2018
Nov 13, 2018 at 11:08 PM UTC
i’d rather write about the freckles on your back than think about all of the ways in which you quite possibly don’t love me.
i feel sick at the very thought of you picking me apart the way you did; fingers grabbing and stroking in a catastrophic symphony of skin and vulnerability.
let’s read between each other’s lines; share my sentences and punctuate my paragraphs with your mouth; because i can breathe easier on the mornings where i wake up wrapped around you.
because my moods change like the ******* seasons and the spinning in my head doesn’t want to stop.
you tell me that i should probably get a therapist because no one that thinks about all the ways in which they could **** themselves has an ounce of mental stability.
i tell you that i have been to four.
names faded into a blur with hazy snippets of conversation remaining.
20mg.
30mg.
you tell me that trust issues and scars aren’t endearing and i tell you that neither is counting up the potential number of pills needed to dissolve your body into the living room carpet.
let me sink inside your skin and make a home in your flesh;
i tell you about the nights where i lay awake in the bath turning the water red.
tragic, isn’t it.
you tell me that this isn’t how my head should work and i tell you that i already know. everything you could possibly tell me i already know.
i know that 400 calories a day isn’t normal, and my hands shouldn’t shake all the time.
i know.
please let me stitch myself into you, even just for a while; until i no longer feel dizzy and my world stops spinning.
i don’t need you to tell me that it will be okay, because honestly i don’t think it will be and, that in itself, is okay.
let me stitch myself into you, because my own skin can’t take it anymore.
let me call you back when my voice stops wobbling and my vision straightens out, but honestly, i’m terrified that it never will. what if this is it. headaches and tears and shaking and blood.
and the debilitating, gut-wrenching feeling of pure and euphoric emptiness.
tragic, isn’t it.
Apr 4, 2018
Apr 4, 2018 at 2:41 PM UTC
the scent of a rose
the light of a sun
the glowing from a moon
the dust from a star
the tablecloth on your table
the tree's roots cutting into the earth
a world behind a window
the rain sounding from comfort
sea salt spraying coarse sand
an aesthetic
what a bore
Jan 3, 2019
Jan 3, 2019 at 11:05 AM UTC
A haze of smoke
Blurs the picture
Lipstick stains the
Cigarette that flickers
Red painted nails
Tap the frozen rails
Champagne bottle,
Dating back to Versailles
Blacked out eyes, matching skin
Bruise alike
**** it with a shot of gin
Little white flowers
Shot with a polaroid
Symbolize my paranoia
Pastel colors litter my eyes
Watching the rain fall
As time flies by
Twinkling Lights of the city skyline
Closed eyes, sip of wine
Hot coffee, big sweaters
Take a sip, enjoy the weather
Old book
Faded maps
And worn out ball caps
Gold jewelry flashed about
Parties thrown in nthe underground
Now I begin, haven't you heard?
Aesthetic is in, what a beautiful word.
Sep 7, 2015
Sep 7, 2015 at 2:15 PM UTC
Painting me
Like one of your French girls
Is a little worse than cliche.
Paint me in your mind
With rose petals for hips
And the most divine night sky
Beneath my lashes.
Speckle pigments across my skin
Freckles like wet sand, stuck.
Color my scars brightest
Impure veins like that of a leaf
Carrying stories, not water.
Paint my smile most of all
Paint it weighed down by stones
Too many for anyone to remember
Yet stretching, brightly
As if to reach the moon.
Above all else, paint me yours.
Oct 1, 2018
Oct 1, 2018 at 1:27 PM UTC
I say;
The drifting rain dissolves sea salt
Turning tears into dangled monsoon
Under the bleak ballad of dying dawn
Where I long for heat unbroken
You say;
The drifting rain drenches my tiptoe
Witching smiles into deranged equinox
Upon the downpour of ancient daybreak
Where I pray for old snow long sunk
All was as if the days faded
And morphed into younger sunset
It was as if mercy was drained
And no one preach as desired
The downpour stench though remains constant
Of rotting perfume of the rouge graphite
You drowsily drip from dowsing fingers, they lit
Into pages of burning, dancing melodious lads
As will, you may keep those imageries for you
And give up old stories as my slumber lyre
Whether it is about the burnt down marching boy
Or the bloodstained pianist from our ancient joy
For the bleak heart aesthetic
has affected a new kind of love
And the bleak heart aesthetic
would never let you feel so certain
So please keep your drifting rain of strings
During the downpour of the deranged equinox
When the snow goes black and slowly sunk
Into pages of firespit melodious lads
Feb 3, 2015
Feb 3, 2015 at 7:19 AM UTC
What do you see
When the flower meets your eye,
What beauty must hide
In visceral Versailles,
In cherry tree reality...
Does it mystify?
The variegated countryside
Does the chorus nullify
The diversified into harmony
What melodic elegance underlies
That subjective divide
Wistful of waves you fly
What do you see in the cherry tree sky
Apr 9, 2016
Apr 9, 2016 at 9:57 AM UTC
pathetic magestic
unenergetic
horrendous poetic
prophetic
emphathetic
thats seven rhymes for unapologetic
and i cant forget it
got to forget it
tragedy is aesthetic
this is unexepected
theres no way to do this nicely but i gotta end it
Nov 26, 2014
Nov 26, 2014 at 11:21 PM UTC
Sometimes it hurts so much not to cry when you have to hold it inside you and it hurts so much to be in a crowed room
and you have to hold it in because if she sees you
crying she'll know it's because she stomped on your chest
and caused your heart to deflate like a lazy balloon and
in that moment you feel so alone and
empty
and so you start to cry.
And everyone consoles you and pats you on the back and tells you it'll be okay
but this isn't what you wanted
it wasn't supposed to happen like this
"no no no leave me alone
just stop
I'm fine I have allergies jesus."
And crying doesn't fit your aesthetic,
emotion doesn't fit your aesthetic,
love doesn't fit your aesthetic. So you get your **** together.
You go to the bathroom and you wash your face and you get your **** together and you fix your makeup
because runny mascara does not fit your aesthetic
and neither does
heartbreak.
Nov 16, 2014
Nov 16, 2014 at 4:45 PM UTC
What a simple and plain day.
A cloudy day.
Hoping my pain will go away.
Wishing on the plane, up away.
~
Gazing and wondering.
Watching the kites hovering.
As the clouds are moving
A smile on my face is forming.
~
How wonderful it is,
To live a life like this.
The pain didn't exist.
In this dream that I insist.
Jan 20, 2019
Jan 20, 2019 at 8:38 AM UTC
sometimes she daydreams about life the way i do about death. it's ironic, i know: black and white aren't meant to be grey and the rumbling hum of expletives digging into mauve lips pass through like desaturated light to translucent statures. it makes everything seem sweeter than it looks. she thinks the ache feels lukewarm, just like those half-hearted smiles she gives out like presents on a holiday, and she may be right. pain is not cold, it covers your entire heart with microwaved fingers, leaving burn marks that leave chars and ashes. snaps the purple heartstrings and clumsily tries to mend it.
(i love you because you're corporeal, she murmurs, you keep me sane)
she's spider-webbed, sung gossamer and silk while her bar lines drip with ink. and she seems moonstruck—because of me she says and blooms throughout my epiphanies. fancies herself a ghost, a wisp, something ethereal that lingers on my lips like a kiss. and she lingers, oh she does. toppling from the skies and collapsing into my rib-cage, she stays, blushing rose-like and thriving. velvet and constellations of blood clots patter against her skin. it blooms like she blooms, a paint splattered canvas meant for all to see.
Jul 28, 2018
Jul 28, 2018 at 2:50 AM UTC
⭐️
Their eyes were like the stars—
But stars are not blue,
Nor green,
Nor the deepest shade of brown.
Mar 4, 2019
Mar 4, 2019 at 3:48 PM UTC
A rainy day
A dead rose
That picture on the wall
My little sisters test
Hanging on the fridge
The project I used to stall
My Polaroid camera
A broken mug
My mom's excuse of fun
A walk outside
A kitty in my lap
The trophies I forgot I won
A forgotten poem
A silent scream
A whisper of the untold true
Little things
Little dreams
All ending with you
Jan 3, 2019
Jan 3, 2019 at 1:02 PM UTC
i step outside, the sky above gray as slate
petrichor seeping up through the grass,
engulfing my state of mind as i inhale
and guiding me into a place of hushed abstraction.
-l.s.
Oct 11, 2018
Oct 11, 2018 at 10:49 AM UTC
a twig snaps beneath my shoe,
the sudden sound shattering the calm atmosphere.
sunlight dapples over my skin,
rippling across my clothes,
pooling in my cupped hands
as if i were holding it.
delicate leaves rustle overhead,
my attention to the emerald glow above only broken
by the hum of a bumblebee
buzzing its way to yet another flower.
trees, seemingly protective,
surround me,
their trunks a shelter for such a variety of creatures.
sweet birdsong echoes above.
a woodpecker taps a home somewhere to my left.
a chipmunk skitters across my path
and into the still ferns,
causing them to shudder.
the scent of soil, of leaves, of nature, floods me.
i wonder about the world,
about the mountains and about the sea.
about my friends, my family,
about strangers with lives
just as complex and unknowing as my own.
i ponder myself, my life,
where will i go?
what will i do?
will it all be worth it?
-l.s.
Oct 13, 2018
Oct 13, 2018 at 11:43 AM UTC
Autumn has nothing on me now;
Summer has changed me as a whole.
But winter is coming soon, I fear,
And I'm afraid by spring I'll have no soul.
Spring: a season's anticipation,
Awaiting the exciting summertime...
Crashing down comes ice and snow,
And brings me to the winter-rhyme.
Winter, bearing ugly days––
To bring out nips upon the skin,
And tears to turn to killing hail,
And morals to turn to bitter sin.
Autumn, so full of nothingness:
Empty, and dead, and decaying-brown.
Leaves that swarm the dried-out air
Like clumps of ashes falling down.
Summer, the warm, and lovely season––
"Hurry up," I say, "and run, run, run."
I'm missing sun in every corner;
I'm missing freedom; I'm missing fun.
Oct 30, 2018
Oct 30, 2018 at 3:50 PM UTC
staring out at the rushing creek,
standing on the edge,
crushed leaves beneath my shoes.
i toss my phone on the soil;
i don’t need you right now, devil.
instead i focus on the passing water,
on the ongoing march of time
thrusting us forward no matter how hard we try
to make it stop for us.
i sit down.
birdsong fills my ears,
joining the creek
as it glides smoothly over its bed.
leaves brush against each other
as a spring breeze picks up,
rustling their way into my mind.
the gentle wind smells of flowers,
of soil and of memories.
i close my eyes,
allowing myself to forget everything.
-l.s.
Oct 11, 2018
Oct 11, 2018 at 11:14 AM UTC
You have so much potential.
So, So, So, So much.
And whenever you put a blade to your skin,
I watch the universe leak from the scars on your wrist.
Dec 17, 2018
Dec 17, 2018 at 9:14 AM UTC
II
Blue base and pink hues, black lining, framing the face saw once in dreams, a face with a name that began with the letter M. The other painting – a hazy black, red lips, no eyes – is a man’s face. Flying across shadowed, spiralling stairs, I encountered exits blocked by chairs – all these impressionist paintings hanging along the corridor, where a painter was explaining to his students the woman he met in his dream… they all called to me as a dream factory, dream logic – where everything was bound and unburdened, and we were told to identify faces in these coffin paintings. All day we tried matching, mouth stuttering half-formed names, lost faces, amputated body parts, strangers’ fragmented memory. Then the old lady I was working with let out a wail. She bolted, I followed, and there we saw creatures known as man and woman – to the woman on the right, she greeted with the M-lettered name, and to the man on the left she pointed at the eyeless painting, said, stranger, this is you– and they wept together.
Apr 21, 2021
Apr 21, 2021 at 11:29 AM UTC
Reject
logic & respect
empathy --
expecting delivery,
goods given,
same goods returned.
I wanted to
merge into you,
the first sight
of your face.
Still do.
Still do.
I still do.
I still ******* do.
I want to
fall
into you.
Apr 13, 2019
Apr 13, 2019 at 6:26 PM UTC
Candle lights and a day long sigh
Gray evening tea resting by
the journal
which's last page I thought I'd pen today;
But I can't seem to narrate,
today's unfolding
about how the world I knew
Put off it’s last enchanting shred;
And I knew then
I needed a merciful blackout
before the ink of my pen
starts to fade by my fresh tears;
But I never knew when
my hands stopped to listen
And now, pieces of my favourite teacup
on the mosaic,
mirrored my heart, precisely broken;
But its quite strange,
how after seething fury and wounded heart
i still got up ,
buried my face in linen covered pillows
as this sudden tiredness consumed my limbs,
Maybe Lord of the heavens had mercy on me
and granted me this sudden dreamy trance
And made my heart do witchcraft, so intense,
It hypnotised me to immerse myself in the indulgence
of cherishing the unlived memory yet again;
Jun 15, 2022
Jun 15, 2022 at 6:53 AM UTC
Sleepy demon, close your eyes
Hell's too warm for you to rest
Soon someday you'll realize
That I've always tried my best
In my arms
Quiet and cool
The lights are dim
The clouds are wool
Stars on the ceiling
Sparkling above us
Your horns are pitch
Obsidian and onyx
Tired from fighting
Lashes charred from flames
Looking up from dark circles
Sleepy one, have no shame
My lips on your forehead
As I watch your aura lift
I love you, little demon
I will let you drift
Oct 16, 2021
Oct 16, 2021 at 12:13 PM UTC
We're sitting in our haven
cozy environment to
heal every crack
with you,
no lack
I caress you differently
from other times
so you pull me in
but guilt fills your eyes
"It's okay" all I say
half cry
you embrace me
doubts, shatter away.
May 13, 2023
May 13, 2023 at 11:46 AM UTC
A coy spice hill breeze,
Passes subtle hints on it;
Poet knows the rest!
Nov 27, 2018
Nov 27, 2018 at 1:07 PM UTC