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Tristan Claude Nov 2012
I’ll stay alone,

My eyes twist and twitch,
From place to place,
From this beauty to that
Beauty to the next beautiful ugly thing,
And my smile irritates me,
As much or more than any other matter,
I left you when you loved it,
The noisy smile, not far from my eyes,
Yet lately so far from sight,
I hate to hear it and the memories
It recalls, so I drown myself
In half smiles and music,

A few shots for the flu,
A shot or two, and a note
Signed and spattered with truth,
Countless shots to forget you were mine,

So many people say the worst goodbyes,
Are the ones never said,
I can’t help but dissagree,

Tell me you aren’t coming back,
Say this isn’t really goodbye,
Let me know it’s just, bye.
So many people say the worst goodbyes,

Tattoo with a paint brush,
It’s a curious thing,
It seems so many have tattoed
Strokes of thought upon me.
And you’ve peeled back flesh and bone,
To lay black ink upon my heart,

I’ll drink up shadows,
And the red of my veins,
Let the black fill my arteries,

And drink away another day, in memory of your name.
Tristan Claude Oct 2012
Am I alive,
Or just a simple life,
These veins are seeping,
With every beat of this heart,

Tear me apart, and feel this ink leave stains,
Wake up in this hospital bed,
White washed walls, and a constant,
Rainy day in the back of my head,

My hands are empty, I keep grabbing the air,
It feels like I'm tied down,
And I wonder what's keeping me here,

The beeps from that machine, the stutters,
That quick speech and how it slows down,
It seems to say what my mind tries not to think,
As I search for something, and find my palm,
My hand tightening as I try to hold what's not there,

Has this become my home, my heart is here,
Though I seem to forget that it beats, it beeps,
It's just a muscle now, not a messanger of any sort,

I'm beginning to wonder if you read the paper,
And not just headlines, all of the paper,
If you'd remember a name, and who's it was,
If maybe you'd spend a day, or even half of one,
With that name and that person in your head,

I'm beginning to wonder if I can be a part of your life,
Stop these beats, and vacate this room,
Leave that machine with one last sigh, a long sigh,
I hope you read the paper,
More specifically,
The memorials.
Tristan Claude Oct 2012
Help me, before I fall apart,
I need you to stay okay,
So I don't jump this moving train,
The clock ticks, and I lose myself,
Beats drop, and I sullenly fall,
If you hit the ground,
It feels that I'll hit beneath it,

Oh you've got me, painting the walls with blood,
It's like the crows keep leaving my head,
As if it's a simple corpse left to rot,

One, two, three four. Despair.
It's a little little melody, seeping through the cracks.
Do you leave the lost and dead behind,
Will you leave me here, screaming with desperate pleas,
I beg you, don't leave me behind, but if you do,
Take my breaths away, they are too much,
I am afraid, afraid that these lungs,

These lungs are filled with all the breath they want,
They sigh, and ask for no more, linger the last quick breaths,
Swallow this pride, and swallow these goodbyes,
Let go of these hands, grasping empty air,

Hello, did you have anything you wanted to say,
I am this nothing, swimming under the currents,
Or maybe I'm just drifting, without breath,
Turning this water into red,

Break these ribs, one by one, and see what's behind them,
This cage holds little, I am no delicacy,
A simple question, if you'll let me be,

A shovel and a box, and a stone left above me.
Tristan Claude Oct 2012
I've been leaving you messages in my sleep,
And I wonder if you ever get them,
Do you ever hear me flying by in stunt planes,
Puff puff puff, leave you a little message in the smoke,
You set my veins on fire, and I can't help but inhale,
I take what I can get, your smile's a syringe full of sun,
Take a bit out, and now I can breathe,
Put a bit in, and now I can actually sleep,
Give me another name, and I'll love you all the same,
You've stained my lips, Mona Lisa doesn't sing songs,
But if she did, they'd sound like you feel,
An hour beside me seems like a minute,
Minutes after you go, I wonder the month,
Should I call you miss Aorta, take what's left,
Thump, and make it all feel so right,
Balloons fly away, and for a moment we've all got open eyes,
Look around and it's all so sweet, don't let it fall,
You've left my lips stained, with a colour I don't want
to go, stay, like a warm winters breeze,
like a warm winters breath, stay like these memories,
The ones here, and the ones that haven't quite arrived yet,
Ribs will laugh, eyes will sigh, lips will sing,
I may not be sane, might be crazy, but I see what I see all the same,
If you were a pendant, a necklace of sorts, I'd wear you everywhere,
Paris to Poland, a sight to see wherever I go,
If I was a professional day dreamer, we'd be rich and run away,
and walk away, and dance away, and kiss in the rain,
You're espresso to a little twitch of the lips.
Tristan Claude Oct 2012
Sick fluttering sullen imagination, I can call you a safe house no more,
You are a diseased heart, acidity burned into your beating flesh,
Tears heard as screams, from the mouths of tortured smiles grasping at the air,
As a sun, set still with jazzy oranges flying in every direction,
You are so still, but move as the twitches, of a silent shock treatment gone wrong,
Tick tock, I can not hear the time pass by, thunderstorms without rain, full of crimson fog,
With this electricity in my veins, I wonder if this is blood I hear, or acid and tar,
My legs move as weights upon tongues that can not speak truthful words, awake but so slowly asleep,
Burning and left black as night, the dripping blood of these eyes that have been open too long,
I am tied down to a chair where I see the same image upon every view, the lips that whisper,
These lips sting a sour poison to see the side of my ears, and tighten ropes,
My neck screeches, hands as squirming spiders flee but squish into armrests that are nothing but pain itself,
Dreams drift, not as monarch butterflies, but as insects upon a corpse, my lingering joy rots into the air,
This reality is but a nightmare, nothing as the films with kissed upon cheeks and moments with eyes that smile,
Grins that open wide through cheekbones and lips a light with amorous memories stained upon them,
What do I trust, the dreams with my mind open, or the reality with my eyes open, eyelashes scratching against me,
There is an itch upon the words, like matches that ignite these terror filled moments, an ivy twisted itch,
I fall into a hope, as deep as the warmth beneath the earth, a wish to keep sleeping,
To be dragged into an eternal heat of dreams that seem more normal than mobid reality, a sense of normalcy,
Sweat surrounds me, I am coated with a layer of fear, swung up against reality, awakened from a night terror,
Am I back, back to see and hear kind voices through unfaltered velvet lips, am I here again, not in paradise,
But am I back, to hear the touch upon my skin, the scratch of teeth tenderly with whispers of sunlit joy,
Here again, not paradise, but not a kin to hell, let me stay, and not fall my eyelids shut again,
Please, I could beg you, I live for these sights, of lilac, rose, and gladness, breaths sweet with candied wind,
Help keep these eyelashes from meeting and staying together, strangle this ungodly imagination, keep it from sleep, keep it awake, and don't let it breathe.
Tristan Claude Oct 2012
So, my lips feel so distant, I keep drinking, but they are kept dry,
Lust, amorous screams in these silent words, my eyes have been tattooed,
These spheres of sight have been stained with your beauty, and the rest of me,
I can beg you, stain my hands, and my breath, my whispered words,
Time is not as simple as yesterday and tomorrow, I can not let it be yesterday,
Waiting for tomorrow, I forget where tomorrow is so I must imagine that smile,
With every today that is graced upon my sides, from my ribs to my jaw,
Tears while you smile, and I love that tasteful flavour, the taste of a smile,
What covers teeth, and sings songs so near to my voice that I can not hear them,
I feel these songs, for these crooked lips I would give, my most important organs,
My life, brain, lungs, heart. Passion, thoughts, this breath of mine,
And a melody of beats, the left side of these ribs long for a landscape.
I sit, and lie down, as a feeling slips through me, an infection slithering as a snake,
My body, and this red, scarlet, pulsating thought felt mind longs for a portrait,
Curves in infinite angles, my blessed glances pray you are all they would see,
Lips to lips, collarbone to tail bone, let pleasure tend my kisses,
I'd give a lot to travel, the curves of home, and fall asleep to a breath,
A breath, a heartbeat, and a voice I will do to, as time ticks, be nearer.
Tristan Claude Oct 2012
So I had a dream,I was in a room, and it was white,
A simple honest white, no off whites, no slight greys,
It was just that room and a phone, and myself,
Nothing more, nothing less, quite plain and simple,
I had feelings, and I had a feeling, that I was waiting,
I was waiting for something and hoping for something,
It took me time to figure it out,
There was an irratiting clicking that would not stop,
Not until I figured out those thoughts and where they went,
The clicking was a clock, an old clock, and it stopped,
When I realized I was waiting for a call,
From this phone, and from your voice,
A voice so familiar and so far, comforting and breaking all the more,
It would catch me off guard, and it would swim through my body,
Your voice would crawl between my veins and hold onto my bones,
I would wake up, your voice would wake up these veins,
Warm up these bones with pitch and pretty tones.
So I had this dream, and the white blinded me,
And like a pen with the most smooth and solemn letters,
The silence wrote a sad story upon me.
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