she's like glass they said

shatters at the smallest touch

crushed into a million tiny shards

she's like glass the said

break her and your the one that bleeds

The sun is still rising.
It goes up,
even as he goes down.
its not ******* fair
she waits for it to explode.
she waits for it to go out, to burn up to collapse in on itself ,
dying as he does.
but it just rises

Hope is not a delicate bird.
It doesn’t have colourful feathers or comes.
When you need it most
Hope is a starving rat
An ugly thing
With broken glass claws and yellow pointed teeth
That carries diseases like rebellion, revolution and change
Were ever its tail flicks they drop
It snorts pesticides like coke
It survives in our world
Able to find a way to live were nothing else can.

you are so much more
then your fathers son
you are so much more
than the wars you have won

The sky is on fire,
and the world holds its breath.
It bleeds out in streaks of crimson,
fingers of flame
licking the edges of clouds,
leaving behind ash that the wind cannot carry away.

It doesn’t scream.
No, it only burns
in silence,
a slow, tender rage,
as if the heavens themselves
have grown tired
of holding the weight of the stars.

We watch from below,
a chorus of small prayers
wrapped in our own fragile skin.
Some of us still believe in rain,
in the mercy of the dark,
but tonight,
the fire is too bright,
too wild,
too beautiful
to look away from.

The sky is on fire,
and I wonder if this is how
the end begins—
a blaze too beautiful to escape,
too hot to be touched.

We hold onto the night,
our hands trembling with the heat,
knowing,
somehow,
that this fire does not care
if we burn with it.

The sky is on fire,
and all we can do
is watch
as it consumes
the last of the light.

I have survived far  far to much to go quietly
let a meteor take me call the gods for back up
my death will be grand
the land will  fracture
the seas will roar
the sun will eat it self

I am the end of all things
i have seen the fall of Babylon
i have drunk the blood of kings
I am a GOD

the saddest thing about this story
he never had a .....
happy begging
happy middle
or happy end

They say all dreams come true but they forget that nightmares are dreams to

if there was no evil there would be no hero's

if there was no heroes evil would rule

there can be no light without dark

and no dark without light

i.
your shoulder blades bend themselves back into wings,
your spine bows under the curved chapel roof ;

ii.
you say gabriel visits you in your sleep,
tells you with to cold eyes and bared teeth soaked in crimson
that you are the messiah,
before speaking about the end of the world,
the ichor in your palms.
red hyacinth dust drifts off his eyelashes,
and apathy falls off his tongue like boiling blood.

iii.
for the next month, there are bruises on your elbows and the remnants of a dead language rattling in your lungs. you wake up in the river, thighs carved with sigils and crows perching on your shoulders, weeping ichor and ancient clay. the names of your newfound kin ring in your ears until your partner confesses that you scream them in your sleep.

iv.
Gabriel visits again, six months after you
realize that your native language has
slipped from your tongue and realize that seclusion is more of a gift than another cross for you to bear, afterwards, you tell me that he had four sets of wings, three eyes, and seventeen hearts, and the most unusual feature was the trembling in his steps, his inability to remain still as he phased in and out of this world into another.

v.
you say his reverence was a holy march, a fragment of bone, an aching lung.

but then they call you hero
and you sigh and shake your head

/'god / es/
noun
1. you know what it is to be holy. deep veins filled with ichor ache for wounds the earth feels, lightning storms and hurricane pain walking hand in hand across a ground you helped design. the thousand voices that scream your name in both battle chant and song. their lives are not a game but you play anyway.
2. you are sharp edged steel. a lone fragment of a shattered mirror, the broken bone reflection of a cruel smile. all that you are is ripped edges and cracked glass but your heart still throbs with lioness blood.
3. ichor drips from your fingertips, gold glistens on your lips. you took to power like Icarus took to the sky and you know your fall will be just as sweet.

if you think this is a happy ending
you haven't been paying attention
-happy ending aren't given to people like me love

"you cried wolf,
so i came running.
QUESTION:
am i the wolf or the savior?
is my smile too sharp or just my teeth?
ANSWER:
come a little closer."

but
i
can't
breath
without
you
there

unclench your fists, my love, the war is over now.
(i've forgotten how to uncurl my fingers from the trigger.)
be gentle, my love, the war is over now.
(i don't remember what it's like not to have gunsteel in my bones.) come home, my love, the war is over now.
(i'm back at the place i left but home is gone where i cannot find it.) sleep, my love, the war is over now.
(the war follows me into sleep. i'm afraid i'll never leave it behind.) kiss me, my love, the war is over now.
(my fingers still drip red and i do not want to stain you with them.)

teach me how to be at peace again

history remembers victory
but the victory forget the lost

Icarus flew towards the sun
Not for apollo as the story so suggested, But for his freedom
He smiled with a mouth full of ****** teeth, when his wings began to melt
he laughed as he fell
as the wax slithered down his spine burning patterns into his back
it was addictive, he was drunk on freedom and high on the fresh air
even Dionysius would marvel at his insanity.
maybe it was punishment for trying to escape the gods
melted wax warps his wings till he look like an angel falling from grace
he laughed madly because soon no god would be able to find him
Olympus shivered at the sight
A dying boy with hunger in his eyes and teeth bared to the sky  
Wings on fire stretched wide like a burning angle
When he hit the water, his breath was ripped from his chest
And his lungs once burning with fire, Now drown in the sea
he sinks deeper and deeper
And he laughed silently in the water knowing no god could own him now.

i am
         craving something unholy
i said
unholy, not
blasphemous
                                          drink the blood
                                                       of a god
i always
get those two confused

/ka / THär / sis/
noun
1. your head pounds. your heart pounds. your fists pound a bag of sand, over and over, again again again, and you hear bones crack that are not your own. the crimson blood on your knuckles is no less satisfying than if it were his.
2. the end of the year brings a summer bonfire with all your classmates. the faces blur together with one too many beers. you throw back your head and yell like a banshee, like a wild thing. I am free now, your scream says. your classmates howl with you and their earth-shattering chorus of no more goes on for miles.
3. poetry, photography, acrylic paint, short stories. you create everything you can to escape the destruction you left behind.

The saddest word in the whole wide world is the word almost
He was almost in love
He was almost good enough for him
He almost stopped him
He almost waited
He almost lived
They almost made it

A boy who shouldn't be alive
Who couldn't be his own person
Learning how to breath without permission
And live without hurting

Your lips are bruised
from the apple you bit into,
and my heart is empty
from leaving the garden.
But your sin is mine too.

It was written in the stars.
Who can explain this dream
that fades soon after waking?
Truth becomes tainted in time.
so let's live in loveful doubt.

Did you know I thought
of eating the apple first,
just to spare you from wrath?
I knew and did nothing,
so let me carry your guilt.

I had a broken tooth and you had a broken car that sang at certain speeds.
I was holding my crimson soaked mouth but we were all laughing.
You were the only one who was worried.
Speeding to the doctor with your hands at ten and two,
sending me the occasional look and asking if it hurts,
does it hurt.
-All the memories of you do.

Maybe that boy just wanted a taste of the sun.

They tell me I'm fussy; with lovers, with books, with music. I tell them that I would rather freeze than be barely-warm. I tell them that if it doesn't set me on fire, then no thank you, I don't want it. It's taken me years to confess that I would rather be alone than settle. The truth is, I cannot stand the taste of in-betweens. Half- measures will never be a part of me. If it cannot fill me up to the brim, I don't want it. I will only ever be empty or overflowing and I'm okay with it. And they say, girl, how do you think a wildfire starts? From a spark. Relationships need kindling. And I cannot make them understand than I am not afraid to build on things, to work hard and relentlessly on something, but I must stop apologising for the fact that, truth be told, I cannot seem to want a love that does not engulf me. Someone once told me that when you've tasted fire, you ache for it, no matter how badly it burned your tongue. They weren't wrong.

Maybe Icarus knew what he was doing all along.

the world should have protected you;
instead, you have been asked to protect it.
what an HONOR
what an INJUSTICE.

She died at 7:07 a.m. PST. It is three hours earlier in Hawaii. Does that mean in Hawaii she hasn't died yet? But the plane ride to Hawaii is five hours long. This time gap can never be overcome. The difference is called grieving.

He felt his brothers arms around him (a fight, was it, or a brotherly embrace? Either way, it suffocated).

boy is jumping off church roofs in desperate attempts to feel whole again, boy is drinking ***** and holy water in class to purify his soul that he says is a desert wasteland. he is a river, deep and twisting, wild and dark but dark like a forest not a starless sky. he is tired, down to his blood cells.

boy is "try harder next time" boy is "smart kid but doesn't apply himself" boy is "needs to contribute more to discussion" boy is trying, he is cough syrup and caffeine, a system that is rusting and breaking.

teeth bared in defiance / a match lit, a match dropped / hands clenched into fists / words tearing down walls / jaws turning from loose to tight/ a knowledge that there has to be more / cricked fingers hanging from holes in fences/ kicking up sand / a shirt that reveals a bony collarbone / a low-hanging light jacket / long shadows cast by a long flames / strained abstract chains bound to wrists / a scattering over the night sky falling to earth / boundaryless blue over faded white / paths run into the earth / a dented green dance / a hole torn into metal / twisted rusted wires / a sandy red yard / window bars casting shadows / a broken wooden crate / footprints pressed into cement/ shattered window/ a cloud of sand

/pes/ti/lince/
noun
1. we are little gods unto ourselves. locust-eaters, fire-bleeders, laughing wicked boys with figs in our pockets and honey-stained mouths. we ride on our white horses through villages that will be nothing but the ashes of the sick once we leave.
2. our laughter tastes like victory. you can't help but stare, we look so holy glowing in the light. go on, tell us how we are beautiful, ghost- like, how our skin reeks of thunder, how you make love to us and feel your body turning inside out with fever. how you are so hungry to give up your soul one sickness at a time. go on, surrender.
3. we wear crowns given, not taken. take life instead of giving it. we sweep through villages like contagion, and we always conquer. conquer, conquer.
goddess

I'm the monster
parents tell there children about it

/a k/
noun
1. heavy wind, cold rain, & yes the stars, & yes these hands of mine. a dream in my chest is melting. my dream sheds its muddy, thunder-stained skin & asks for a heart of peony fields this time.
2. & the nights get heavy like they always do. i am older which means when i think of forests i get stuck not on the robin eggs but on the fox teeth. in my head I am hunting for myself, but I come up empty again. the night grows so wide it could be a cavern & i am somewhere underneath it, inside it, lost. but travellers always leave lanterns behind & as i feel for the candle there arrives a memory of bronze-coloured light.
3. so i dream, i dream, i keep dreaming. one word in my mouth crystallizes like sugar: hope.

"What does the sentence "If you eat this fruit you will die" mean for Eve who is in a place where there is no death?"

"That's so cute. You think you're scary.
But mister, I've seen scary-
and you ain't got his smile."

I love you as a drug addict loves a high

I love you as fire loves homes

As tragedy loves innocence

As order loves to sit and watch everthing go wrong

But I fear I love to deeply and far far to much

(Just as Icarus loved the sun before it set his wings ablaze)

I fear I may be Icarus

born loving something much brighter then me

Doomed to burn alive forever

Did you ever notice how in the Bible,
when ever God needed to punish someone, or make an example, or whenever God needed a killing,
he sent an angel?
Did you ever wonder what a creature like that must be like?
A whole existence spent praising your God,
but always with one wing dipped in blood.

- Would you ever really want to see an angel?

I'm feeling tired again
the kind of tired
sleep can't fix

My English teacher said The opposite of love
Is hate.
But it's not hate,
It's apathy.
Hate still breathes,
It's fiery, raw, and real.
But apathy?
Apathy is a void
Where nothing's left to feel.
No anger, no tears,
Just empty.
So if you ask what's worse,
Hate or apathy,
I'd say apathy,
The silence,
The hollow space, Where nothing is felt
And nothing is left
Between us.

i wish i wrote the way i thought.
obsessively,
uncontrollably,
with maddening hunger,
id write to the point of drowning
id write myself into mental breakdowns    
pages spiralling out like tentacles into the abyss
and id write about you
more then i should

what's your drug of choice
hope
not the one that sits in a gilded cage a bird to watch.
no my drug of choice is wild hope
the one that raw bleeding and scarred
an alley cat missing an ear
a sewer rat ridden with fleas
that is hope
and to me it is a drug
the most addicting one of all

It's strange how your childhood sort of feels like forever. Then suddenly your sixteen and the world becomes an hour glass and your watching the sand pile up at the wrong end. And your thinking about how when you were just a kid, your heartbeat was like a kick drum at a rick concert, and now it's just a time bomb slowly ticking out. And it's sad. And you want to forget about dying, but mostly you just want to forget about saying goodbye.

"you cant love someone unless you love yourself"
*******
I have  never loved myself
but you
oh god, with you i forgot what hating myself felt like

"We have built cathedrals out of spite and splintered bone, of course they aren't pretty, nothing holy ever is-"

you carry your fathers hand me down rage
its two sizes to big
and everyone can see it doesn't fit you

The war will end.
The leaders will shake hands.
The old woman will keep waiting for her martyred son.
That girl will wait for her lover to return.
And those children will wait for their heroic parent.
I don't know who sold our homeland.
But I saw who paid the price.

"You've been writing again."
Yes, I have.
"So, who is behind the pain?"
What do you mean?
"I know you. You only write when you're hurting. When your heart's heavy, your mind full, your soul splintered. Those are the times when your best words
spill on the page. I know this because I've read them, I've felt your words enter my skin, flow through my veins, and embed themselves onto my heart. So tell me, who's behind the beautifully heart breaking poetry this time?"

Flowers bloom in my lungs, white like a frost-covered morning, their roots weave intricate walls around my heart, protecting it. But although they look pretty, I find I cannot breathe. The white suddenly seems more like a freshly cleaned gravestone, and the roots choke my heart in a cage lined with needlepoint thorns. The bright flowers once blooming in my lungs are now a wilted bouquet clutched in sweaty hands watered by salty tears.

/'mad-nes/
noun
1. i forgot i had fists today. my heart decided to be vicious warrior. punch after punch, does it seek a glory? i'm washing my hands, they shine like red sunsets when I first found paradise.
Am i a murderer? or did i **** all my thoughts in self defence?
2. angels are talking behind my ear. they don't sound like the cruel laughter i know. they never leave (everyone always does) should i call this love a lie? for the first time I think I could be holy.
i almost smile.
3. my lips are full of ruby lies. smooth criminal dancing in forgotten light, put on a trail for breaking. for hurting, yesterday i tried to burn my mind, i left three bodies fading behind my back (all were mine mine mine) forgive me father for leaving those marks. mother says heaven doesn't want me anymore.