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Victoria Kiely Oct 2013
Scuffs in walls have always interested me. They are both mundane and mysterious in their nature. Perhaps they were made during the process of moving, or while a careless mistake had been made by innocent children.
But perhaps
they were made through mischief and secrets. Perhaps they were made on purpose in an effort to leave a scratch on an already-ruined canvas. Perhaps it was not a mistake at all.
Scuffs on walls are quite similar to scars left on strangers skins; we know not the story behind them or their meaning, whether or not they were made with purpose. All we know is that they are present and that they could be simple or vastly interesting. We know they exist, and that is enough.
Victoria Kiely Oct 2013
Six hours and three bottles later
you and I are still knee deep in problems
we don’t know how to solve
with only two heads and two hearts.
Still lost and unsure, we have followed each other
into darker places than we had intended to travel to.
Silent, slow minutes have crawled into hours
and now we crawl too - Its all we know here
alone in this cold room.
I lay naked between worn sheets
while you drop off into slumber.
I wish I could follow you into
the depths of your mind
instead of being
in this untraveled place.
Some things are avoided
for a reason.
Victoria Kiely Oct 2013
Sometimes my hand fails to translate
thoughts quickly enough
as my ideas of you slip through the cracks,
quietly, unnoticed.
Your smile bleeds
into the ink of my pen
and leaves traces of you
with each word I write,
but I just cant seem to write fast enough.
I feel you in more words than I am able to speak;
my mind flows to your beat;
and my heart beats your name,
as though we are one in the same.
Victoria Kiely Oct 2013
We rely too heavily on people - sometimes they can become something like a drug that we wish we would not depend on, that we wish we were not addicted to
crawling underneath our silky skin, rolling in waves of pleasure first, then pain
And whats worst is that you can become addicted to certain types of pain - especially when the pain comes from something that once felt so, so right.
Victoria Kiely Oct 2013
It is so pretentious to build things with the intention of sharing them with another,
to assume that we will find somebody at all.
Most everything is meant to be shared,
to be experienced in tandem;
to be seen with more eyes than you possess yourself;
felt with two hearts.
Sometimes, we are lucky enough to find but an extention of ourselves.
But that sinking, aching feeling when
that discovered extension of yourself cannot be found is unmatched,
only describable in the smallest of words - “missing you”.
Victoria Kiely Oct 2013
The transition between seasons makes the trees look strange; like they are both missing something and bare something that they shouldn't simultaneously. The turn of the wind makes trees become barren while still wholly in bloom. the way the leaves look when they finally admit defeat and fall to autumns cruel wind is both beautiful and indescribable, and also entirely imminent.
Victoria Kiely Oct 2013
The day your lover awakes
In the dead of night
With a doubt on their lips
Is the same day that
You lose them
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