Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
WCA Aug 2014
She was trying, so desperately,
To outrun the quiet loneliness of the world.
She held vendettas against the sinister silences that haunt goodbyes,
Against the fading shades of love,
Against the quietness in a voice that speaks to a desertion of love; a death.
(The monsters of her heart).
However, there is a certain bravery in her desperation for life.
To escape the oceans of regret,

To escape a certain brokenness.
For bravery lies in her conviction to live,
To find an irrevocable truth in another,
To deceive the shadows of longing.
In the face of undeniable malice and grandure.
In the fear of feeling nothing at all.
For in the end,

When the silence is deafening,
With a weariness that electrocutes,
And a tiredness of the heart.
She wanted it all to have mattered.
-

*"Do you think I'm pretty?"
I think you're pretty."
WCA Jun 2014
To find something that was not there before,
To stare at a telephone that will not ring,
With a tiredness of the eyes and a taint of the heart.
To notice that sometimes words are not enough.

To follow the dances of strange fingerprints,
To terrorize the etchings on the skin,
To burn last nights cigarettes into the lips.
To distract the longing of the heart.

To know a moment in many different ways,
To understand that it could not exist,
To wonder if it was ever there at all.
To find a sincerity in delusion.

To understand the power moonbeams,
How they mar the bones, in their fictions,
To know the subtle parallels of love and hate,

How they act as partners in crime.

To the devastating follies that transpired in the night.
So hauntingly lovely.
That one may not mind carrying them,
Like sad love letters, clinging to the loneliness of secret places.


It's the type of sadness you don’t really mind noticing.
-


*"I wish I could kiss you all night."
"Maybe you just might."
WCA Jun 2014
You are so terribly corrupted by the tragedy that lingers in your blood.
So terribly crumbled by the silhouettes in the night, how the shadows that dance reminds you so much of his.
You find yourself shrivelled by the world, haunted by your thoughts.
Yet my love, through your sorrows and woes,
I beg of you, do not forget.

Remember how he looked at you that day,
How you knew that you would hide that look on the tips of your eyelids for years.

Remember when he held your hand, when you saw the beauty in the world and with knees trembling, you knew.

Remember the thunderbolts that rioted in your soul when he traced your skin for the first time, when you were so electric and so terrified you could barely stand it.

Remember his mumbled midnight dreams and how he was so grateful that you were the last thing he saw, remember that those twists and turns that were, at one point, the most important thing in the universe.

Remember him, finding you, when you had encaged yourself in a silent room, full of so many things, that were beginning to drown you.
Remember how he was there.

Remember in your drunken haze, when you held his hand and led him through the streets. Remember when he held you, when he made you feel alright.

Remember when he followed you to the door, and how you felt when he held your wrists to stop you from leaving. Remember that.

Remember when you thought that it was simply so astounding, to have found him at all.

Remember that things are sometimes good and sometimes bad and most importantly, that anything worth having known in this world requires without doubt, an equal and brilliant mix of both.  

Remember that you were happy once and please don't be ashamed of that.

And above all, remember who you used to be.
-



*"Beg yourself, my love, beg yourself,
To not forget who was knocking on your door.
In the rain, on Saint Patricks day."
WCA Jun 2014
There are so many nights that are so vehemency important.

And so many nights that are not.

Yet the most important are the nights that never happened.

The nights silenced by fear or tiredness or silliness.

The nights that are pounding on doors of regret.

The nights that haunt in their wake.

Because they could have meant something. 


And because things rarely do these days.

-

*"It would have destroyed me if you said hello, it would have ******* killed me."
WCA Apr 2014
For I believe you to be a thief, my dear.
As I believe for all that come into my mind.
And perhaps, the thought of you still lingers,
As if to wistfully remind my bones,
That I must chase you,
To regain the part that you have so gracefully stolen.
Perhaps that is why you are so inescapable.
Because you have escaped,
And I lie, so desperately trying to avoid that realisation.
You have had such a grand heist on my heart,
And it is only in your wake that I have realised its absence.
How foolish of my indeed,
To leave it so unguarded.
Perhaps that is why my knees quiver when I hear of you,
Because I want to run,
To follow you.
Yet you are already so very far away.
And I fear, in the mist of the failures of distraction,
That I shall never make the distance.
WCA Apr 2014
For she is the embodiment of pure nostalgia,
Her twists and turns are so inescapable.
For the memory of her clings to me,
And, as if a partner in crime,
Her goodbye accompanies.
I will find her, in the creases of sheets,
And the rooms that are hollow of her.
Somedays, all I can see is her,
Is her eyes.
Eyes that once held my world,

That hypnotized me with their electricity.
Yet today there is no serendipity found in the irises I once adored.
No, they only allude to the chilling numbness that has infested her blue bones.
Know that I write this as a obituary to the girl I once loved.
I write this in vengeance of the betrayals of fate.
I write this so you will understand that she was not always,

So terribly heartless.
She lies, as incorruptible evidence, that tears can live inside a gods eyes.
-

For I would have swum the ocean for her,
If only I could.
WCA Apr 2014
You must run from her,
For she has fragmented her heart,
And therefore,
Has no tolerance for yours.
-  

*Her face seemed as though it had been kind once.
Next page