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Alina Arcadia Nov 2017
I've been running from my troubles
But its harder than it seems

I've been bathing in the rivers
To wash this sinner clean

I've got chaos in my blood
And all I do is bleed

Tried to save the dying woods
I did plant a thousand seeds

But the forrest is dead
try to wash my hands, the rivers going red

And I'm a child of the night
living days in the sun

Starving for a bite
Spent a living on a gun

I've been growing out a garden
From the hollows of my bones

My body rotting benethe the steady oak
But the birds will keep me clean

And the ocean turned red again
time to go to bed again

I'll drag my corpse  back home
Oh, the trouble I have seen
Alina Arcadia Nov 2017
People
Have told me
that loneliness is a heavy thing
That it sits in your lungs
It ways you down, dragging you

But my  loneliness is a bird
And it lifts me
It lives in my hollow bones

I am traped in an empty sky
The strom pushes me higher
Further from the ground
And I am lost to the night
Forgotten again
Alina Arcadia Mar 2016
I watch a moth above an open fire.
It must be well known that moths use the stars to navigate home
that they may often mistake a streetlight or torch for one.
and as I watch it fly through the flames
again and again
burning away its paper wings
I wonder how easy it must be
to  mistake the scorching heat to the warmth of a star
to think that
maybe,
if you flew close enough,
theses flames might take you home.
Alina Arcadia Mar 2016
thin glass, brittle straw
heavy hands and slamming doors.
bruised knees, always mending
like love and poetry
always better at ending.

— The End —