augustyou tear apartevery aspect of me,and i lie on the ground.dissected;still not whole.
a monster's romanticsI got a nervous habit and I drink too much.Can you tell I haven’t slept very well since the last timethat we spoke? “We’re killing time just a little bit faster.”The words come with a new kind of sadness.If it looks like Armageddon’s coming down today,please don’t tell me that I’m dreaming; I can’t tellif he’s real or a made-up version of her again. Andthe hardest part of living is just taking breaths to stay.
Heat AdvisoryWe are an air-mass thunderstorm at the heightof an Indian summer -- a cloudburst collidinginto a cyclone, raising the temperature of anywho wander through our sweaty inversion.I soar above the earth buoyed on your thermals,straight into a clap of thunder conceived bylightning fever. A roiling heatwave travelsacross our connection, evaporating the atmospheresurrounding the eye of our storm. Your humidbreath wisps over the thermodynamics of my skin,pushing cumulonimbus up the drought in my spine.Muggy kisses trail down my body like volcanic ash,a haze blurring the lines between our hurricanes.And as the barometer spikes, my heartbeat quickens;I am sucked into the vortex of your tropical storm.
breakingtime ticks on and you changeto survive, but survival of the fittestalways seemed a bit skewedin the history booksof whoever won this war.you're a chance to show themthey were wrong;pull the trigger one last timeand let them knowwho you're going to be.if they smother you, shinebrighter than the fragmentsthey're made of -- don'tlet them make you a ghostin the machine that spins awayin forgotten dimensionsuntil it rusts. the craters of the moonwill always call for you,changing the tides endlesslyuntil your voice crackles throughthe radio and shouts back,"no one can break me!"
untitledThat guy thinks he's heartless;I watch him as he buys coffeeand gives it to everybody he passeson the street who looks sad, andhis lips curl into a smile becausehe made a joke that gave someone a laugh.He holds his mother's hand on topof hospital sheets, pressing the buttonto pump morphine into her systembefore he signals a nurse. Tears cascadedown his face when he watcheshis mother take her last breath.And his lips curl into a sneer as he walkspast a cloud of lung choking smoke,thinking of the fume filled airhis mother suffocated herself in.He thinks he's heartless, buthis heart is bigger than anyone's.
getting rid of inhibitionsI peel off my skin; unrestrained.
InfatuatedI am infatuated with a boybecause his smile is too big for his faceand it feels like the only thing that’s real,because his eye color is ceruleanand that’s been my favorite crayonever since my grandmotherbought me that set of sixty four,because he’s so damn beautifuleven though boys aren’t meant to be,because his hands are big enoughto hold the whole worldand he doesn’t even knowwhat he wants in them yet.I wish I could find the courage to crackmy rib cage open for himand point out all of the waysthat he managed to sneak into my heartso nothing is misunderstoodor misinterpreted anymore,but I can’t even speak to himbecause my tongue ties itselfinto pretty ribbon bowsbecause he is a gorgeous jigsawand I don’t understand him at all,even after a million glances.So I’m dissecting every word he says,every glance in my direction,and every casual brush of skinto try and find subliminal messageseven if there aren’
god never meant for us to be anything1. patricki expected wondersfrom a boy with a tonguelike a viper and a small,spare room in a strange house.i did not get them.2. tyronei tasted my first cigarette on your lips.and couldn't wash the taste out for weeks.i never smoked again.3. zaccwe were a divine mistake,right down to the way your hands skittered over my flesh like deer.your mother read the fury on my faceas i left.4. blakea dark roomand misplaced pillows caught my disinterestand muffled itwhile you pulled off your shirt.it never went as far as you had hoped.5. lukeyou taught me the disadvantages satin sheets hold.i taught you how to feel falsely oppressed.6. peteryou taught me how to appreciate the shape of kind hands and quiet lips in a rowdy school yard.i forgot your namewithin a year and recall it with doubt.7. markusmy hips had notswollen to accommodate a fetus.your interest lay withmy mothe
To the boy who broke my heartWe only communicate by letters,stamps stuck down with kisses,delivered by cupid (or by royal mail)I have fallen in love with the curves ofyour name, stroking your white paper skinscrawling love notes in the folds of yourcollarbone, the folds of the envelope,pressing my hands into your backwith every word spillingfrom my mouth to your eyes;in the silence we say so much,separated at opposite ends of the skywe entangle our hands, braid our fingers like plaitsAnd your scribbles sigh from my pinboardand my cursive whispers from your deskreading between the lines, I can hear our heartbeatsecho, our steps falling in syncI love it when you wear those red blue and white stripes,when the airmail stamps are not smudged,when the queen smiles at meas if she knows what you’ve written, as if she is our matchmakerand you sign off with an x and I give you three in reply -Maybe I gave too much,packed my future in tissue paper and a parcel,packed my life into two beaten suit
three ways to fall aparti.we were seventeenwhen you promised me thatthis tiny dustbowl ofa southern town was not going to beeverything my life was made of.it wasn't hard to believebecause the maps you'd spread acrossyour ceiling never lied (since you claimedit was easier to dream when theywere stuck above youin the night).i remember the lines you'd drawnin a felt pen, red because it seemed important,seemed louder than the rest, andi remember how youwould trace the roads with your eyes until youfell asleep. you had a knack formemorizing every escape route, and when i asked whyyou answered that it was because one day youwould have to run.when i asked if i could fly away with youyou said yes, and that night i dreamtof runaways and falling stars. i never was sureif they were supposed to mean something bigger than us.ii.sometimes when i lie awake at nighti wonder now how far we mighthave gotten if we ever left, if we had jumped intoyour old impala and left the road behind us -it's too
Parentheses(I wonder if parenthesesever see all the letterscaught in between themand feel that distanceas though it is tangible;if they ever craveto be close enough togetherso they could intertwineuntil their inkscratchescollide to incoherence;if you’ve ever noticedhow your right hand ellipsesand curves just like a parenthesis,and how my left hand is its opposite.)
You Will Meet Me In The DarkSometimes there is a shift in a personSomeone who was once afraid of shadowsNow suddenly takes comfort in themA person that feared the creepings of the darkAnd the monsters that which lay thereNow takes pride in creeping right alongside themHe that used to shiver and shake at that cold feelingNow turns to face the terror thereGrinning back with blood stained teethThere are things that change a personFrom sweet and naive and cluelessTo hard, uncaring, and unafraidThose that once walked with softness and smilesNow striding with certainty and roughnessA person stripped raw of innocenceMany such a person exist in this worldIf you care enough to look for themThese are the ones that surviveFor they know the horrors of this systemAnd they have seen the bloodthirsty monstersThey are not the ones residing in the darknessNo the real monstersThe ones you should fear and cower fromAre the ones that shroud themselves in lightThe ones with white wings and compassion as their
star*crossedi. when we first metI was an owl-eyed dreamer,surely, I was the moon;lonely and surrounded by thedark thick blanketshivering in the arms ofan oxygen-deprived sky thatdidn’t want meand you,I assumed that you,the pretty Miami girlwith the loud, silent presencewere the sun; the half crackedgrin you gave me lit your eyesand I felt warm, like I wasmelting and I knew,that around you,I would be in dangerof falling from my numbingvelvet atmosphere, downtowards the flames thatcurled around youbut the sun and the moonwill never have the slightchance of gracing each otherbecause they are oppositesides of the spectrum and Icouldn’t handle that soI ranii. It took me so manymissed moments tofind out that I waswrong, you are not thesun, that I was not themoon but thatyou are the moon, I am thesea, we aren't too different justtwo different mysteriesbecause we are bothhidden in plain sight, fromothers and within ourselvesiii. there is no hint ofthe
Love Letter to ChopinNo matter the number of strings I pull,the number of keys I crash and speakersI blow and records I scratch,I can’t quite chase the sound of the pianoas it echoed through the hallto my ear pressed to the door.Nocturne No. 20 will always be yours.It will always be your untied shoelacesand white-collar shirt between four stained wallswhere the violinists and cellists tuned their instrumentsto the key of increasing hysteriaand pre-concert jitters.It will be your fingers practicing your piecewhile the rickety bench croaked its own songand your laugh at the way your feet tingledin your shoes. It will be our calming breathswaiting in the hallway for our name to be called.It will be the way I tried not to breatheintoo deeply as we huddled,our eyes catching fragments of the cellists and violiniststhrough the crack in the door.It will be the colour of the walls where I hidand the taste of the water that washed away my tearswhen I couldn’t take it,could
Perfection Is What You Make Of ItWhen I find the perfect match for meIt wont be because they're perfect in every wayI want them to be filled to the brim with flawsOnes that match mine perfectlyI want them to dig so deep inside me and find my horrorsAnd look upon them, not with pity, but with understandingI want them to cry and scream with their painAnd let me scream right along with themSomeone that does not try and pull me away from the darkBut sits in the inky blackness with meI don't want to change them, or them meBut both of us grow togetherI do not want someone that cowers when I push themI want someone who grins and pushes back just as hardI don't not want someone that says they will die for meI want to be with someone who says I will live for you if you do the same for meI want someone with scars and callusesSo they do not look in horror when they reflect back on meI want someone that when I play the melody of my soulThey sing the lyrics back at meThat sort of person may not be perfect to yo
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