the Artist's complexityexplore your soul and your hands will speakthe Artist's complexity3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
phrases will turn laces will burn
don't ask me how to live and learn
the difference? how am i supposed to tell?
between divine oblivion and frustration from hell
I dye my hair and my hair dies everyday
numb nails i paint ripped records i play
i paint my nails for fun, not my canvas.
Why don't you understand? It resembles one irritating, relieving, eternal cough.
The artist's complexity will always be a mystery.
(at least to You - not to Me)
The WindowWe stood like two statues near the window, your hands carefully holding my waistThe Window3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Raindrops touched the tormented pavement, following those same cracks they always traced
As we watched a cat climbing cars and faces full of misinterpretation
We smiled and read each other's thoughts, our usual way of communication
The back of my pale neck sensed the shadow of your hair
I could imagine us in a million light years, still standing over there
The very moment resembled breathing: natural, eternal and complete
Earth seemed to fade at the horizon and begin right at our feet
Then I slowly turned my head and whispered three questions in your ear
"What are you doing on this human-inhabited planet then, my dear?
Why does time seem to chase us more and more each hour?
And will the cardboard birdhouse survive this heavy shower?"
Fingers entwined, eyes fixed on the watercolour sky,
like a softly shimmering statue near a window -
I listened to your reply.
What happened nextIt's been a over year since you sat there, with your eyes matching your shirtWhat happened next2 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
a black watch around your wrist, your name the first two syllables I heard
Together they'd form a presently much-cherished word.
If I had no reason to preserve this, then why do I recall it all?
As my eyes tried to stretch out to every corner of the hall
I'd never have guessed you were slowly starting to fall
For me, a girl with nine lives, all made of pencils and poetry
it took a friend's broken anger to finally make me see
That there might be a half-forgotten chance for me.
The chance was short-lived and quickly ruined, and I never went to see your play
I remember the rings around your fingers, but not the words I hoped you'd say
And the confusion over the conclusion: was that a date or merely a day?
Then I turned around and flew away.
For months the paths of our lives were winding and steep,
so we paved them with Caffeine, Sugar and an Unhealthy Amount Of Sleep
But since they never crossed at the right mom