in this space I knowRecords should be kept
of ghastly forms, pixelized
a painting in our digital museum
of everyday life
Paintings and dolls come alive at midnight
ghastly forms come alive when they like
and they die when they like and resurrect
sometimes in illicit tryst with a stranger
who might be a savior or more likely not.
I may not have fallen in love
cause I find rising in love more appealing
but some of us do fall, with no love
and that well of self-pity is deep.
You may not have understood
it's a trial by fire
but wet nevertheless
not because of the rain
I have witnessed fiery angels
climbing up my spinal stairway
many of them fell
and now when the earth is still dry
in the tonal heat of october's end
I see I have failed, too.
Fallen like the shadows
closely tied to ground
I may not deserve anything more
ignored the auspices, ignored the forebodings
erecting pyramids of stern illusions
predicting all facets of ifs and if anys
in vain, as in vein
turqouisewhen carribbean sun scorches into my skinMore Like This
tattooes I had drawn in my mind on my body
I count all the ways you make me feel now
counting summers past like knots on ropes in the port
the ferrys on their way to Paradise Island
people resembling people resembling you
shallow loves have faded
like shallow water, the white jamaican beach
you close your eyes and you just try to catch your breath
before life sends another wave to break you
you can as well hold your breath
and go down that scary waterslide
cause you have no control anyway
and the road will take you just where you need to go
be it far from me
I wish you good luck
sailing the rough seas, one can only look up
many a brave sailor drowned, but not the stargazer.
even though I misread the maps,
I lost the keys of your chests
your voice still echoes in vast chambers of my mind.
Intimate glossary of 2009A is for Absinthe - This year was colored green, that's for sure, and the fairy followed me in its many forms - the drink, the perfume, stories and music. From the streets of old Vienna to the empty streets of Venice, looking for absinthe was a quest. It was more that that. It was a search for beauty and truth, and my private revolution.More Like This
B is for Bicycle - I went through a whole spectrum of emotions riding my bike this year. From the feeling of pure bliss and newly acquired freedom after moving back to Zagreb, to the most difficult moments in my life after I decided to move back home. My favorite bicycle memory: riding to the beach in October every day, listening to Slowdive.
C is for Cres - my fatal island this summer. I went there without knowing where I'll end up. I just knew that I had to go to the sea. And there it was, wild, unwelcoming island. And yes, I felt free there. Like never before.
D is for Ds - all the men who somehow marked this year, and whose names strangely enough a
with sharp knife we wakeWe breathe differently in NovemberMore Like This
when the knives are sharp again
and wandering through the dirty mist
of our spilled dreams we wake
and beauty collapses.
My faith in shimmery scarlet
unleashed escapes me
with a scent of hemlock on her hair
leaving footprints of mud
in the hallways of your Harvest King.
Too frail to reclaim the season of cold wind
the Sun God sleeps
yet you weld me still into fine madness
and I have no choice but to search
for pieces of me among one hundred iron cranes
rusty then dark cherubs fell.
How can you by the light of the Evening Star
denounce the change of seasons
the change of hearts, of minds?
When consumed by the wave of chill
we wake and endure again
for rituals of faith
and rituals of love
in every form that we take.
cold mercury risingYou told me I was here beforeMore Like This
to say goodbye to all things eternal
exchanged the holy water for tears
and heaps of dry cherry blossoms
for forgotten letters, symbols deceiving,
obscure skinmarks, forbidden poems
And yes, I traded the crystalline plane of aether
for the colored glass in a form of the grail
to be betrayed and lied to and taken to
the edge of the lake of ashes, of landscapes
filled with burning crosses, good oak trees
for our funeral pyre, our gods' hymns aflame
But you were wrong.
Those were not tears
but the snow that once fell on my soul
and then melted through
my eyelids heavy with the Roman sun
as I vowed again in silence to the emptiness
of loneliness prescribed by the stars
and tied around my neck, pulled over my eyes
seven imaginary veils of black
and I put my heart to rest
found it home at last.
expansionmemories...More Like This
are slightly, (or mightily), built upon as time goes by;
that's what we do with what we did.
whether those recollections have collected
added details along the way,
we often do not know - ourselves.
these things don't make those things less treasured -
no, not less, but more.
tales are told, and in their telling,
(in)advertant lies cause normal swelling.
llp - dec'09 - dA
A moment in timeI do not want to capture the worldMore Like This
In a thick glass snow globe
By crystallising a moment in time
It would distort, it must distort
But so often I am dragged
To that loathsome depth
So often I trap the world
Eyes, brain, fingers, pen
It's unfair, it's so unfair
That I pin it
Sprawled and helpless
Without mercy, I dissect
And it becomes tainted
The whole vast bright world
Reduced to a stuttering rhythm
Anaesthetised with cotton wool
And splinters of ice
Bound to do my bidding,
Tell the story I think it should
I will look back, I must look back
Not with shame but with remorse
At how callously I fouled those worlds
By snaring them in words
Life is for the living
Not for the world
To be road hauled
With shiny string
Behind the lumbering
And her innocent sin
Forgive me for my snapshots
For all the harm they've done
For KevinMore Like This
What dreams may lie under surface of a frozen star?
Once turned supernova evidence comes painfully late .
For the light that we see is but luminance turned memory,
slipped though our hands forever .
© 2007 Alexandra
Funeral of misplaced wantAlas my love its come to pass I've tired of our idle song.More Like This
I euthanize my failing hope give it to naught where it belongs.
Thou love me not, we know this truth. I finally acquiesce to fate.
I thousand lies I told myself to ease the bruise I contemplate.
Dust to dust no divine spark to bring the miracle to life.
Ill begotten travesty I see it now from empty height.
Were your silken words of truth, your actions louder they would speak.
I lay to rest my orphaned heart to walk my freedoms lonely street.
© 2009 Alexandra
Ritual Killing of my Child SibRitual killing of my child siblingMore Like This
He charged me like a one-ton bull,
deranged, afraid, eager.
But instead of waving a red gold embroidered capote,
I held a weed-whacker in my dream,
blades whirling full speed.
It was difficult at first to stay still
while metal ground on flesh, then bone,
his blood spurting out covering
my face in warmth as I stood unblinking,
but grew easier until all that was left to cut
For a moment all was still -
the smell of rusted metal fresh
with blood clung to the air,
the sound of gnashing steel and breaking bone
drummed in my ear, and
breath froze in my mouth.
The tool felt weightless in my hands
and effortless to control,
as if this act had been the estocada, death blow,
releasing my tension,
allowing me to slacken my white knuckled grip
on the hilt of my weapon.
Little brother's face was contorted in pain but also
in relief as though he simultaneously feared and craved
this end, as if it were his own release
or escape from whatever anxieti
the line to read and travelTo live is to travel. To let go of the known in search of one's true home.More Like This
Most of the time I see my home in open spaces, only for a moment or two at a time, but long enough to believe it exists. A glimpse of pale creamy sky punched by a slow sun above the oily waterfront, the moon coming out of the clouds just above the top of mountain in a moment before the scene shifts, the sunset above a thick hunter green forest where you can smell the chill in the air through the window glass. There is always a promise of familiarity and there is always a promise of losing the ambiguity of spaces and distances. The only way to find your home is to lose one.
The language works in the same way.
Before the Greek alphabet there were no vowels. The words were almost mysteries offering only a possibility of a meaning. They were a sacrament for themselves. The meaning was out there. They held the power of transformation, making the alchemy alive in the mind of the reader, calling for taking chances whil
van Gogh, the Orient: A LamentMore Like This
When van Gogh lost his soul
'twas no bushy-eyed barbarian
babbling about bushido
that enthralled him, but
a docile geisha's pallid wrist,
in his whisky
of cherry blossom
in his soul.
when van Gogh lost his mind
to a gunshot,
'twas no starry-eyed samurai
supplicating for seppuku
that pulled the trigger, but
a dying puppy's whimper,
storms of samsara hanging
by a whisker
of dead sunflowers
in his mind.
The Marble and The EdgeAt three, my wide eyes watchedMore Like This
as a marble rolled across the table,
its path illuminated by the light
from the window -
(light still entered that house then)
rolled and eventually lost
its grounding, fell like a misguided Columbus
off the edge, rolled under the radiator,
hot to touch and growling.
Then Christmas and the wrapping paper
strewn about the apartment, blood on the carpet.
I never could remember what happened
between the before and after,
but I remember the dark, frantic motion,
the lullaby siren.
While they methodically separated
shirt from body, bone from flesh,
my hand remained in hers.
We rolled steadily forward, away from the edge,
that precarious edge that my mother fell off of, and my father,
the man she rolled under.
50/50, the professionals say, my prophesy.
DNA-crossed, predisposed to insanity: a father
on the edge of schizophrenia and a great
grandmother who was in constant fear of the rabbits.
(They listened to her every word.)
Oh, and any moment I could st
Amorous TranscendenceYes, yes, I know you will believe me when I sayMore Like This
the dandelions will soon explode
and all the little girls will attack the sun
and, most importantly, that my fingers
will soon become dizzy from running in circles over your skin.
All the experts agree
it is quite possible that every citys
newspaper will scream at the top of its lungs
and decree a war on words,
but thank goodness we dont need those.
Surely it is only time until all the walls disintegrate
and reveal the vacuous voluptuaries,
and us, wide-eyed and bending
to the will of each others desire.
Dont breathe in
the wind carries the noxious scent of sweatshop romance.
Join me in the shelter of our bed,
let the air be filtered sweet with these twisted sheets.
Once the world is arrested by the universe
and charged with Grand Treason,
we will be left as testaments to amorous transcendence.
musings from a dark roomOne thing I've discovered lately is how bright the sky becomes after the sun goes down. It's as if the sun, that fleeting giver of warmth and luminence, isn't shining as much as transplanting itself into a comatose patient. The sky and all beneath her lies open on the operating table of the universe as Sol opens an incision. She lies, patiently waiting, as the gleaming golden surgeon cuts her in two, pushing aside her shimmering insides and coating them with a false veneer of flesh. She remains passive as the golden brilliance of the scalpel envelops her very core, expanding to push aside the glittering amulet of the moon. The famous blue raincoat of dusk and dimness and sweet, quiet solitude lies crumpled in a corner. Eventually the effervescent operator grows weary of his own exsanguinating presence, and the time-keepers scratch off another day. The wound in the sky slowly heals. Silence reigns.More Like This
The Ripper's TrailThey used to tell me.More Like This
"If you let him follow you.
It's your own fault of what you turn out to be."
I'd count the steps out in my head,
Of just how far I've gotten.
But I could never shake the feeling of dread
The faster I'd go,
Slower and slower the time seemed to pass,
Until the world stopped short with my blood still running cold.
I'd feel the eyes, and smell the stench.
My body would double, and my insides would wrench.
Still there was a bloodthirsty shadow left waiting to be quench.
I'd cry, but I fear there's no voice left in me.
He's quieter than that, cause he knows,
Not even in this hollowed ally, would anyone hear me scream.
Even the silence is threatening,
The thick air does nothing but stifle my breathing
I still can't believe this is happening...
But every time I turn around,
I still see him chasing me.
Whispering my name to the beat of his footsteps on the cobbled ground.
"Mary Kelly, Mary Kelly, Mary Kelly..."
Who Killed Mary Kelly?Who killed Mary Kelly?More Like This
"I," said the night,
"Killed the innocent bird in flight,
I killed Mary Kelly."
And who'll find her place?
"I," said the morn,
"I have seen where she was born"
And I'll find her place."
And who'll tie your hands?
"I," said the shadow,
"I who have been lying low,
I will tie his hands?"
Who'll see fair play?
"I," said the Ripper,
"For I have become her,
I shall see fair play!"
the unfinishedI started writing this from the bottomMore Like This
and wanted to name the shadows
so I could go to sleep and discover
why all unfinished hurts the most
and time ties your hands so
you stare at the sky blinded by
a sunset which you cannot stop
and you wish you could sink with the sun
maybe that would make that day longer
and prolong the illusion of you being there
you, a librarian angel among the books
tending the grand archive of my dreams
I will sleep and dream and lose
my mind in mazes of salt and mazes of clay
until I find my way out of september
out of stolen passageways and streets
which have never been mine
all of them were yours
and yours were the armies of letters
which waged their own wars
no victims but me
it must be funny to observe them
like a journalist in a foreign land
you laugh at barefooted natives
I will get over you.
22:28, alonehow long must I endureMore Like This
in this wooden box of time
no matter how hard I try to stop
I still look back and try to heal
the wounds that are already scars.
I feel like I could heal it all
in retrospect, change time,
I'd absorb the darkness in me
and turn it into fire
if I could.
and even if the angels said I could not
I'd do it.
augustremember august, remember it well.More Like This
departure screen with our names on it
silvery crests of cold dark waves
dark humming of the engine in a starry night
lightnings tearing up your horizon
a silver ring on her white hand shaking
the taste of a perfect ice cream
your hand in mine, locked
our bodies being simply insane.
look out! a falling star.
landscape moving faster than a dream
tears drying slowly under sunglasses
sleeping with my red lipstick on
the scent of coconut and dry rubber
in a perverse ceremony of the fallen
a whip, a rose, and a chalice maybe.
kind strangers on the lookout for love
and another harsh friendly betrayal
sharp scissors of your heart
bloody knives of my decisions
silences that should not have evolved.
How Mothers Leave UsDecember dusk in Lawrence; longest night of the yearMore Like This
and lights go on above the blackened road.
Children's shrieks - praises to the sun god -
dwindle, are replaced by the murmur
of engines revving on the highway
just one block over.
My mother is finally dead.
In the deepening blue of night,
I wonder why I am still
there. It has been years, but the smell
of the place old cigarettes and Irish coffee
arrests me. A stucco painting of the Holy
Spirit represented by flames
atop the Disciples' heads looms
on the wall in the foyer.
I remember the sting
of the hardened plastic spatula, the one
with holes in the flat end;
she would say, "Discipline
is the only good thing this spoon does well."
And then I recall, as if it were playing out
in front of me, the strangest memory:
She standing over me, glass
cup with whiskey in her left hand,
ice clinking as her hand shakes,
that same utensil in her other,
the sickly smell of the smoke clinging to my nostrils,
In Our Own Vain ImageThe white picket fence in front of me was probably a little different from what most people dream of. There were slats missing, the remaining boards edged with rot and dulled from exposure to both age and the elements. The wide, gapped smile of a beggar. Weeds spilled through the mouldy cracks like the forgotten shreds of yesterday's lunch between yellowed teeth.More Like This
The garden was an unmanageable mess of weeds and towering long grass, the paving stones hidden from view by the clinging moss that covered every vulnerable surface. There were no paths cut through the overgrown vegetation, a sure sign that both man and animal had left Mother Nature to spread her roots among the reclaimed land.
The once curtained windows, like smashed views into the soul, offered shallow peeks of the interior. The ripped fabric hung from the window like old tears from the corner of a widow's eye. The formidable structure was dilapidated and leaning, the edge of the roof naked of slate tiles and hunched like an
Winter SolsticeWe thought it was the beginning of summerMore Like This
and it was the beginning of the dying of light
The sea was still too cold to swim
and you lacked courage to dive in.
I should have known back then
that the only water you dared look into
was the one which mirrored your own face.
But I could not let go of the beauty
that once inhabited your soul, I loved its trails.
From the other side of the cold blue mountain
I listened to our music of the spheres
as you pretended to hear it, too.
Summer passed and carried with its sands
those who I left along the way, the shells half-buried
rinsed by the sea which did not belong to me.
The sea called out for me, to sea I returned.
And then darkness came, the curtains closed
in squid ink black. The scent of incense killed
the dry scent of herbs on the altars that we
touched, of sticky wine drying on cold stone
of your heart. The forces that played our game
instead of us had no sense of humor, brought
no catharsis, only lunatic's violet ray of joy,
a potion of
writeThe wind picked up all I dropped,More Like This
lifting and throwing each seed
to find them homes where I couldn't,
where I didn't--
I didn't want them to
bury, feel trapped, not as I--
I wanted them
to fly up and far away, like I hadn't.
Like I wouldn't.
They'd find a good place to rest,
not a calculated plot of land,
not where I would shove them in the dirt,
with my fingers measuring how deep
to plant them so they would flourish,
They must be on their own.
Whether we'd meet again--
it didn't matter,
for I would walk down this path,
looking once over my shoulder
at what I left behind
knowing I'd never get them back
and if I did,
we'd both be changed.
I wouldn't look back again,
only straight, only forward,
as I skipped and tripped down
unpredictable roads holding
my pen and paper.
Mother WarShes sitting at the window,More Like This
Shes staring out the door,
Shes pacing, pacing, pacing,
On the rug upon the floor,
And shes waiting, waiting, waiting,
To see her son once more.
Her smiles a cold, grim death mask,
Great holes are her mocking eyes,
Shes rocking, rocking, rocking,
With a face like winter skies,
And shes reading, reading, reading,
His letters filled with lies.
Mama cant you hear me?
Knockin at the door?
Mama cant you hear me?
Bangin on the floor?
Arent you longing, longing, longing,
To see the son that you adore?
I can hear them screaming,
In the trenches, fire rains/reigns,
There are grown men weeping,
Theyre broken and insane,
And Im crawling, crawling, crawling,
Through the mud and through the pain.
My smiles a poor dead rictus,
Nightmares lurch before my eyes,
Im rocking, rocking, rocking,
Beneath frozen, biting skies,
And Im watching, watching, watching,
shoulder to the wheel...perhaps, past a pointMore Like This
the rest is living lost,
our slipping away.
perhaps, the nearer i come
to that point,
avoidance, whatever the cost,
the price i must pay.
perhaps, the ability,
in our centric place,
to admit futility
perhaps, some (or all) is true,
then there is this,
potential of a soul,
evident in your face.
perhaps, for what i see in you,
for all of us,
so much to do...
i must continue.
llp - aug'09 - dA
Now ForeignYoure living in thick-skinned silence,More Like This
and I have used arrowheads and knives
carved from a mothers femur, struck it with flint
and jabbed it with a unicorns horn,
but it remains thick-skinned and
all around you, impenetrably yours
and as your guard dogs growling in slit voices,
your faded brick walls and your moats
that I slide into too easily, that I climb out of
but never to a spot safe for me from you.
My hands are trembling and made out of bulging knuckles
the same color as my face, the reflection of the moon,
they are as white as cauliflower cradled in warm leaves,
greenly gentle and covered in the dirt it came from,
and I am Columbus in the wrong continent,
I no longer know where I am and maybe
I am not supposed to be here, my flag
not quite right and your quiet stillness
is a final warning to those who no longer hold citizenship.
Weapons and OrgasmI taught a few kids how to use a chainsawMore Like This
They repaid me with human skulls
Disappointed to say the least
I expected ancient bark, with waterfalls of nectar
For some twisted reason,
we expose the murderous side when provided with weapons and orgasm
Slower. Slow: her.my chest crushes in on itself. something in there knocks randomly, it hurts, and I forget that I forgot (on purpose) those stupid pills. another reason to go back, maybe. no.no.no.no.no. they wont find any(no)thing wrong. yes, I can read the words on the screen, yes, I can hear the voice on the other end of the [life]line, yes, yes, yes. but none of it adds up, not even close, to the way two souls speak or sing or smother each other. maybe my soul, maybe my breath, my blood my bones/fingers/eyelashes/scent/thirst maybe one of those holds the strange language that can explain this. explain any-all-things.More Like This
//noise bores me now. lights have grown dimmer and colors not as vivid (thinks of synonym)-brilliant. the great ability of synonyms is, that no matter how many times you find a new word, it never reaches that potential that you had in mind. never. and in no time Im disgusted with the idea of everythingforever. I want nothing. I want to rid myself
IndigoShe stepped into the bath, feeling the water part, skimming up her leg as she sank back, watching the steam rise from the surface, tiny droplets swirling in the air, iridescent. She pressed the cold glass to her head, so cold against the hot water covering her, lapping over her shoulders covered by her dark hair. She tossed the cold vodka down her throat, listening to the ice chinking against the glass as the drink burned its way through her. The rhythmic dripping from the leaky tap, which usually irritated her, was surprisingly soothing so she concentrated on it watching the drips falling over her dark violet painted toes.More Like This
Setting the glass down on the floor she let her fingers, the last dry part of her, drift over the water, dipping in and under, disrupting her own reflection. She lifted her arm up watching the drips roll down, one in particular gliding from the tip of her of her middle finger, across her palm and wrist, following her purple veins till it came to rest on the inside c
Aftermath of Castle RockCrestfallenMore Like This
weak as the wake
of the tepid trembling
breaking over the sand.
How hard it is
To Treasure smiles
in a sweaty bath of
or to honour vows
haul prayers from our faded minds.
To turn in such
is to discover a web of feet and hands, disjointed, discombobulated, unable to be grasped
in supplication or remorse
(The household names have gone now).
with half-dead voices
or none at all
unbending under the sky's great agony
unsalted wounds of the spirit
fingers clumsily find fellows
Hold as the soreness stretches.
A Salvage AttemptDrop dead,More Like This
How people are molds
Of the predecessors minds,
With a shotgun strapped
Underneath their desk.
They send out submarines
Unprepared for battle,
Divers without tanks of oxygen,
But, to the chief,
They send back steak,
Not rare enough.
Bloody grease drips off the plate.
With all that is left,
Secret code ends up
On the check.
Classification of what's
Nothing but an old war movie,
A marathon of exhausted avenues.
A Devil's FormFight.More Like This
The men that wound.
The teeth that bite,
The feet that stomp,
The hands that slap
And punch and bruise.
Into a calm innocence.
As if never beckoned,
Buried deep within us all.
Summoned and asked to behave.
Forgotten -Rewritten-More Like This
He sits in his room. His paper white and unused. His pencil still in his hand. His eyes filled with sorrow as he stares, while his pencil hovers over the white sheet. He glances out his window at the other building that sits across from his apartment complex.
"Write about your life...." he mouths. He closes his hazel eyes. Trying to figure out this school paper as he opens his eyes. "What life?" he whispers, then puts his pencil down. He leans back in his chair, looking up at the white popcorn ceiling. He doesn't remember any joyful memories. He tries, but can't. He doesn't really know why he can't. Sure, His parents worked all the time and hardly ever came home. every since he was old enough to be left with a sitter. He run his fingers through his sandy blond hair.
A light sigh slips past his lips and he sits up in his chair. His head turns as he looks at his almost empty room. The walls a plain white. The floor a plan grey. He shakes his head saying "My life is plain... nothing looks
rituals of spring sleepingtonight I drink for youMore Like This
I drink my blood and the blood of the Earth
contained in sweet wine which flows
from where you were born
we share the veins with vines
under the same sun we ripe and we fall
the great harvest of souls leads us astray
to the field of stars, to the field far away
its map we had lost on our way down to light
to this life, and we walk blind in silence,
blind through the night
god, how I let you in,
to sail my uncharted oceans
to visit this crumbling shack of emotions
to this cave of despair,
oh how life is not fair,
at least not to you
here spirits of past still dwell and perspire
and water is always submerged in my fire
and you with your eyes made of dawn
and graves of blue waves
you have come, uninvited
or that spell really worked
well whatever it was
it was stronger than me
cause I let it be.
and if invoke my saturnine self
I can devour you like a child
I might kill in my womb
cause I'm afraid of my dark moon
and the rising tide it awakens
Dead InsideMore Like This
i didn't ask to
love you for
all that you are
it just happened
a shot in the dark.
thousands times two
all i know is expression
the lines of your face.
i shouldn't even fantasize
i just can't help it
you trance me
with your dark, abysmal, eyes.
i fell hard
fast and with fury
begging you to know
instead there's heartache
where love should reside
doesn't matter now
lost the love of my friend
I'm The GuyHello.More Like This
In case you don't know me...
I'm The Guy.
I'm the guy that always has headphones around my neck.
I'm the guy who actually argues LOGICAL explanations.
I'm the guy who saves one piece of paper when I can't find a recycle bin.
I'm the guy that speaks around a hundred words each day.
I'm the guy that conducts to an invisible orchestra when I'm bored.
I'm the guy that doesn't care if I act strange.
I'm the guy who used to have long hair.
I'm the guy that knows everything about Beethoven.
I'm the guy that always eats lunch outside with my friends, even if its snowing.
I'm the guy that can't get to sleep without a fan hitting me.
I'm the guy that's listened to Beethoven's 9th over 300 times.
I'm the guy who looks cold on the outside and you've never bothered to talk to.
I'm the guy who cares about my girl.
I'm the guy that doesn't laugh every second because I'm actually mature.
I'm the guy that would rather listen to Chopin than go to a kegar.
I'm the guy that only speaks when I have
wanting what i cant haveI really do want to fall in love. I do. Who doesn't? but of course, I cant. All I can do is hurt people. Over and over again I don't want to though. Everytime it's the same thing, no matter what. I become interested in somebody, and then they start to like me. It goes on for however long it takes for them to really like me, and then I cant feel the same anymore. No matter how perfect I know it would be, I cant make myself feel it for no reason at all. It makes me so sad because I want to love so much its frightening, but I just can not do it. and then I have to tell that person that I technically led them on for so long until they were in too deep to get out and so I'm the force that shoves them under, taking away the thing they had put forth so much effort to get.More Like This
I'll spend so much time with them, inter myself into their world and them into mine.
weeping willow dancing cattailthrough the willow the girl weepsMore Like This
for the sad loved one she left behind
with hair so green
and skin so brown
all the fair maidens adored her
she could sing
and even play
through the ball
that followed her 15th birthday
she wove her way through the boys
one by one they fell
in love with her
and no one else
but there was one
the one she loved
and he was away on a quest for her
the girl weeps
a year has past
he shall not return
going into the swamp
she rooted herself
to the mud
and made herself of wood and leaf,
forever to stay as she was
for no one else
two months later
but finds her nowhere
going to the forest
he finds his willow
and weeps for her
dancing around and around
he roots himself along the bank
next to her
willow and cattail
forever rooted to their spots
Just A Bit LonelyWhen all your closest friends have boyfriends...More Like This
When you feel this unloved...
When everyone you need isn't paying attention enough...
Lonely isn't a good enough word.
Remember To Learn To Forget...RememberMore Like This
Seashells and summer sand
The gentle caress of your hand
Rainbows and butterflies
Blue skies and emerald eyes
Rolling waves and sunrise
Shooting stars and ebony skies
Lavender lilies and apple pies
Hypnotize me with your eyes
Mesmerized, I fantasize
Of Strawberry clouds and cherry lips
The velvet touch of your fingertips
Fireflies and passing cars
The Milky Way and shooting stars
The begin of our demise
You left me with tears in my eyes
Raindrops and heartbeats
Flower petals and empty streets
Thunder bolts and lightning streaks
Broken hearts and lonely sheets
Sunsets and midnight skies
That loving glimmer in your eyes
Campfires and starry nights
A full moon and flashing lights
The moment you took me by surprise
Flower petals and wishful sighs
Hopes and expectations
Dreams and aspirations
Fireworks and revelations
An empty canvas, a brush in my hand
Paint over the past
And begin again
BruisesOur story started quickly,More Like This
It ended it soon,
I don't what to do,
I'm lost without you,
I'm lost without everything you do.
Just plain friends,
Innocent conversations on IM,
Turn in into a disaster,
Only to me.
You left me broken,
You left me with bruises on the inside of my heart,
You left me embarrassed and ashamed,
You left me,
Now all I have left of you,
All you things you said,
Had no meaning,
Every compliment you ever gave me,
Everything you told me,
Was nothing significant.
Every moment I spent talking with you,
I lost my heart,
It feel apart,
The truth broke it open,
I have to get over this on my own,
I have to push you away,
It let it all fade away.
You left me broken,
You left me with bruises on the inside of my heart,
You left me embarrassed and ashamed,
You left me,
Now all I have left of you,
I'll be fine,
I just you need you away,
I just need to not feel ashamed,
I just need to accept the consquences,
I just need...
To let go
TimeI try to be your friend but instead you devour my soul.More Like This
Time turns to me and declares, "This is your stop."
I tumble from the train of thought.
Infinity coats my skin with multicoloured layers.
Time becomes lost. It returns to me and demands directions for it's failures.
I turn it away, "You abandoned me in my time of need, and now you may feel my pain."
I feel no guilt but instead I simply know I am wrong. Time did exactly as I asked; "From help, let me refrain."
Here lies the truth as I wish to deny it.
Into the heart of time I dive; I will never quit.
Day TwoI fall in love with broken things.More Like This
-You were hurting when we met, but we changed each other, didn't we?-
I have a pathological need to fix what's broken. The more damaged the
better. I will try and try and try to save somebody with everything that I
amuntil my fingers bleed and every last word is spent. But I'll never ever
admit to how much my heart breaks every time I fail.
I've put up walls I don't know how to take down.
-These walls are the ring in my pocket and dog tags around your neck-
They cast shadows and every shadow is her silhouette. I don't
remember the last time I saw the sun, and I wonder if anyone has the
climbing skills to be my Prometheus. But would I be the sunless mortal
or the vulture that tears out your heart liver?
I like to learn everything I can about the things that frighten me most.
-The last time you held me was the last time I felt safe.-
empty spaceHeart racing, your breath comes fast as you lie on your back in the sand.More Like This
Washed ashore from who-knows-where-but-you-definitely-don't, to a place you've never seen.
Or maybe you have.
You just don't remember.
But that doesn't matter now because there's a wall in your mind. And somehow you know that on the other side, there's something important.
Something you need.
As you prod and poke, you suddenly know what it is.
It's who you are.
But it's not a question of
or even name.
It's the deep-down-inside person, the one who wakes in your dreams and sleeps in your heart.
But right now you don't know who that is, what that could be, because of the wall. And this makes you burn with the need to bring it down.
Break it apart.
Until nothing stands between you and who you really are.
So you pound and push and shove
Batter it with determined fists that leave your head spinning
finally the wall is gone.
Just like that. It's gone, but somehow n
"Normal"Everyone is normal --More Like This
because No One is normal.
What is normal,
but a Concept of a Perfection
that is full of Imperfection?
thus, everyone's Imperfections
Create the Perfection
of the Illusion of normalcy.
Symbiosis and Unity, ContestTumpMore Like This
A small figure walked along the cracked sidewalk of a small Russian city, footsteps echoing for blocks. Luminous eyes peeked out from alleys and windows, hungrily eyeing the girl and her bulging suitcases.
She ignored the eyes, as she always did. They would not attack her, no matter how much food she carried. But they would watch, as long as they could without leaving their dens.
Cities like this were the reason humans still feared androids. There were documented cases of starving humans turning cannibal, but never anything on a scale like this. The only viable source of food in the city was people, a fact that had transformed most of the near-immortal populous into flesh-hungry psychopaths. Even if their hunger was sated, the minds of most were too far gone.
The girl's path led her to a large hotel, rotating doors shattered years ago, glass reduced to sand on the floor and sidewalk. She stepped through doors, careful not to drop her bags. A pair of eyes looked
love is an understatement.i built up allMore Like This
of our cliffs, and
promised to catch you
when you fell, but i
never said i'd catch you
all of my homeless
friends are gone, i'm the
only one left in town,
so this is what
it feels like
this goddamn heart
has forgotten how
to bleed, broken
pieces of my
old walls are scattered
on my floor,
to move again.
this old apartment
is filled with long-lost dreams and
all too vivid memories.
not to mention the cobwebs
in the cabinet.
i promised you
because the time
Post Light EraMore Like This
but the absence would not be dark; traverse our brains into brand new dreams; shape our references from the breath of unseized thought; wilderness, like boundless sonic cells aloft, aloud, along audio spectrums all; too, but spots of nothing there erupt as nothings do; and they'd have vacancies with meta-tropes, children with children prolepsing the past; we are not linear; we wade ourselves endless; we are not the yellow hue of streetlights' sorry go at pure insightful dirty light; we are the sun dripping life from every Orpheus blasting through every Ra ra ra ready for explosions contusions demanding diluted members never no drip drip down to our plash like mirrors on fire gasp for an ever lunging little liquid droplet as to give new life!
Kori tis NychtasThe constellations screamedMore Like This
The moon gave birth
Soft midwinter night was
The newborn was Beauty
Wrapped in robes of dragonflies
Hair the color of silver secrets
Threaded with seashell pearls
She dressed in white
For her wedding with the stars
As she stood
Galaxies poured from her eyes
Snow vines blossomed at her feet
And her heart smoked
Setting the earth in spin
She carved from the sky
A crescent bow
Baptized herself the huntress
In a stream of light
And fashioned from fireflies
A single arrow
Then shot it through space
To be heard by Gods
Beneath a cypress tree
She sang to the universe
Something ice pure
But drenched in sadness
And heaven melted into the sea
Divinity drank her lunar toxin
And sweetened her words
Enveloped her in wind
Quickly eating the fatal poetry
Her bright Unspokens
She kissed the forest leaves
And thanked them for shelter
Etched virtues in limestone walls
Anointing the midnight world
River waters froze over
Her perfect skin
Glowing ivory velvet