PyromaniaI want to see a light show in ochre and dancers
two thousand degrees in heat: I want to watch them
all traipse across my bedroom floor with their
encore in grey.
Blistered fingers flicking cigarette lighters
to see an orange pirouette turn for me,
my parents worry that I smell of smoke but they
don't know the reality.
The truth is that you can find me weaving
kerosene trails around the moon and Saturn's rings
telling acorns and oak leaves to enjoy our
favourite disease -
So I flick the lighter once again and speak
to the blackened walls and singed floors:
'Don't fear the kiss of the flame
don't let them douse the burns you reap
don't stop dancing, just don't stop dancing
Dead lipsThere's so much I want to sayMore Like This
But I can't
Because stone cold ears can't hear
There's so much I want to ask you
But now I'll never hear it
Because lifeless lips can't talk
There's so much I want to show you
But now you'll never see it
Because worn out eyes can't see
There's so much I want to do with you
But now I can't
Because dead lips can't kiss
Theres so much I wish we could do
But now we can't
Because Stone cold ears can't hear
Life less lips can't talk
Worn out eyes can't see
And dead lips can't kiss
And I might as well be kissing a corpse
Because your not the person
you used to be
Reasons To LiveSo hard to treasure up reasons.More Like This
Write them on your palms and recite them,
Keep moving and living and loving,
Even if you don't believe in love yet. Or in reasons.
Days when it hurts to dream:
Strings tied to my bones
Steps are completed without my help.
My voice is fading metal, an old fence in the storm.
And I just remember that the last time it rained
I knelt in the mud and shook to pieces;
Fragile shoulders and cold downpour and warm tears.
Those days, I am a falling star with flames cold and dim.
But sometimes the sun rises differently.
An escape can awaken me,
Break me open from my death-like sleep;
Light flooding over my skin because it dwells beneath
Sometimes words are my wings to balance my pain
And sometimes they are prisons and cuffs and chains.
But if the star beneath my heart is sharp and edged,
At least it shines and guides me.
When everything is lost and unraveled and dark,
Something always turns my t
Fall OutI am the recipeMore Like This
Of every mans envy
So any woman could have me
Yet I choose to abide
To stand by your side
Fingers bleed while I just try piecing it up
Fixing this love is like touching broken glass
I can't even bring myself to give you a hug
So why do I try when I know we'll never last
Girl WantedI want a girlMore Like This
with her eyes closed
(in black and white)
and does not drink chamomile tea.
She does not watch movies
by Nicholas Sparks
and thinks God
really is Morgan Freeman
or someone she has not met
She reads Goethe, Sartre
and knows Orlando
is more than just
She wears plain white tees
and jeans so faded
her skin has lost its
and her shoes
chew the pavement
with real distinction.
ImpasseFalse innocence falls from their mouthsMore Like This
Whenever they speak.
I fracture softly
At the gentle,
My chains seem more. Opaque.
Their words are fitted carefully
Mine are blood-drawn truths.
My sentences fall dead-weight
In tear-like strands.
These emotions run up and down
Light as tissue-paper
Heavy as iron grief.
Sharp enough to scar.
My fingertips dripping,
Crying bloody tears.
My smile is knife blade sharp quiescent.
Their return is plastic garish lying loud.
They won't take silence for a reply.
I won't swallow lies.
All I Really Needed*Language Warning*More Like This
After all this time
Oh, this deep dark seam
You've woven yourself into
All it takes
Is one sharp step to get out
To break out
All you need is someone there to catch you
Oh how your heart begs
But that first step,
It's heavy and a struggle
And no-one is there...
All you need
Is one person to see
If only if only if only...
But oh it's so hard
To smile through this pain
And maybe just maybe
They don't know who you are without it
And maybe just maybe
You don't either.
This burning hope
Dies so loudly
It hurts it hurts it hurts...
But people are oh-so-good
At leaving when you need them most
When you hurt too much
To stand on your own
It's good to know, isn't it so good to know that
Your pain is suddenly the fucking plague.
Shit! Get away before it infects us all!
This cliff I'm hanging on
Oh how I loathe my weakness
But now all I need
Is someone, one hand
To pull me back up
Please please please please...
Waiting For Life To HappenI don't know what this feeling is.More Like This
It's running through the rain
Heart broken and pounding and struggling.
It's cold and gray and lifeless,
Your feet pounding on the ground,
Rain sliding over you, soaking to the bone
Drowning your thoughts...
It's getting lost.
It's losing feeling and numbness
Desperation and darkness and determination.
It's loneliness and beauty in broken-ness,
Not knowing anything,
It's all sharp edges and contrast,
Light and dark battling it out
Tearing your heart to pieces.
It's sharp and dull,
Rough and smooth,
Denial and acceptance.
It's love and hate.
You want to disappear,
But you're afraid you might.
Sink into the storm until you're
Desperate to remain yourself.
You need help,
You need to be left alon
you can't make them love you.He is beautiful, new, unexplored. He has wanted to kiss her ever since they met one week ago and fell prey to helpless chemistry.More Like This
Dont, she says, moving her hands in a subconscious yes pattern along his arm as he rubs his cheek against hers. You dont even know my favourite colour. The wind cuts through her thin jacket, and his chest is so warm.
Red, he guesses, improbably correct. His ears are cold.
And how many dogs do I have?
Two, he says, and she laughs wildly at his luck as he nuzzles her neck.
Im trying to save you, she tells him, pushing fruitlessly against his broad shoulders. So you dont wa
Maybe It's MeIt's quiet now.More Like This
I'm feeling that silence,
Seeping so deeply inside me.
Or maybe I'm the one being
Anger has left me
It's warmth kept me safe,
Kept me alive.
It roared in my head
It heated my soul
To a boil,
It shielded me from
It withdrew, leaving me alone.
Just like everything else.
It's cold now.
I can feel that freeze
Creeping inside me
Inside my bones.
Or maybe I'm the one
My tears sing me to sleep;
But I own
My soul remains
I'm so fine that it
I'm watching them,
I set this thick
SmokeYou smoked, and everyone hated that. The cigarette would hang loose between your knuckles, tendrils of smoke mimicking the tracery of veins and tendons that stood out along the back of your hand. You could do the most graceful French inhales, and sometimes you'd lean in close and grab me and kiss me, blowing warm smoke into my mouth. The scent would always cling to meI'd drag it back home with me and there would always be a fight over it.More Like This
You were sparrowlike, all taut pale skin and prominent bones. Your hipbones jutted slightlysharp elbows, sharp knees, a sharp jaw softened by cornsilk hair. When I ran my fingers down your back I could always feel every vertebra in your spine, a steel column anchoring you down. More smoke. More fights at home. You never belonged here and never would.
Lay back. Relax. Anythinganything you want. I'd close my eyes and forget to breathe because I knew you weren't mine. If anything, I was yours, a toy that trembled and kissed back.
MelpomeneHear her sing of sun-kissed,More Like This
heavy-lidded tragedies that roll
off her tongue as sweetly as
sugared violets and as naturally
as nightfall; but bruise the lungs
of those who breathe them in.
She is no poet's muse, but
these summer-drunk revellers
will never know better.
SynesthesiaI fell in love with a pianist's hands.More Like This
They danced across my skin in minuets, his fingers tripping cadenzas up and down my spine. He brushed sonatas through my hair and across my shoulders, pianissimo. I trembled beneath his trills. The primal, earnest rage of Bach swelled in hot crescendos along my throat, beneath my ribs, guided by his hands --- Mozart, coolly logical, raised goosebumps down my arms --- Chopin soothed the fire and finally calmed my hammering heart.
I fell in love with a pianist's hands, listening from the back of the coffee shop while my lungs fought for breath, making wishes until he was gone.
Soldiercigarette between his lips,More Like This
tar-induced lungs struggling to inflate –
struggling to make sense
of a war
where men are only equal
when they're dead.
everyone gets a miracleeveryone gets a miracle.More Like This
the thing with miracles is that who can tell a
miracle what it is? is it watching the sun bleed
into the horizon holding your lover's sweaty hand,
all cheap perfume and hour-old petrichor like a
twenty-first century version of numinosity, since
it's amazing you even found their heavy-lidded,
flecks-of-gold eyes in the first place? is it near-death
experiences where you're lifeguarded back into the world
by a kind stranger in a surgical mask? or is it nothing
spectacular, at least by those standards, but just
simply waking up in the morning, having the eyes and
lungs and heart to do so, the mouth to speak 'i
am alive and that is pretty awesome in itself'?
but, see, everyone gets a miracle.
a true, unrelenting one, the kind where your heart
swells up to nearly burst out of your body and your eyes
well up and the only word you can speak is 'wow'. maybe
you're twenty-eight or eighteen or forty-two and perched
precariously under fog and mist and shying away from the
And by their hands shall you know themi.More Like This
Long fingers taper,
thin between each swollen joint,
rounds of bone that can’t be lost,
like the purple-scarred stomach skin
from one year’s crackers-and-coffee diet,
the bass guitar calluses on numbed fingertips,
the panic attacks and Xanax collected
after ODing on heroin,
going heartbeatless in a hospital bed
while his veins were pumped with activated charcoal.
Like sausage links, his square-tip digits
not much longer than my own,
but larger, like I thought his heart was.
The fingers making my sandwiches,
pressing lower back and shoulder blades
in a goodbye-for-now hug,
wrapping gauze over my wounded skin –
the same fingers that did not grasp at my own
when I walked out on our two years.
The permanently sun-tanned hands
that once carried me on morning walks down the beach
are thickening with age like tree trunks,
and perhaps inside are the rings
for every one of his seventy-four years,
thin rings for years of hardship, his divorces,
his losing battle wit
Dreaming of an Old Friendfor ConnorMore Like This
The stars are sentient and musical,
postcard-bright in the navy sky; the sand
moon-white though we see no moon.
It feels good to cry silently,
your mind brushing the edges of mine,
each tear on my face a thought --
missed you since i left
so much wrong i’ve done
you still answer my calls
this beach this moment
I reach for the worn-soft
of your flannel, tipping over
to lay my head down wordlessly
on your booted feet:
since i touched love.
Your head on my side is absolution
as you curl behind me, bodies not holding
just brushing as we listen to the stars
and watch the waves rolling in,
a sheet billowed by the hands of the invisible moon.
"What was war?"I want to live in a worldMore Like This
where my daughter asks me
"What was war?"
Perhaps that is too much to hope,
but I have always had high expectations
of the human species.
I have cherished dreams
of smiling children
unafraid of pollution,
unafraid of nuclear fallout,
unafraid of God
or others sharing their scientific name.
I have dreamed of a return
to what is essential
rather than what is easy
or materially enriching;
a return to introspection,
in a world where life is not a fight
but a debate
I want to live in a world
where my son asks me
"What were hate crimes?"
Perhaps this dream is too big --
I have realized
that when you are fighting for humanity,
you often find that your greatest opponent
is humanity itself.
But although we are our own infection,
we are also the only thing
that could ever save us.
And for the most "sophisticated,"
"civilized" species on earth,
I do not think
that this is too much
to hope for.
whisperscuttlethey whisperscuttle across the ceilingMore Like This
like spiders, black hairy legs and peppered
poison and squashed letters under
barefoot dances with heavyhanded
secrets like broken branches in a summer
storm. they burrow beneath
fearstenched skin where the purple
strings wait and my collarbone creaks
as they crawl inside with pink marrow
and dirtyblinded tales of betrayal
because the word friend tastes just the
same as love and they both leave
the lingering scent of mould like
winged nightmares, with dusty
surfaces and thin dying flights out in a
tissuewrapped world. they whisper-
scuttle across burnt walls with black
edged paper crumbles on
coffee skin where the pink turns
to brown and lightly glides with shiny
scars. a barefoot dancing partner
with scaly curved nails whitespotted
with lacking just for me in our night-
crusted eyes, blinkblink when
the yellowstriped curtains drag
back and the madness cracks the egg
shells of tiny girls whose bell
anklets jingle with every grey-
Girl, Reincarnated.Perhaps in a past life you were made of ink,More Like This
your eyes speckled like blotting paper,
complexion smooth as parchment.
And maybe your voice was storm cloud rolling
because I see your words
and they fill my heart with rain,
not the heavy kind that revels
in punching holes in butterfly wings but rather
the mist that paints the dew and
leaves the sky beautifully grey.
At the very least your soul was a mourning dove,
as there's a lilting sorrow in your words
that the air carries like a melody,
were I to speak them aloud
I would sing, hoping that my voice wouldn't shake
with your weeping.
He thinks her a Goddess,and he whispers, "Little birdMore Like This
Your stardust arms are quaking,
allow me to hold up your universe."
either wayshe dances like a raindrop,More Like This
collapses on the ground,
and all of her bones shatter,
made from thin, liquid glass,
her voice ripples on the surface
and it screams
the soft syllables pirouetting on your eardrums
her fingertips tapping
can you hear them?
they are cotton balls
being dropped on the asphalt
can you hear them?
(it's the wind carrying her feet across the air)
and she dances like a raindrop.
you can catch her
and she can shatter in your palms.
Ask Me To Write a PoemAsk me to write a poemMore Like This
about kissing witches in my sleep.
Ask me to write a poem
about the bump on my middle finger
from forcing pen to paper.
Ask me to write a poem
about the discolored bruises on my knees
the poetry written in ink upon my flesh
the love in a foreign tongue on my wrist.
Ask me to write a poem
my possessive Siamese,
about my rose thorn teeth,
and the battle scars I wear like trophies.
Ask me to write a poem
about how my own words make me sick,
about how I swear I'll die by the pen.
Ask me to write a poem
about boys and peaches
and how I wish they tasted just as sweet,
about how I sanded away layer, after layer
after layerjust to see if I really bleed ink.
Ask me to write a poem.
lowercasei.More Like This
folded in half, fingers down my throat, i try to grasp the intangible.
it lies somewhere inside my larynx, tangled between vocal cords and embedded in my esophagus -swallowed, with grief and need and something else that goes down bitter like bile.
it takes me a while to realize, but when i am somewhere between empty and half-full, that in those minutes nothing is tangible. i am letting loose more than my dinner, i am flushing away my past present future all in one flick of my wrist and turn of my fingers.
in that moment, i am far from infinite, but rather nothing at all.
a boy fell in love with a girl four years ago, and now all he has left is me.
i have tried to tell him that her star went out -that it imploded and exploded and is nothing but a black hole now. she is dust motes and debris; a dandelion hearted girl, blown away with the wind.
hey, i whisper, you know, you know: i'm no good. no good at all. i'm like a stain that never comes out -i
TheaterThis theater is empty,More Like This
the void of its auditorium is a dark, dark place.
Cigarette embers lie like fluorescent roses on top of dusty carpets, forming constellations of golden threads smoldering into oblivion.
I'm a broken statue that eternally observes the movements of lingering ghosts, clandestine twirling of unspeakable curses that roll of the tongue of a great stormy wind captured inside this forsaken cinema.
These chambers are forgotten,
there's something about nothingness - how comfortable it becomes bestowed upon one.
This theater is empty,
and wishes to stay that way.
Sonnet XXyou are a magician of a strange faith.More Like This
observe: the fire, the tumult, the steam,
all cover you in an unholy wraith.
in your theatre, things are not as they seem.
so proudly the king of your own domain,
master of illusion and sleight of hand,
you've grown quite used to your unchallenged reign,
your castle, your honour, your vast Crown land.
but here, close upon you, a band of thieves
plots the end of your infinite wonder
they wait in furtive groups under the eaves.
your Crown Jewel may fall to filthy plunder.
so show me your magic, old snake-charmer:
cast your spells and I will cast my armour.
assignmant The space slopes from the top, at the ledge with a small brick and stone courtyard dotted with bushes and hydrangeas, down in one graceful curve to the open expanse of gravel. At the top of the hill, where the ski lift usually flows back and forth in the winter, it is cool and the fog hangs heavily and there are stairs that lead to hotels and the lower entrance to the diner. It's grassy and calm and not many people are here at any time in the year. It seems like the kind of place where it should always be raining steadily, deep music playing from everywhere besides just the white canvas tent at the base of the hill. From down there sound does seem to vibrate through every petal on the flowers and every pebble on the ground and every fork in the building and every little dust moat that floats around in the hotel. Were it day time the children in the play ground farther up a ways would be distracted, drawn, lured to the fence and holding on so tightly they tMore Like This
the vomiting crowd of coney islandthe destructive walls are shadedMore Like This
in grey and i am remembering
every feeling i have forgotten-
i am terrified.
this is a city that never sleeps,
the bones of my chest thrumming
like taxi cabs in the streets,
my fingers shaking
in want for comfort and solace
i am not standing
in lorca's vomiting crowd-
i am his vomiting crowd,
looking high and low
and between my clenched fists
for catharsis and purification,
for the reason of this illness
pressed against my skin,
for the indefinable sickness
i drown in like bubbles of spit
day in and day out.
i fear the restraints
i've placed for myself,
that they may not be there
or are not in fact real.
i am caught within a sticking web
of decaying sweetness,
coney island's cotton candy,
yet it is not a trap.
i am afraid of love
and that it holds me back.
i am afraid of love
because i am used to skin on skin,
when the drum beats meet.
i am afraid of love
because it is so far stretched
over these thousand miles,
that i fear it mig
Polishing VenusI wear a blue plastic retainer at night. It's painful, tight on my teeth, as if my mouth has outgrown it. I don't put it in often enough, so the shape of my jaw twists and changes, until I remember how much I despised braces and consent to slip it in, and I lie awake at night, loathing the imperfection of my teeth and the ache that pulses there as my mouth readjusts to the wires and plastic that force my jaw into the correct position.More Like This
I wear glasses too ugly things, dark maroon on top, with a thin, squishy plastic wire on bottom instead of another rim. Not many people know I have them. When I was a kid, I had the rimless kind some part of me believed them to be less noticeable. I'd pop the lenses out and tell my father I slipped on the gravel at recess so I could get away with days without the slippery plastic ridge balanced on my nose, and the glances I got for being the only nine-year-old with glasses. Nowadays, I use contacts, and I slip my glasses case under my pillow
SoundI feel it,More Like This
I see it,
Don't want it,
Just let it
Be gone now,
It sees me,
I miss you,
But still so
I need it,
So take it.
My heart's there,
So break it.
Miss Missed A LotUsed to think the colors were allMore Like This
All I ever really needed
She's gone and said no.
And you've got to go.
I'm feeling quite unhappy.
And he's gone and broken his own words,
And I've gone and I've done the same,
And you've gone and broken some
You never really made.
And I never really thought you did.
And truly all I feel right now
Is music and rain
In my bones.
The color has gone and left me now,
Left me to drown in a pool
In a bad place.
And I know it's hard to say,
Especially to you,
Especially when it's so dark,
It's just impossible to say
I miss you.
revelations in the mudi only want to fall in loveMore Like This
if someone is there
to fall with me.
i want to jump from high places
and pretend i'm flying,
i'm a bird, i'm light enough at-fucking-last
for the air to catch me,
and the harsh grounds beneath me?
can't touch this.
but i'm earthbound
and parachutes will not work
if you do not open them,
and i am just so sick
of feeling like maybe,
becoming an abstract painting
on the rocks below, would be enough...
but there is something beating in my chest.
i'm very afraid of what it is.
and i don't know a lot,
like the size of the universe.
or why you sought solace in the south.
or how i came to be in this crater that swallowed me whole;
but i do know the second you told me
you felt the same for me like i did for you,
something in my universe shifted.
part of my soul went to georgia...
and i began to climb.
the purpose of life is to knock you on your ass
so you have to do something with it to get back up.
i don't know about you,
but i'm pretty fuckin' tired of feelin
dead starshe told her once that her eyesMore Like This
were burned out galaxies
the light in them
already dead but fading
and that her pupils
were like black holes
liable to pull
you in and never
never let go.
and all she said was
we are all just dead
dead stars in the end.
stolen butterfliesshe looks like she's caved inMore Like This
so, she's stolen the butterflies
right out of the sky.
no one has bothered to
tell her this life is a lie
she'll keep on existing
because she doesn't cry.
but little girls with bright blue eyes
were never meant to live a lie.
clickNo one hears herMore Like This
No one understands her
No one talks to her
No one cares
a perfect family : their not so perfect lifewhen she was fiveMore Like This
the world was bright colours and nosie
everything was exciting
mummy loved daddy, looked at him like he hung the stars
daddy loved mummy, looked at her like she completed him
little sister was a ray of sunshine
big sister was proud and happy
everything was perfect
when she was seven
the world kissed her goodmorning
and sang her lullabies goodnight
mummy stroked her hair
daddy read her stories
little sister gave the brightest smiles
big sister gave the biggest hugs
everything was great
when she was nine
the world shined with a dull glow
she still used exclamation marks
mummy insisted she loved daddy
daddy was convinced he loved mummy
little sister was top of her maths class
big sister was starting big school
everything was good
when she was 11
the sky was overcast
reality set in
mummy didn't hug daddy as much
daddy came back late
little sister cried every night for reasons unknown
big sister started to show cracks
everything was breaking
when she was
I've really missed the rain in EnglandThere's something oddly beautiful and calming about sitting in front of your bedroom window and watching cars drive though the roads that have been turned into rivers by the rain that won't stop pouring while you shed a few tears of your own that stain the pillow clutched so tightly to your chest as you gaze out of the window. The sky is a mixture of dark and light where grey clouds make a blanket in the sky as it turns to night and the sound of rushing water is a peaceful melody that helps to kiss away your tears while you hug your pillow and watch the world move along outside your window, from day to night as the neighbours lights turn on in their homes and car lights illuminate the water in the roads.More Like This
I've really missed the rain in England.
Basic emotions.Do you ever use the word 'depressing' instead of 'sad', purely because you don't want to appear repetitive? I did. I guess i still do, as I only made my discovery just now.More Like This
The difference between being depressed and sad is a big one.
Depressed: when you feel like everything is crushing you, and the world is crumbling down around you. Basically, it involves you and your problems. It changes the way everything is and can be disastrous.
Sad: a fragile emotion that is usually invoked by something tear-jerking; a movie or a book etc. It's a beautiful feeling that you have to grasp onto fully for it to take a hold of your heart.
I've always thought I've been susceptible to negative emotions, but it turns out it's just depression. I don't get sad a lot. I just watched an extremely sad Johnlock video, and it made me want to cry (I don't cry often, so this is big). The music didn't have the specific notes or lyrics in it to make me feel low, and everything about it was sad.
But sad can
Conflicting, Faceless and Empty.Dozens of faces, looking into me. They see through me, yet they can read into the core of my very being. I don't know how they do it; I can't do it myself.More Like This
I think the time's running out. I'm told it is. I'm told it's not. I'm told I'm alright.
Just go to sleep. You'll be fine in the morning. You'll feel differently about this later.
Just go for it. Everything'll be better. You will finally be happy. Don't you want that?!
How do I deal with this? How do I know I won't get happier in the future? What would happen if I didn't do it?
That last voice is a faint whisper in the crowds of conflicting feelings and faces inside me. I don't know what to do.
It doesn't matter who I am. It doesn't matter who I've met, who I'm related to. It doesn't matter where I live, or what I look like. All that matters, all that's ever mattered, is how I feel.
My body is a cage for the feelings that are all attempting to escape, and I don't blame them. Yet, I know one will prevail. A
Blast OffHe was a lonely man. He did not walk; he drifted. His eyes had a vacant film over the cataractic irises, and the cinereal strands of hair on his head blew in the briny wind of the beach he frequented daily.More Like This
He lived in a cottage, somewhere in the middle of nowhere. It was a dark place that rarely saw the sun, and that showed in the environment. The trees were gnarly, having been tortured by the prevailing winds. Their branches had hunched, and contorted into arcane and execrable extremities. The sky was always a sombre stain above the earth’s head. It’s colour rarely differed from iron beryl, shading the world into a bleak and dispiriting place. The skyline was a scene of gloom and depression, an alveolate land, filled with shadows.
His house was a facile building made from debilitated and rotting trees. It was as cold as its environment, and just as bereft of life- the true opposite of ‘home’. Inside, it was empty. Furniture that held no meaning filled up the d
been a crazy year...met my soul mate.More Like This
got my fate.
got my faith.
got my shieldbrother.
found soem truth.
i met a girl named hanna,
saw a grave a lost friend,
lost a nefue,
got an uncle,
moved from a home,
moving from my home,
kissed a fox,
dated a kitten,
stabbed a bird,
and killed a healer and became a caretaker,
met a sweden pet...
lost my mind,
got a plant,
became a saint,
save a demon,
fallin in love,
chat to the world,
cut my face,
wrote a spiret,
played a dream,
walked a life time in my fathers shoes,
met my aunt,
conected with my mom,
found out who my true brother is,
its 4:30am and i need to wake up...
CloudlessI've seen a blind womanMore Like This
Growing cold outside,
An older image of
Our younger selves.
She wears a shard of mirror
And a broken sword
Screaming "Look at yourself!"
She is the scales; she is the statue,
She is what we should have always been,
But she has long since been replaced by greed.
This eternal rain of dust has fallen
Down upon the scales,
And they're broken,
Rusted, and brown...
What gives you the right to
Take life away?
In the dawning of our darkest hour,
Who says what's right?
What gives us the right to
Take life away?
While these images are cutting through
A cloudless September sky.
Not in Harry Potter: DHQuotes/ words that should be in Harry Potter but Arent:More Like This
- Geez, Voldemort, stop acting so gay!
- Bellatrix, stop groping me. Just just go stand over there.
- Tell me Lucius, whos the prettiest ballerina of them all? Voldemort gave a cold smile at the clearly horrified man.
- Sooo, whats REALLY going on between his lordship and that snake, hmm?
-Wait a minute, Harry said. You want me to put this Snitch where now?
- What we need, Voldemort mused, is some sort of sign that people can rally around. To keep the masses happy and unrebellious. Snape gasped. You mean- Yes. Voldemort allowed a vicious, cold smile to play upon his lips. What the Death Eaters need, is a theme song.
- NO, DAMMIT! I DONT CARE IF THE POTTER BOYS BEEN FOUND! AMERICAN IDOL IS ON!
- One of you go see if the boy
Yes, I am a teenage girl Yes, I am a teenage girlMore Like This
No, I don't squeal over One Direction
No, I don't wear mini skirts
No, I don't curl my hair everyday
No, I don't need my phone 24/7
Yes, I am a teenage girl
Yes, I prefer Edward Scissorhands over Edward Cullen
Yes, I like violent video games
Yes, I like action movies
Yes, I listen to Rock
Yes, I am a teenage girl
No, I don't draw hearts all over my homework
No, I don't spend 20 minutes trying to make myself resemble a porcelain doll
No, I'm not afraid to cry
No, I don't party every weekend
Yes, I am a teenage girl
Yes, I hate reality shows
Yes, my hair is short and messy
Yes, I'd rather walk in the woods
Yes, I am okay with mice
Yes, I am a teenage girl
Yes, I'm different
Yes, I'm strange
Yes, I'm my own person
Why is that bad?
Why do you hate me for that?
Why can't I just be myself without your criticism?
Why is it horrible if I'm not just like you?
I don't have a problem with it
Maybe the problem
daughterI find her in my kitchen, one ordinary morning with the harsh winter sun tipping full through the window. I haven't seen her for six months, and yet here she is, bruised knees pulled up under her chin, the light pouring through her hair like dull bronze. Despite the cold she is only wearing shorts and an old gray t-shirt, two sizes too big. Upon hearing my footsteps she looks up from picking at her nails, covered in chipped black polish, multicolored threads and silver rings slipping down her wrists. Her hair is tangled and long; longer than I can ever remember, and she tucks it behind an ear studded with piercings that glint in the dark strands. Her face is still in the shadows but a smile breaks through the silence and for the smallest moment I am stunned by the sheer momentum of life; the scent of baby powder, fireflies in the live oaks at night, the first time I felt her weight in my arms in a hospital bed, her tiny heart beating like a butterfly against my palm.More Like This
I have to sift
warning signsfor jaredMore Like This
you smile and tell me it's a good
night for a disaster, and in this
moment i know that danger smells like
summer and has perfect teeth.
your palms throw heatwaves and the
telephone lines crackle and spit and
i am electric on the boardwalk in
the neon and the traffic and
the way that i always knew you would
call to me, always knew
our skin would sing.
i claw my way to the surface and you,
caked underneath my fingernails like
dried blood or the scent of oranges
that lingers for days,
you, a sunset of citrus and rust,
you take take my hand in yours and
room 211there is a boy and i say this, notMore Like This
because he drives too fast through
the foothills in the raw of evening or
because he runs with the sundogs
in the latest rays of the afternoon
light, no -
i say this because he is dying
and in a way, that makes him just a
little more alive than the rest of us
oh God he breathes and breathes and
i can see eternity and the rise and fall and
rise of each rib underneath his skin
and the scrape of oxygen makes me think of how
i never kissed the place on his chest where
the demon now rests its bony head and
still, i cannot say
hindsightShe called him Benjamin, because it soundedMore Like This
strong, like a name that could move
mountains, or put food on the table for
a family of four.
He called her Hallelujah, because
it sounded like the way he felt
when her fingers brushed his cheek.
She called him Fahrenheit, Lion Tamer,
He called her Skinsong, November,
She was his prayer; thin breath on
freezing windowpanes and barefoot
secrets on the bedroom floor.
He was her safety net; wide eyes and
hands and promises in the coldest hours
just before dawn.
He called her Jumper because
she was always looking over edges.
She called him Wes because
that was his real name.
he called her Taste of Tears,
Hearthold, Stay With Me,
he called her
weak ends.monday.More Like This
today is the first time in a long time that i have woken up afraid; afraid because i cannot see the sunrise, and because i do not remember who i am without you. we listen to the weather report on the radio, and your fingers are freezing in mine.
the storm that blew through in the night shattered my bedroom window, and i breathe you in like burning driftwood as you help me clean up the soggy leaves and broken glass. i cut my finger on a jagged edge, and neither of us speak as you help me wash off the blood, because some wounds leave you with nothing to say.
my room smells like smoke and vanilla and the way you used to touch my skin. now we lay like parallel lines along the mattress, silent and unable to breach the darkness that separates our bodies. i fall asleep crying and in the morning there is salt on my eyelashes. i leave before you wake.
i don't kiss you anymore, and my heart is so cold. you are my best frien
lighthousei am stranded in the doorway ofMore Like This
the room where we hung posters
and pictures of happy people and
beach scenes and mapped each
other's love in inches and squares
on nights when the sound of trains
kept us awake. i look at our past
flung carelessly across my ocean of
a bed and remember the nights i felt
the mattress breathing beneath me,
strewn with shirts and things i gave
away in the darkness.
i feel afraid and full of smoke and
danger, but mostly just a gnawing
worry as i stab my tongue with
conflict and confessions and feel
the firebrand of your words pressed
into the inside of my elbows.
i give away parts of myself and draw
razorblades across my stomach and
thighs so it burns when grind yourself
on top of me, into me, and things like
sex and secrets eat away at my insides.
i remember truths and dirty floors and
i know that you know there are always
bruises on my knees and shadows under
my eyes and i have desperation stamped
all over my stare.
i would press your ear to my heart if
the goodbye alphabetr.More Like This
i have three more piercings in
my left ear than i did the last
time that i kissed you, but that
is irrelevant to the fact that
our lips do not remember each
other's names like i thought
your hands around my hips
sound like a song i tried to
sing once, but it never quite
i tell you i'm sorry i'm sorry i'm
so fucking sorry a thousand
times a day but i'm starting to
wonder if i'm sorry for making
you cry or if i'm really apologizing
to myself for what i've become.
i know that these are the
three sad staples of cliche
radio love songs, but i am
raw and there is nothing
else to say: 1. i miss you
2. i love you 3. please come
Written LoveItalic represents the inner depths of our emotions, an endless well of truth. Within lies the rawest image of the self, the naked reality of vulnerability, doubt and discovery.More Like This
Will I ever find love? Am I destined to be alone forever?
It also depicts instant sparks of thought, blurted words mute to the world.
Shes cute! I wonder if she could ever like someone like me. Did she just smile back at me? Was she being polite, or ?
Bold equals bravery, chance and gamble; the lion heart in which shaky words express daring suggestions, challenging the fate of solitude.
Want to go for a coffee sometime?
Can I call you again?
Bold lettering calls for faith, hope and trust. Self esteem brings it out, jumping from the white of paper, but even the timid can brave life with its encouraging energy.
Underline is exclamation. It is the reaction to news, the call of passion or the declaration of triumph. It can be coupled with t
fuckMore Like This
fuck your little smile
and your teasing little eyes
fuck your tender touches
and fuck your little lies
fuck everything about you
everything that drew me in
the reason why im drowning
the reason i cant swim
you said you\'d fucking be there
but you werent when i needed you most
fuck your petty excuses
to me youre just a ghost
a spirit that wont leave me
or give me fucking peace
all i want is your arms around me
and for that im losing sleep
you just keep denying me
of the love i know is mine
im desperate cuz i need you
where do i draw the line?
i love you but i hate you
and for that i say fuck this
refusing me everything ive given
ignoring my only wish...
god is loveMore Like This
i want to scream god is love. i want to hide god is love i want to cry god is love i want to give up god is love i want to fight. god is love. i want to hate. god is love i want to die. god is love i want to disappear but god is love. i want to cry god is love. never give up dear friends for we are not alone for god is love
dear friend reverse thinking for inspiration . it does not matter which religion you are. we are his children there is light in the darkness donnot give up
SacrificedOh the mortals of the world tease my fancy! I cannot endure another moment's laughter! Yes, yes, my friend, tie the ropes tighter, my friend! Tis the will of the Gods is it not? But of course we must ready ourselves to condemn, nay, offer a worthy body of pure bone and flesh, to our Tormentor! What shalt you, the so justly nominated listener, prepare this particular cold night where the stars are so conveniently aligned? Ah, of course! He wishes to feast upon his own creation the dirty cannibal! Should I take to such a feast upon my children as well? Oh but would that too not make me a God worthy to demand and select? By the Gods' fastidious demands, gaze upon that miraculous fire! Such a glistening perfect fire, unlike the thousands, nay, millions before it! This fire is the fire of reason, nay, nay, the fire of taintlessness and truth! The glorious flames beneath my feet singe my outer layer this very moment! I believe our God demands that I be a medium rare, less you all be damned aMore Like This
to all the people who have ever considered suicideThere is always a reason to keep fighting. I do not care how pitiful your life is, how seemingly insignificant, how painfulyou do matter. You matter to someone: perhaps it's your mother, your father, your friend. Perhaps it's someone you haven't even met yet, but that's part of the adventure, isn't it? There is always something more to come. Every human life is so incredibly and insurmountably precious. And I will not sit here and tell you that there are people who have it worse than you, because that's silly and useless. In your world, you feel alone and desperate and you feel as if nothing, nothing could ever make you feel happy or even functional again, and that is your world. You feel as if your life, your universe, everything you ever thought about yourself and the people around you is crumbling and crashing down. But I can guarantee that it will get better. I promise you. I promise.More Like This
You are brave and you are clever and you are wonderful, and you cannot let someone as specia
Stolen RelicBloodyMore Like This
Never too late.
Save his heart.
The Toymaker...Ah my dear, how are you feeling?More Like This
Not too uncomfortable I hope...
You see, you are another,
A wondrous being, handpicked by me,
For you are perfect.
Before you start screaming,
Before all that noise and unpleasantry befouls these soft red lips.
I've taken the liberty of removing your tongue...
Wag, wag, wag;
That's all it was doing when I extracted it.
Like some, infectious insect
But oh, I shouldn't raise my voice.
That's not very proper of me, hehe.
Now, let's put some markings on you.
Mmm - I'm going to have to get rid of all this, excess.
You see, I can't have a toy that's all bulging in the wrong places.
Dolls are slim, dolls are pretty.
So no, we can't have that...
We'll just slowly slide this tiny slip of metal.
Shlip, shlop, shlip, shlop - and pull!
You see, you see?
It comes right off, like a laye
Bipolar DisorderDear everybody,More Like This
I’m not just moody.
I have Bipolar Disorder.
I don’t choose to have this unbearable depression,
Where I sob uncontrollably and the most unpredictable times.
A sadness that paints your entire mind,
Down into your soul.
And you don’t know when it’s suddenly going to
Change, from being a terrifying unhappiness,
To being such a fantastic happiness
That you can’t even connect your thoughts with your own brain.
Where you challenge the world,
Because you feel bigger than a speck of dust for
The first time in your
It changes from being such an incredible mess of emotions
To being the creator of no emotion at all.
And soon, the lack of emotion
Starts to eat away at your heart.
And you don’t choose to…
But it turns into an
A sadness that paints your entire mind
Down into your soul.
This is Bipolar Disorder.
This is me.
This is who I am.
Depression...No, depression is not just getting sad.More Like This
It's a constant sadness that melts into your bones,
An indescribably heavy weight upon your shoulders,
Never mind your heart and soul.
It's believing so many lies (maybe because you've learned to accept them)
And no longer appreciating your self-worth.
Wishing you no longer existed, wishing yourself gone.
Depression holds you back from your dreams
And pulls you into a nightmare.
It takes full control of your existence.
It makes you never want to get out of bed,
And when you finally do,
You just want to get back in it.
But you know the hardest part?
ArtArt.More Like This
The world is your canvas.
Society is your paint brush.
The people are your choice of colours.
What kind of picture would you paint?
How would it differ from the image that is currently on show?
Would you go mad and rid yourself from all forms of restraint?
Just how far down the rabbit hole are you willing to go?
I ask because every portrait I create,
Is inspired by what is already in front of me.
So is it possible to even recreate,
Anything that the mind is not able to see.
The picture will always be the same
Because this life is all we know.
Where there is compassion there must be pain
Because it us who made it so.
IllusionMy empty room is suffocating under smoke of cigarette.More Like This
Sweet illusion slowly fading, i'm losing what i've had.
You come to me when i'm in sorrow, you take me away.
And give me chance to live another day.
But you're just an illusion!
Illusion in my head.
You're just an illusion!
Illusion, that i can't forget.
You're just an illusion!
One night to live, one day to sorrow, one dream to believe.
One heart to beat, one heart to follow, and one to deceive.
Lost in illusion like an Alice in her Wonderland.
I can't get out from piles of shifting sand.
But you're just an illusion!
Illusion in my head.
You're just an illusion!
Illusion, that i can't forget.
You're just an illusion!
Illusion in my head.
You're just an illusion!
Illusion, that i can't forget.
You're just an illusion!
The Mob Assassins THE MOB ASSASSINSMore Like This
CHAPTER 5 reminiscent hero
Calsheed stood by Mallec watching the rest of the group. "Why are we still here I thought we were going to the next town." Calsheed asked. Mallec looked at him, "Well I have to make sure your friends are doin things right." "You shouldn't have to worry about it too much Atredroch was a farmer back when he and his brother lived in Tropica." Mallec looked at Calsheed once more but this time confused. "Who is his brother?" "That role would be filled by Dradik" Mallec looked at the four people that he had sent to take care of his ani
Can't You Hear Me Screaming Inside?: Chapter ThreeI don't understand bullies. How can you wilfully hurt another of your own kind? What would make you want to attack someone weaker than you, when they haven't done anything wrong - when they didn't even so much as stand in front of you? I don't understand humans. How can you see somebody who is so injured that they can't even stand and not want to help them? How can you walk by a kid slumped on the ground and covered in blood?More Like This
Then again, I'm softer than people think. Most people look at me and instantly peg me as the kind of person they should stay away from unless they want to get hurt. I'd never hurt anyone intentionally. Except maybe whoever hurt this poor kid in front of me; the one who was terrified of me, the one who expected me to hurt him too, the one who told me how worthless he thinks he is. He's not. He's really, really not. I can tell, just from the few minutes I've spent with Mikey Way, that he's an amazing kid. And I want to make him realise
Naruto 599 !!!!!I AM GOING TO KILL MYSELF!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!More Like This
ALL OF THAT THEROIZING FOR NOTHING!!!
But i was right about one thing.....
The Truth of InsideLook at me,More Like This
Tell me what you see
What you see with your eyes
What is deep in your mind?
I'll stay in my disguise
You're not looking at the real guy
The real guy is hiding inside
Talk to me and you'll regret all the lies
Stop judging from a distance
Come close so we can be friends
But truthfully, because hypocrisy will make us enemies
Then I'll start thinking you're a fiend
If we understand and accept each other
We can become closer, even like brothers
Until then, go to your good friends
Even though I'm the real friend you could have gained
My writing lifeI'll take my pen or pencil outMore Like This
And try not to have a strong dreadful bout
And prepare my calm mind
To express everything I recognize
In my task lighted room
Or ambient lighted cottage
Reflecting on my days
About when I was in pain
Or the days when I felt appreciation
I try to get detached from people
So I can focus with my equal
Because what I write is my soul,
What I write is myself
There's no one or nothing else
Is my emotions written well
That's why some will be moody and sad
And others will be lovely and glad.
Can't You Hear Me Screaming Inside?: Chapter TwoI really hate school. It's not the lessons because I don't struggle with them. I hate school because of the people. I can't stand being told how worthless I am, how ridiculous my silence is, how I deserve to be beaten every day. It might be true, but I still don't like hearing it. I don't want to be reminded of the failure that I am. The Universe doesn't care about what I want though. If it did, my mother wouldn't be dead, my dad wouldn't detest me and I'd be normal. As in, I would have friends and I'd be able to speak to them.More Like This
I try to be invisible but I don't try hard enough because the bullies always find me. Whether they corner me by my locker or chase me into the bathroom, I can't escape. I just stand there and take it because there's no point fighting the inevitable. If I managed to get away, they'd just beat me twice as bad when they do catch me. I'm currently waiting outside my next class, History, hoping that they'll leave me alone today.
SeperateToss and turn inside this coffinMore Like This
that you called a bed
Smile a lie, but not often
can't escape until we're dead
Hold your breath
and beg for this
Spare the pain and the grief
by making this departure brief
No goodbyes in a tear stained letter
Or the promise that things will get better
No more words steeped in a lie
No more love hidden with a sigh
And I won't either if you won't cry
Day and night don't separate
I didn't think it did before
Now I'm lost in dark and hate
So why am I asking for more?
Nothing seems to make sense
or matter like it did
when things were bright, so in a sense
We're already dead
It gets betterIt might not have been your day,More Like This
With the sky above turned all gray.
You might ask yourself why?
Sometimes it feels like you slightly die.
You carry this secret with you,
It might make you feel a bit blue.
You don't dare to tell another person,
Fearing your image might worsen.
Fearing of what they might think,
Fearing they might leave you in a blink
Thinking what you will say
When you will tell your parents you're gay
But the actual feeling when you tell,
Even if it might feel slightly like hell.
You know that you are now free,
And you know it will get better,
on that you can trust me.
it's in the little details, isn't it?1. The weight of thingsMore Like This
Carry me and the whole of my growing pains,
because as of yet
today and maybe tomorrow
I am unable to find the rest of my predilection for murder
and my love for filling pages
with anything other than good fun.
Carry my on your back
and in the nape of your neck
and in the sunken circles around your eyes
and in concave of your jowls
because the crooks of your elbows
won't support all this crushing weight.
Carry me, and don't let me fall,
because when I do I won't
get back up again.
That's my fragility.
Carry me, beat me, make me cry
but never let me fall
or the pieces will be yours to pick up.
2. On map-making in bed
is the back of my hand
and the fine cross-hairs
along the eastern shores of the railway.
This is post-industrialist cartography.
We map the candle resid
telephone meThere is a hole in her heart that doesn't allow her to turn around,More Like This
as the words ring out clear as the night sky behind her,
There is a shard of cold ice in her lungs that freezes her in place
and holds her shoulders stiff; braced for impact with a speeding object.
There is a hole in her heart that lets her stare,
into the drops of rain on the tupperware containers that once held things
that had meaning
and ignore her name being called.
death rowtoday,More Like This
I decided that my last meal will be a
pecan butter tart,
and a steaming mug of tea.
And I will sit and smoke a cigarette
(because I've never smoked before)
maybe the sweetness will be enough
to make me reconsider the nicotine
never inhaling again.
LiliesWe got engagedMore Like This
one dog day afternoon
in the iris garden.
You went down
on both knees,
a gold ring praying
in your pocket
and said you were giving me
one last chance
All I remember was the heat,
the sun paralyzing the sky
and crying because the moment
came without poetry.
We got married in April
when everything was blooming
in tender noises.
I wore white
and carried lilies;
you wore a suit
borrowed from your father.
Just the two of us
joined as less than one,
and god's annointed
apologizing for the strangers
we left waiting
in the other room.
Good Girl"Good girl." He whispers quietly,More Like This
As I sit alone so silently.
"Good girl." He says on a note
That I'm not even sure he wrote.
"Good girl." He says so fast,
Just like he has in days past.
"Good girl." Instead of bye,
Leaving me alone to cry.
"Good girl" is not "I love you,"
But say that, he'll never do.
"Good girl." For not talking.
"Good girl." For not asking.
"Good girl." He says no more,
For this good girl is out the door.
ScixelsydI’m still trying to turn myself off default,More Like This
Where my emotions had been too expensive,
For the poverty of our circumstance.
I’m still trying to turn myself off default,
Where I turn everything inward,
Until it bursts out in ways of punishing myself.
I’ve become awfully creative with putting my feelings out,
Into starvation, scissors, and macabre,
All of those self-penalties and shame turned into letters,
Bottled up inside,
And sent away on ocean waves.
Like I wish I could do with my body,
But I’ve been there,
And tried that.
When I was young,
Faced with a mirror showing me the horrors of the world,
And a starving ache of having nothing left.
Although my memories have become a defensive haze by now,
I had enough dreams of dying,
That I knew my carnal instinct to live would win.
I don’t remember why I kept deciding to put it off one more day,
But I’m glad,
That I never got around to putting in the effort.
Because I didn’t kno
Heaven's Out Of ReachDance puppet,More Like This
move to the will
of your master.
you inevitably drop.
because this existence
is all you'll ever know.
Hide from the whip,
flinch from the cane,
all this suffering;
enough to drive you
Bend to the whims
of your aggressor,
as there's nothing else
you can do.
Because with the Devil
riding on your back,
Heaven's out of reach,
Too Earthbound to Fly11pm.More Like This
He's riding a bus
that he didn't even know
ran this late.
next to a she,
a she he knows
he shouldn't love,
but one he can't
say he doesn't.
She's leaning against him,
hair draped on collarbone,
it'd been a long day.
He felt the warmth
of her hoodied head
pressing against his shoulder,
and he rested his head
all he wanted to do
was to hold her close
and stop time in its place.
But it kept going.
They came to their station.
And said their goodbyes.
And she gave him a kiss.
And he was happy,
because he was just too realistic;
too grounded to fly,
too earthbound to dream.
that the magic
that happened today
would be gone the next.
Today was a precursor
and he couldn't
of that nothing
Kitchen KnivesShe's in the kitchen,More Like This
at the counter,
and she's holding
a couple of knives.
She didn't know
what they were
she just thought
that one of them
was a boning knife,
the other a carving knife.
She scrutinized both.
The carving knife was longer.
So she decided to use that one.
she personally liked
because that's exactly
what she'd be doing with it.
So, while her parents sat on the couch
and watched the results
of the provincial elections
she sat behind them,
in complete silence.
She put the smaller knife,
which she still had,
against her chest
a slight prick
This wouldn't work.
So she went back
to the carving knife
and held it up
against her throat.
They didn't notice.
They were too busy
watching the Liberals
win a majority government.
So she pushed,
In Love and WarIn Love and WarMore Like This
Written by Jacob Menke
THE PLAY TAKES PLACE IN THE CITY OF PARIS BEFORE, DURING, AND AFTER THE NAZI GERMAN OCCUPATION OF FRANCE. THE PLAY TAKES PLACE IN A PARIS CAFÉ OWNED BY NICOLE ROUSSEAU OVER A PERIOD OF YEARS. SHE IS IN LOVE WITH A JEWISH PAINTER NAMED ISAAC LACHANCE AND IS CONSTANTLY COURTED BY A GERMAN OFFICER NAMED MORITZ WALTER.
NICOLE ROUSSEAU: A beautiful red haired Parisian woman in her twenties, she is in love with Isaac, and owns a small café. She is kind, funny, and cultured. See hates the Germans however, and doesn’t have time for any of them.
ISAAC LACHANCE: A tall strong Jewish man with curly brown hair in his late twenties, he is in love with Nicole, and is an aspiring poet and painter. He is loyal, protective, sensitive, and kind. His family is poor farmers is southern France, and they go to Paris to hide from the Nazi’s, however Isaac left at 18 to sell his paintings.
MORITIZ WALTER: A German Nazi officer from Ha
Iambic PentameterBegin control of my heart strings tonightMore Like This
Adjusting to it none shall have her more
Perhaps inside no one is in my sight
No one to spot my tormented new core
Why can’t I speak to her my mouth is shut
She hardly even knows I am around
If I can’t speak my heart will start to cut
I try to get the gall to make a sound
Perhaps I could declare my love to she
Although she would reject my forlorn cries
Torment I lose control mistake by me
The words I say to comfort me are lies
How one can say that simple phrase, "I do"
Would be a way to me completely new
Tired.I think I'm tired. But I can write.More Like This
Poem. Po-em. That word of two syllables. Just think about that word and it's connotation versus it's definition.
I can write that.
I am doing it now.
There are six lights in this room.
Three broke. On the same day.
Just one day they all broke.
It was dark. Not a deathly dark. It felt off though.
There is music playing. Quiet. It is too happy sounding.
I want to change it.
I didn't change it. The dark is getting to me now.
The happy music cannot defeat it.
I wonder what will happen tomorrow.
Or will it be the most traumatic day of my life?
Or will I sleep through the day?
I'm tired I absolutely swear.
My life is a nail. I have a hammer.
Conflict is silly though.
Bad times are always upon you.
The only thing that gets better is your view on the times.
Mine is pretty good.
Collections of past interest haunt my room. It's all blue.
God is dead.
The little hamper is empty by my desk.
There is a view outside my room. A single relatively large wind
FunnyRight nowMore Like This
I am at a
I am not
I am not
then it will
and it will
I wish I didn't have to have a titleYou'reMore Like This
I am not
cause I am afraid
Colours I Never TastedIt is not worth escaping over.More Like This
No, sometimes the sun rises lopsided in the horizon and the
clink of glasses against teeth sets irate neurones off in your mind cavity
and fireflies extinguish on car windscreens in rain storms. Sometimes
August drops down into lake reflections and sometimes October never
sends a breeze to whisper into your ears. But they teach you that all of
that is okay, even when you're watching sunflowers writhe towards the
sun with grey blankets over humid-day hair.
There will always be a dawn. Stay awake for it.
You are not truly living until you have breathed.
And by that, I mean, take two feet and place them on the path
or the grass and inhale April. it doesn't matter if it is not April,
imagine the dandelions and the daffodils and the soft bleat of lambs
and that fresh scent rushing past your nose in long car journeys,
the one that tugs your legs onto the map and tells you 'this is home,
all forty thousand kilometres of it'.
The world is your oyster. Be the pear
The PainterA blank brush to capture the wonders of nature, and with it, beautyMore Like This
He swipes his brush about with grace, fluidity.
A flowing azure, for all the colors of the oceans, to capture its essence
A washed out gold, for the stars in the sky
A glistening emerald, for the trees and all of nature
A burning crimson to create order out of chaos
He swipes and he dabs and he flicks and twirls until his
emerges as a masterpiece that only you can create.
Girl as NicotineShe is the Mona Lisa dip-dyed in ivory, flecks of oilMore Like This
paint curling at the corners of her eyes. Her name is warped water
underneath rope bridges, ecstasy in a chalk pill.
It will go down easily with a pair of blue eyes and a cup of red wine.
Just don't choke when the signs of the zodiac rush in over your tongue
and you're overwhelmed with the taste of silk sheets. Sagittarius will take
you to the forest and to Jupiter's storms, Leo sounds like solar flares and
will show you a pride of lions hunting at the first waver of dawn, but it's
Gemini you have to watch out for. It will split itself into two
and replicate in your synapses.
'Addicted' is not an easy word to shape.
Star-studded lips are really just glued-on diamantes clouding
up a strobe light's vision, reflecting in disco balls as the world
cavorts around the dance floor. Piles of colours scattered around
are only clothes at the bottom of a single bed with rumpled duvets
that smell of cologne and 'how could you?' etched into the m
The Woman in BlackWhispersMore Like This
The sound of a woman tempting you in the bleak barren streets of your thoughts. The slight whispers into your ear as she begs you to reconsider. Her sweet seduction tempting you to her side of the city, her domain.
A conversation secretly listened to by The woman in black who's always by your side. She gives you advice and tells you to make your move. She is your closest friend.
You shout into the sky for someone to speak to for the woman in black has gone. She is twisting you, making you beg for her to return, when it is really just part of her plan.
She approaches, laughing while she does it, and blows you a kiss, suddenly you know that all your mistakes, and all the wrongs, were hers. You strike and she fades away into shadow and you realize that she is you. You scream into the sky, no longer yourself, but a twisted woman in black
Point takenis it really that great thatMore Like This
when you close your eyes the
world keeps going
leaving you behind
No I want to hear what
you have to say
good or bad
it intrests me because
what I expect to hear
is never what I actually
Yes how long
do things have to
stay still while
grasping at what little
time we all have left
Sure thorw it at me
i don't know where to stop this
because End is never
the right word if it
is not over