You whispered poetry to me, penetrating my ear with the warm hard thrust of your syntax. Caressing my body with your alliteration, bringing chill bumps to the landscape of my skin. You trace a series of haiku down my spine. My toes curl from the thrill of wave after wave of vowels and syllables washing over me. I open my eyes to see before me your naked heart trembling, longing to be claimed.
Before I Can Become a Writer
Develop insomnia. Develop problems with substance abuse, nothing serious, but enough that I can say “write drunk, edit sober” and mean it. Drink tea. Write about drinking tea. Take up smoking, ignore the thoughts about it being a slower suicide. Write about suicide. Don’t mean it. Write about sunsets and ink veins. Mean it. Fall in love with someone who will never love me back. Lament. Write a million crappy poems and two good ones. Never show him. Move on. Write a few more bad poems. Fall in love with someone perfect. Screw it up. Fall in love with someone awful. Call him perfect. Screw it up. Cry. Cry for the inevitab
Curing Depression in Seven Easy Steps
1. apologize profusely to the ones you were honest with, the ones who believe in you, the ones who never cared, the boy who thought you were worth it, the girl who stayed up all night to hear you breakdown, the doctors, the nurses, the stars, your scars, your little brother who told you he hoped your sad would go away, yourself 2. fall in love with someone who doesn’t understand you. write poems about his eyes being a lighthouse, and his hands being sirens. tell him he is your happiness, he makes you better. tell him his scars are beautiful, he is so breathtakingly beautiful that it’s reasonable you should cry; love him infin
Loneliness and pain Lover killed by a train Love died in vain Lying dead in the rain All hopes and dreams fade Corpse's marching down a death parade Sounds of an eerie serenade Disembodied voices wither in the wind Carrying a dying melancholic tune .
The Dance of Inspiration
It began a long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away. No wait, I think that’s Star Wars. Meh, maybe I should try being less sarcastic next time. It’s kind of a thing with me, seeing as I don’t really get a lot of visitors. Anyway, where was I? Oh yes, I was telling you about how it all started. How I ended up in this strange situation that you see before you. Actually, I haven’t even described the scene to you, have I? Well…imagine if you will, a burning ball of nuclear fusion better known to the inhabitants of Earth as the Sun. It’s big, bright and on it’s surface you have yours truly dancing away.
With the Stars Tonight
I wanted to be angry, When he took you away; I was crying when I asked him why, He wouldn't let you stay. But death's not a cruel and spiteful black, He's a cold, uncaring gray. I was sitting by your bedside, Our hearts in perfect sync, You tried so hard to stay with me; You tried too hard I think. Because life's not a strong, determined red, It's a sickly, fragile pink. Our friends are getting worried, But they haven't even seen; I never cry when they mention you, Never let it show, I mean. My pain's not a burning, choking orange, It's a pale, uncertain green. We used to watch the stars and sit, by their softly glowing light; Now I'm sitt