EventuallyLiving through cold daysand painful nightswith unsettling thoughtsyour hearts not rightIt'll happen slowlyslower then you thinkyou'll start to breathe againand your tears begin to shrinkYou'll realize thatforever is not permanentpromises aren't in bloodand nothing is in cementEventually flowers dieas do words after a whileyou'll find love isn't a battleand proof shouldn't be a trialYou'll learn that giftsaren't promiseskisses aren't contractsand company isn't happinessSoon you'll know not toput all your eggs in one basketand not to give your whole lifeto someone you've metYou'll find that the heart healsand that you can endurethat you really are strong,graceful and matureYou can grow your own gardenand paint your own soulso pull yourself upand realize you've always been wholeLive with warm daysand comfortable nightswith content thoughtsbecause your heart is just rightAnd always rememberthat every day can be a rebirththat you have your own sparkand
RebirthThe walls sighed,relaxing her old bones,letting her windows cry,and her floor groansCracks lick up the plasterpressuring under the woodunsettling the dust fastermoving where the statues once stoodGreen leave splutter through the boardsbursting among the crevicesspiraling along the harp cordsbreathing through the devicesThe wind comes sailing instripping away the dirt and dustrenewing myself once againI am clean at last
mornings1 pack of cigarettes2 pots of coffee3 songs on repeat4 deep breathes5 shots of vodka6 new scars7 pills down8 old regrets9 new ones10 here we go again..
paintingsthat state of mind when you slip between being awakeand falling asleepthat pause between heartbeats right beforeyou exhalethat's all she is.An idea, a fantasy, a painting you fall in love withand you stop and stare every timeyou get the chanceShe is real.In another place, another time, another lifetime.But she will never be the smoke that illuminatesyour lungsshe will never be the blood that screamsthrough your veinsshe will never be the clothes that grazeover your skinshe will and only can,stare back.With relentless eyes that some momentsyou think sparkle like stars melting in the sunrisebut other times seem black and endlesslike the nightHer face is emotionless,no matter how many times you try to make her smileyou seem to only make her cry.She looks upon you with no judgement,yet you feel itin your soul, your heart, your skinThere are the times where you sit and waitwaiting for somethinga noise, a wink, a breath, ...somethingBut her face will simply sta
ForgivenShe keeps a black box under her bedwhere she soaks every wrong word,every imposing actand stores them away.Only to open that lock each nightand gaze upon the clustered hateto only feel the blades againand again.So when things start to go alrightshe can smear the box's contentson your skin and taint youbecause you never will beforgiven.
opening upI felt the heat of your fingers againstthe cracks of my frameMuscles tensed as your touch rantoo close to my bonesStretching pain rose while your nailsgrated and pried into my chest cavityMelting warmth and dry cold met when yourhot breath moved the icein my heart
Let meCome here, love.Let me run my fingersover your scars,smearing blood across your virgin skinLet me seethe poison plaguingyour heartLet me feelyour breath against my chestthinner and thinner as you gaspfor airLet me catchall the tears that floodyour eyes and painsLet me pressyour fragile bones against mefrom the coldLet me breatheinto your hairfighting your demons as they growLet me feel your painmake me shakemake me crymake me bleedmake my soul drip with venommake your demons fester on meand not you
The EncounterI saw him at the grocery store on a Thursday. His hair was cut shorter then before and he looked as pale as the moon. He was wearing that gawd awful jacket with the brown stripes around his thin frame. It had been 6 months. Maybe more. To be honest it felt like a million years was passing between the minutes.Some would probably accuse my actions of staring at this man for so long rude. And it was, so please don't argue with me. Now...you don't know this man. But I do. Or....I did. He was someone very special to me, but I soon realized that the entire relationship was nothing but fake smiles and pretend make up on his end. Which hurt. Although I did fight through it and I still tried to be helpful, even though I knew it was in vain and he didn't give two fucks about me. I wanted more then anything to be close to him. Even if he pushed me away.He had attempted suicide on countless days the year I met him. He would talk to me every night, and we would stay up until dawn talking. For so
My Dearest PreciousMy Dearest Precious ,I woke this morning with your name swimming in my head and your name pressing onto my lips. Your presence still lingers in my heart, even though it feels like centuries since I've seen your face. I hated leaving you like I did. I hope one day you can forgive me.I watched the sunrise from the Central Bridge. And smoked my last joint. It seemed for that brief moment, everything was perfect. As much as I always hated sunrises, you loved them. And today I can only say that I had never seen anything more beautiful.As I regret to say, I am glad I never saw you again. From the morning I ran through the streets. I believe I wouldn't be able to survive another encounter with you.I sent a bullet through the roof of my mouth this morning. It was inevitable I suppose. Suicide was the only path I had been led too. Like an artist, you need ink or led in a pencil in order to draw or write. And I dare say, I finished my last line. It took a lot of thought, and courage. I wish
On losing a friend(it did not end in tears.)I could give you armfuls of oceans, greatmountain ranges wrapped in silver bows,a coral reef gleaming like a sapphire chainbut you will always ask for a dormant volcanoand a star you can hold in your palm.And I have tried to be that star, have tried tocombust bright enough, shrink small enoughbut it is never enough for you. You kiss mymouth with those carmine lips and swallow myheartbeat with your gentle laugh and I glowI glow and you go you go you go on stringingme along a trail of crumbs, making me forgetthat I am starving myself for your table scraps.I could press the slats of pre-dawn light into youranswering machine, could fold dust columns thatfall between venetian archways into your bedsheets,could hang the lost jewels of jaguar fangs clatteringabove your dreamcatcher and you would only ask fora dormant volcano and a brittle sea-salt glass wave.And I have tried to capture the tides and I have triedto blow glass but my hands are clum
The GardeniasI told you I had wildflowers growing in my veinsand you thought it was quaint,so when I took shears to my jugular -you wouldn’t help me cut them out.You thought I’d be opheliacif they bloomed, splashing whiteinto my already paling wrists.Maybe you thought the perfume would purify meand being a tragic heroinewould be better than just being tragic.Their roots choked out my heart and the landslides slipped soil in to my blood stream soas I died,drowning in the after-effects of Pretty,all I could hearwas you telling me that you lovedthat I had Gardenias in my eyes.
JudgmentCapricious, erratic creatures,You observe the likeness of unknown features,Condemning, curving your mouth with disdainFor the decorum of oneself shall obey your malicious reign.The abomination you painted in your narrow mind,Was no more than an eccentric brother yet to findUtter compliance you seek,Yet of vain dejection you only reek.The enmity that guides your every lineIs but poison you gulped instead of light so divine.Depart from the ignorance that compels you,Underneath the deception lies all that is true.
DarknessThe disease came in the form of quiet, loving destruction.It pulled me out to sea,Waves crashing in on me from all directions.It planted lilies in my throat.Until I choked onRoses and chrysanthemums.It made my mind my own personal head stone.Nothing but polluted wordsThe flowers made it sound so playful and innocent when I said,'I am better off dead.'Invisible.You rage wars.Tugging at the skin underneath my eyes.Silent cries.Tortured lullabiesOf a once friendly stranger's goodbyes.Quiet and loving.You made me fall in love with the velvet of your darkness.The way you cloaked yourself around me.You gave me the piercing control of a knife.You whispered,'Death isn't a disease. It is a solution.'A solution to the dark abyss.LonelinessNags at the back of my skull.It makes my eyes dull.The darkness loved my light.It loved it so much,It was a parasite.It stole my sun.Now I am just a super novaCollapsing in on itself,Until I, myself, become the black hole.
A Letter to My Best FriendA letter to my best friend, for when he is feeling badlyWhen your sunny skies turn to thunder clouds.When you can't hear your own thoughtsOver rumbling drum rolls of thunder.I will be the umbrella to protect youFrom the freezing rain.I'd set my bones aflameWatch them spark and burn.I'd turn my soul into a Bon fireJust to keep you warm.I'd catch fire flies like stars.I would keep them in a jarAnd give them to you.Because you light up the dark of the night sky.When I am feeling blueYou are the one that helps me get throughThe murk of my lonely thoughts.And sometimes, I don't feel like you see yourself clearly.I wish you could see youThe way I do.I see you in the starsYou talk about them so fondly.Every constellation reminds me of you.I wonder if you are made of cosmos.Such chaotic, pure energy,I see you in the rain.You are coldBut inviting.I'd dance to the music of your soft,Pitter- patter melody.I see you in the air I breathe.Because you are the thingThat
Fairy Tale GirlFairy tale little girl.She wears a crown upon her head,And befriends the monsters under her bed.She sings songs to birds.But no one ever heardHer cries when the castle walls came tumbling down.Real world little girl.She weaves herself a fantasy inside her mind.Hoping to findThe same peace from when she was young.And she's like water colors.So soft, and easily washed away.She is the soft blues in the morning of a new day.I found her hiding within her tower.Far above the real world below.She is so broken but never lets it show,So desperate for some fairy tale ending.She asked me quietly one day,'Do you think the world will ever be like my story books?'I thought for a moment before replying,'In order to survive there are some bad things you have to overlook.''The world is grey.'I heard her say one day.As if accepting the odd mixture of good and bad.Her voice sounded happy and sad,All at once.As she ripped away the last pageIn her story book.
Your feelings are validI once readthat a teaspoon of matterfrom a black holecan weigh thousands of tonsupon Earthso think about thatwhen someone tells youyour problem is no big dealforit may not looklike you have the weight of the worldupon your shoulders but it sure can feel like it.
The Rogue FactorRise, fall, get up, stumble and runit's getting harder to catch a breathin this cloud of scorching lies you've shoved me in. Stop right there, I am not following you againyou, the one who held a scythe to my throat,had only brought me closer to a death I didn't cry for. It's a price I've paid for having faith inyou, the one with blooming roses and stinging, poisonous thorns.Whose dreams was I chasing?Were they yours, mine orwere they the illusions of a distant fall?Heaven and Hell crossed at your feetbut you took the wrong turn and blindly led the way,straight into a fire that welcomed me with open arms.Doubt someone like you can atone, you, the one with a habit of tearing souls.Yet here I stand, and fightagainst you, once and for all.I grew tired of letting you take control. I found a strength in a goal you can't claim,my life and my work are no longer yours.Hope shines bright you monster, I'm not going to be a victim,I'm not holdi
Eighteen Years OldTwenty years old, and unhappy with the world.Twenty years old and threatening teenage girls.Twenty years old and unsure of who you are.Twenty years old and hiding behind keysand a space bar.At twenty years old, your anger gets the best of you,at twenty years old, I'd hate to be you.At eighteen years old, I feel sorry for you,despite the amount of agony you've put methrough.Because the one who is the giver of your lifecriticizes your appearance and your size.Despite talking, and the gawking,and all in between,I know you're just a poor man suffering.But you're twenty years old, and you shouldknow better.You're twenty years old,and you'll never understand this letter.Fifteen years old, with the mind of a toddler.Fifteen years old, and though I'm writing this,I shouldn't even bother.Fifteen years old, and you're already a professional stalker,you're toxic, your disgusting, and a suicide blogger.Fifteen years old, and life is a game, you can ruin people,play with pe
the rushYour eyes met minethose iridescent doorsinto your soulWe held our breathat first we resistedour hearts both stoppedBut it was hard to breathe, sowe collapsed into each otherlike a mad rush, or a feveras if we were f alling