.i shudderwhen you speak;your words arecold when theytouch me
.love grewand died repeatedly;she tore it out atthe root
.you brokea heart,convincedthat there wassomething goodinside
.and if you evermanage to get inside myhead, i'll wish you luck
.you were a passingstorm, a tornado scribblingyour name in the sand
.some people are deadlong before they die -there's just no burialor cremation,no funeralfor the spirit
.does a weedever wonderwhy it isn'ta flowerdoes a treeever feel likeits roots areholding itdown
.hell isthe devil's chest,an empty red cavernhe's simply tryingto fill
.you're afraidto let anyonestoke the firein your chestfor fearyou will burnthem alive
.i dug up thepast again, thosememories viciousand snarlingi set them looseinside the houseand now we haveto leave
.sometimesthe voicein my headdecides tocurl up inmy throatinsteadand sometimesthe beat ofyour heartdecides tomake itselfknown throughyour fists
.you pulledall the strings;now i connect morewith the puppet thani do the puppeteer
.pour love allover, then strikea match;the fire willburn itself out,but the ruinswill smoulder
.everything i hold deari hold too tightly;i am so sorry you weremarked when i had tolet you go
.the sea spitsme back ontothe shore -the waves saythis is not theright tide, theright time
.you got given a life,now you have to earn your living
.someone told the mistit clings too tightlyto the hillsand someone told the snowthat the mountains needto breathe(an idiot, a coward)
.you’ve gota lioninside,a heartfull ofpride,and you’renot lettinghim roar
five second suicideand as i pour myself out on these canvasesi drip over the edges, spilling dots ofabsence on the hungry earth.they call me jane doe,and i am not art.every evening, i close the door,close my eyes, disassemble.slowly, i've become fleeting.i float, my feet don't touch the ground.how can i crash?i fade, i dissolve,but i've lost the motive to explode.there's no glory in my death;i leave no trace of the dramatic.a man on the train last tuesdaynudged me, apologized, and carried on his way.he's the last person who'sspoken to me since then.we hit a notch in the tracks,the car wobbled.i stared at him silently,counting the infinite futuresthat suffocated behind my teeth.i'm dying in my own penitentiarywith the cell door key in my pocket.
Once Upon A TimeOnce upon a time there was a girlAnd she lived.
things that go bump in the nightabsence makes the heart a monster.
The Dead SeaThe Dead SeaI offered water to her,but she was a seaI offered love to her,but she was deadI offered words to herand she hated me.
So SilentIt was so silent on the hill,She could hear her steps,Her breath...A look at the watch;Time's not passing,Not going away,Like a friend who waits, insists;BegsThat she must do something at last.
Candle WaxYou meltmy heartlike candle wax,but I'm afraidover timeI'll getburnt.
-she knew he was a grave, but she buried herself in him anyway.
( 4/01/2014 )I’ve been toldladies are supposed tocover themselvesin flowers, fine wines,or men.Fuck poetry,ladies don’t havetime.But lately,Bukowski sitsupon a barstoolin my headlaughing.He’s telling meto fuck her, poetically,emotionally, physically-figuratively speaking.I can’t decide which“her”he is referring to,( the new or the old )when jealousyon both endshas meby thethroat.Why do I attractbroken girlslike abandonedpuzzle pieces?Why do my wordsnot sit rightin my mouthwhen I can’teven stand upand speakfor myself?I don’t deserveto be apoet.
Blue-Eyed BoyI'd loveto go swimin yourocean blue eyes,but there'salwaysthat riskI will drown.
.he stood on the shore,and told the sea he loved her;the jealous wind tore hisvoice in two