.you're afraidto let anyonestoke the firein your chestfor fearyou will burnthem alive
.some thoughts get so loud thatyou cry out for them to leave;they scatter like birds startledout of their trees, before landingagain where they wereand after a while,you just have tolet them sing
.i shudderwhen you speak;your words arecold when theytouch me
.if thesewalls couldtalkthen i'm surethey'd bescreamingget out,burn usdown,we can'tbearto hold youanylonger(been too busy dreaming to get any sleep)
.i dug up thepast again, thosememories viciousand snarlingi set them looseinside the houseand now we haveto leave
.and like a stone atthe bottom of the riveror the sea,i think life might just beflowing right past me
.lies can slipthrough your teethwith ease,the truthgets caught inyour throat(i wish it was a lie, that i'm your flesh and blood and i wish it was the truth, that i hadn't been drinking)
.some people are deadlong before they die -there's just no burialor cremation,no funeralfor the spirit
.some people witherwith love;others bloom
.everything i hold deari hold too tightly;i am so sorry you weremarked when i had tolet you go
.the breathin my lungs -you tookeverything
.one day the earth will dim;the light in the sun will flicker and die,and the moon will sigh and roll over,keeping her back to the worldour shadows will say farewellto our bodies, and go their ownway in the darkness
.you were a passingstorm, a tornado scribblingyour name in the sand
.your heartalone shouldremind younot to beatyourself upyour pulseshould remindyoukeep steady
.he said there are a lot of things in lifethat don't make sense,i said i know,like that time i laughed so hard at the wakei had to stay out in the garden making small talk with the smokersfor the rest of it,like the time i shut myself in the garage and went to sleepin the backseat of your car,and how i'm not at all religious but i sat in church that day withmy hands clasped andi prayed,how i kept the windows shut that sunday so what i prayed forcouldn't get in,like the time i watched her throw your stuff out on the driveway,and when she managed to smash those plates even withher broken wrist, how most hearts start to sink when tempers rise,and the time i wanted to cradle that dead pigeon i saw at thetrain station, and you told me to answer the phone and i wouldn'tbecause i knew it was you,and when the night comes calling i always let him in,i'm never quite sure who he is, but he sayshe's paid for it so now i better fuckingdrink it,he says haven't you learnt by now
.you’ve gota lioninside,a heartfull ofpride,and you’renot lettinghim roar
.love grewand died repeatedly;she tore it out atthe root
.you were life's newwork of art;small easel bonesand a blankcanvas of skinbut he ruined you over time,added the brushof a scaror two
Barb WireYour barb-wired brainwon't let me in,and I'm getting cuttrying to jumpthe fence.
Keep your secrets, wolfgirl.I have been suffocatingon the stars of my pastlike horny gentlemendo with innocent lookingwolfgirls at 3am- their bitefearless as thieves.My lilac lungs are breathing indust and the tears of Saturn’snameless moons,while the rest of me -well, shes warm off wineand poems leftunfinished.
.she'll hold him tight tonightand dread the coming mo(u)rning
How to love a poet: Expect them to be flawed, a field of wild flowered- imperfections, sticky metaphors & an inability to speak. Love them anyway. Know that when they look at you they are noticing the little things.
War.If someone tells you, "War is hell." They lie.There are no innocents in hell.
.you buried me deep and called it a triumph,but you never realized -I'm a seed.
.What do you want to be when you grow up?They ask it like a dare.As if letting your unlikely dreamsslip from the safety of your mindcould bring their owna little closer to reality.
-she knew he was a grave, but she buried herself in him anyway.
OsteophilicHe loved his bones.The way they never asked too much of himor protested his requests.There was nothing superfluous in their design;simple, sleek, and uncomplicated.They were spry, robustready to take on the world withsharp and fluid motions.His bones were not brittle like she was.Not so breakable or frail,not so expendable.They didn't bend under pressureor fracture under stress.He loved his bones -their ivory purity eased his soul -and he was proud of the waythey held everything togetherso effortlessly.She knew one day he'd stomp thisold flame out, long before 'death do us part.'Cremation had never been part of the plan.
.and if you evermanage to get inside myhead, i'll wish you luck