.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
.and if you evermanage to get inside myhead, i'll wish you luck
.you're afraidto let anyonestoke the firein your chestfor fearyou will burnthem alive
.some people are deadlong before they die -there's just no burialor cremation,no funeralfor the spirit
.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
.your heartalone shouldremind younot to beatyourself upyour pulseshould remindyoukeep steady
.i shudderwhen you speak;your words arecold when theytouch me
.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
.some people witherwith love;others bloom
.you got given a life,now you have to earn your living
.everything i hold deari hold too tightly;i am so sorry you weremarked when i had tolet you go
.i don't believethat if you can dream ityou can do it,cos i once dreamt thati killed atlas,i tore him limb from limb and theni stabbed the globe he held,watched itdeflate,and sometimes i get sadabout the children in the worldwho will choke on all the wordsthat they'll never learn to speak,and there's a baby somewhere garglingthe meaning of his life,and he's a little bit upset that youkeep wiping itaway(i have no words for you)
.you pulledall the strings;now i connect morewith the puppet thani do the puppeteer
.death has a wayof assuring youthat he is youronly friend;he's the onlyone that willstay with youwhenever youreach the end
.we are allstrayssearching forhomes ineach other
.spillyour emotion,or drownin it
.there's no pointin leaving the chrysalisif you've gotno desire to fly
.you were a passingstorm, a tornado scribblingyour name in the sand
windfallI would gather allthe seven seas for you.for me, you would notspare a raindrop.
-she knew he was a grave, but she buried herself in him anyway.
I can't write poetry for dead girls.there are toomany pills in thisworld and toomuch misery inthe human heartbut that didn't meanthat you could justup and leave whenwe both know itcould have gotten betterand i miss you likea wolf misses her packor a goddamn dragon missesher fire and i'm sorrythat i can't give youa bouquet of jasmines(they were yourfavorite, after all,because that wasthe only princesswith a pet tiger)because poppies aretoo cliche and i'msorry i wasn't therewhen all you neededwas a hug and for someoneto whisper "it's okay,you're perfect enoughfor me, don't listento that junkie bitchwho just happened togive birth to you" and didyou know that i'm still waitingfor a reply to that oneemail about the world'sbest puns because fuck,there's a stubborn partof me that still refuses tobelieve that you're gone.
VeinsI wishmy veinsof ocean blueflowed not justto my heart,but toyours too.
red red rosesi am not a goddessnor do ibelieve i wish tobe one.i thinki'd rather be a half-forgottenfairy taleor a girl with opiumeyes and aglass tongue;an angelwho doesn't believe ingod, anangel whokisses demons with lipsthat whisper poetry as artificialas the mannequins in adepartment store.i want wings:appendages stitched fromdying butterfliesand the feathers youcan find onthe ground - dirty,ripped, but stillbeautiful.and i would soarhigher and higheruntil icouldn't breatheand buy upall the stars.if i am beinghonest,i fall in love withdragon girlsand wolf boysmuch like the way a candlemelts; fast, hot, and drippingwax down the side.butfor nowi just want to fitbetween these ugly bonesand the too-tight skinthat stretches across them.
RealHow can you expect to see the truth in the mirror?When your eyes are clouded by the filter of 'inferior'
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.
obsessionyour shadow and I have begunto argue about sharing space
Endorsed By The Surgeon General.She was like cigarettes.She took his breathaway,and filled his lungs with promisesthat evaporated likesmoke.
.and like a stone atthe bottom of the riveror the sea,i think life might just beflowing right past me