.i hearthe sun hisswhen it catchessight of the moon,i see you too, so pleasedo not come any closer -i crack wordswide open to see justwhat they're reallymade of, and i longto do the sameto you, i thinka crowbar is the only thingthat would give youa more open mind, iswing then prise -you laughand saya moth in searchof the lightis boundto get burned(what are you in for?)
.i keep wearingmy skinlike an old wornjacket and jeans,stitchedover andover again
.you break freefrom the grip ofthe oceanjust to die inthe arms of the shorefrom exhaustion
.the rabbits twitchin their sleep;they dreamof red bitten neckswet with spit,the birds dream of their eggscrackedand runny -the mice dream of hearingthat tabby cat screamas the teeth of life ripitwide open
.and if you evermanage to get inside myhead, i'll wish you luck
.dig lifejust to get buried
.i wantto know about god,which namehe would prefer to go byi want to knowabout the stairwayup to heaven,and why sliding downthe bannister into hellis much more fun(think i tried to climb a step that wasn't there, think i might have died more than once)
.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
.sooner or laterwe'll fall throughthe trapdoor of death
.death has a wayof assuring youthat he is youronly friend;he's the onlyone that willstay with youwhenever youreach the end
.when we talkwe use our wordslike grenades;you roll them outand they land at my feet,i either choose to throwthem back,or choose to run
.and i stopped killing spiderswhen i realized that we are both just tryingto make our way in the worldand he hasn't got a cluehow he ended up on my bathroom floorand i can turn out the lights tostop the moths from killing themselvesbut i can't turn off my brain andstop myself from doing the same
.your heart is a houseand i am screaming atthe front door
.the world's a stagebut he saysplease,don't make a scene(it's growing boring)
.we are allstrayssearching forhomes ineach other
.she saysdarling,you weren't madefor anything else(cutting this cord day by day)
.i dug up thepast again, thosememories viciousand snarlingi set them looseinside the houseand now we haveto leave
.got eyes sohungry they'reswallowing youwhole,gonna spitout your heartlike a pip
.she'll hold him tight tonightand dread the coming mo(u)rning
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.
-she knew he was a grave, but she buried herself in him anyway.
.you buried me deep and called it a triumph,but you never realized -I'm a seed.
Behind the WordsWe spill our pain across the pages.But we must smile when it is read.For we cannot show our true emotions.Not of suffering, anxiety, or dread.For we are the bringers of dreams to the world.Our words are tales of healing light.So hide your tears behind a mask,And save them for a quiet night.
IntrovertEveryone's tryingto get out ofthe shadowof their parents-I'm here tryingto get out ofthe shadowof myself.
.keep your eyes forward;you weren't meant to watch what you'rewalking away from
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.
.she never carried enough oilto keep her own life burning
.can you hearmy mouth -my cerberusguardingthe hellinside me