just to laugh it off.
We all leaped into that building,
the one empty and cool
from the hot summer sun,
but frigorific in the deep snows.
We,
We did all of this.
But I held him,
we held each other in those cool
calm waters.
Now the moon reflects,
and the sand lays sleeping.
The wind still howls in it’s wolf tongue.
Emotions run deep.
- Last Rites
Hold me,
please,
I need someone to.
Emptiness is here,
and it’s chasing me,
chasing without moving.
Hold me.
I can’t run alone.
- Tell me again
I can't belive I'm doing this,
sitting here alone.
I can't believe it's happening,
everthing is thrown.
You're not even listening,
just yawning as I say,
"I'll be here tomorrow,
I’ll be waiting for you everyday."
You look at me,
eyes with forced tears,
and say,
"You shouldn't have to stay."
- Revolution
There’s nothing left to write about,
no more I can say.
I can just sit here and moan,
or I can go away.
I’m cold and tired,
lost and found,
I’m trying too hard,
then I’m not even on the ground.
I yell and fight,
kick and scream,
and then I call myself mean.
Wait, I do have more to write about,
crazy crazy mouth.
- The last time before the first
I went into those comforting arms and they held me.
It wasn’t a hug,
it was more and less.
A hug seems to be more of a squeeze filled with
friendly warmth,
but being held is a complete change.
Being held,
there’s so much in it to interpret.
When you’re held
what is it?
Is it a lazy hug?
Perhaps.
Is it something like dancing?
Yes, it is, almost perfect in that way.
Is it love?
I don’t know.
I was being held in those arms
so comforting and felt so loving,
but then they let go
and I was left alone again,
something not felt in love.
So is there love in holding?
I don’t know,
because to be held is to also be let go.
- Ripped (Sorry Andrew, it's not about you)
I have drained eeverything out of myself,
I write now with slowness,
and caution,
making sure not to trip over
a .
or
a -,
or running into a /.
I hope I don’t.
Then again,
I’m tired,
I was happy before,
happy and energetic.
Everytime I get a burst of energy,
my happiness seems to appear.
Even when the energy fades though,
sometimes the happiness stays,
and sometimes it
doesn’t.
Happiness only stays to sojourn.
- Nice words
I can feel the endless nightmare,
creeping into my mind.
Sanity dissolves on my
mental tonuge,
and nauseating,
heavy pain rips through
my stomach.
My mouth can’t even reply a simple
ordinary phrase.
How awkward.
- Tips to live by
Following to the better
of it all.
Running to hide,
escape,
to find the fun.
Life is bitter on the tongue,
but flavorful and sweet to the ear.
So listen with your eyes,
and taste with your
touch.
Express in spontaneous ways,
always.
- Every little Cottage in that lovely drawing
Nothing.
What does nothing feel like?
Well, it’s hollow and empty,
but then again,
those are both something.
It’s bland and ill tasting.
But these are also things.
Nothing,
nothing is nothing that can be described.
Nothing is how my heart
did feel tonight.
Nothing.
Nothing was there.
Nothing in me,
I couldn’t do anything,
so there was nothing to do.
I had no bravery.
Maybe nothing,
is just the thing,
we can’t do.
- World
So many questions,
I have inquired.
So many confessions,
have made you tired.
I don’t know why,
but whenever I talk with you,
I can’t cry.
Even the day you said, “Good-bye,”
I couldn’t bring myself to let the tears
come forth in blurry smears.
You’re a good friend,
and will be for the rest of your life,
but this is the end,
of my unlucky strife.
- For the jerk
I know you never loved me,
that’s not hard to hide.
I know you never saw me,
even when I cried.
I know you don’t like my whining,
and it’s what made you lie.
But I know I couldn’t stop talking,
because you made my heart fly.
And here I am alone again,
not knowing what to feel.
I let the words buzz and blend,
and wait for my wounds to heal.
You keep talking about her,
I just nod my head,
about how you’re so sure,
she’s meant for you instead,
instead of the person that tried so hard,
to help you live a little more,
but you just let me scar,
and let me be sore.
So I write this stupid poem,
about you and I
then realize I hate to rhyme.
I hate to think,
I hate to not see you after
each time I blink.
I hate that you won’t hold me,
I hate that you won’t call,
I hate that you hate me,
and I hate that I really don’t care,
that you threw away,
all the time we shared.
Then again,
I don’t hate that.
- For "he knows who he is"
If I could stare at your face,
As I did in the car,
and just stay in that place,
if only it weren't so far.
We talk so lightly,
clear and honest,
I dream of you nightly,
of you I am fondest.
But are are we fondest of each other?
I pray you don't find another.
so I'll be waiting,
until your lips I am again tasting.
Just like in the car,
it still seems so far,
but it was only yesterday.
The minutes turn to hours,
when you're so far away.
But like the waiting bloom of flowers,
I'll have to bear those long stretched hours.
Until once again our candle's lit,
But as you said in the car,
on the night that can't be marred,
it's worth it.
- Decoy
For every month I miss your caring face,
each day I miss your personailty,
Anytime I want you for close embrace,
and I wish for our mutuality,
I close my eyes and carefully covet.
Often we walk along the sandy beach,
we become to absolutely love it,
and happiness is never out of reach.
Sometimes, we just sit and talk for hours,
books, movies, anything that comes to mind.
Once, we even talked of superpowers.
On that beach, there’s nothing we have not climbed.
For so many dreams, We spend our days there,
Letting the tide lazily rise and fall,
For so long we stay without a small care.
That is, until conciousness takes it all.
So then I open my eyes once again.
I look around the warm but boring room,
I try to grab back at the dream, but then,
I can’t recall it, only a dark gloom.
As I try to think and make it all clear,
I let my fear drip a sad, lonely tear.
- Thunder
Have you ever watched a flower slowly wilt?
It’s more melancholy than
forgetting who your best friend was in
first grade.
Each petal clings for life,
clings for shelter,
hangs on for a place to die happily.
But, it never wins.
In the outcome, the petals lie defeated,
surrounding the bald
and unrecognized bud.
It’s a battlefield covered in
dead youths.
It’s a red-handed murderer,
guilt stricken, and still walking free,
his mind littered with views of blood.
It’s a child standing with a gun,
surrounded by wounded classmates.
It’s a depressed person,
with the noose already on his neck.
Then again, who ever said
people resemble flowers?
- Stars
You step out of your shoes,
surrendering to the drip and drop
of your coat.
The rain taps so steady outside the window,
hungry and satisfied all at once.
You let your lips slide into that
grin you do for me,
and I’ve already fallen.
Oh sweet loving fall,
hold me calm,
hold me close,
and let me breathe your breath.
I want to feel your warmth,
and know,
you’ve glided in to join us.
You let the hat,
slip off your head.
That smile still engulfing me.
I blink so slow,
to only let you know,
I’m melting without your touch.
So when you hold me,
hold me calmly,
hold me still.
Not too tight or I’ll rush through your
fingers.
Those fingers that gently,
oh so softly,
bring me to you,
and I feel you fall with me.
Security and comfort,
race through our skin,
as each and every drop of rain,
dives off your hair.
I rest my head against your heart,
and sigh.
To only live like that forever.
Hold us calm,
hold us still.
Hold us close to heart.
Not too tight,
but not too loose.
Let us rest in your palm,
and let the waves finish the universe,
as long as we have fallen.
- Insomnia
And here I am,
for the who- knowsth time,
sitting and attempting something
beautiful.
Oh well,
even if my attempt goes down to
zero,
and this
simple and completely random
writing doesn’t turn
beautiful,
at least I know I tried,
that this poem
tried.
It’s with me all the way,
all the way until I reach
that place I haven’t been for a good while.
So, I’ll keep trying,
and if you don’t think this is beautiful yet,
can you please give me some advice
on how to make if beautiful?
Then again, if you give me advice on beauty,
this will be your beautiful poem.
So, I’ll just leave it at
this:
YOU.
- Desperate Challenge of Me
Language limits me so much,
words hold me back from
expression.
It’s impossible to explain it,
but then again,
I just did.
I always tried to write metaphors,
with beauty
and pure oxymoronic
sense.
And now that I look back,
none of it’s me.
IT’s just what I want to be,
what I need to be.
But I don’t need to be that really,
I can miss it all I want
but that me
isn’t coming back.
Maybe it’s unhealthy to wish and miss
the worst side of you back,
but it seems to keep me going
from day to day.
Hoping I’ll be that me
tomorrow.
But tomorrow is always
tomorrow,
and never today.
- Desperate Challenge of me Part 2 12:28am
For so long,
I stopped writing.
I couldn’t find any ideas,
I couldn’t find motivation,
I couldn’t find.
Then one today,
I realized that tomorrow wasn’t
going to be today any day soon.
So I forced love
and rhyme
and ideas out of me.
Now, I’m writing things that I don’t
even enjoy writing.
They do nothing for me.
And isn’t that what writing is all about?
So here’s where I stop forcing myself,
this makes me feel
GOOD
about
ME.
And I need to feel GOOD about ME
every now and then.
Especially around here.
Tomorrow just turned into today.
- Almost Jealous
In the back of my head,
balancing on the border
of subconciousness,
there’s a tiny image of you.
And you’re writing something
more beautiful than I could ever
imagine.
Ouch
- lead
how many more years do I have to go on preaching
about everything and nothing,
before I become nothing?
How many more months do I have to crawl
through darkness,
before finding the lights?
How many more weeks do I have to keep humoring myself
that I'm a good person?
How many more days do I have to keep convincing myself
to write?
How many more hours do I have to keep looking
for the non-exsistent soul
that books, friends, teachers, and society
have convinced me that I own?
Not long.
Not very long.
- Quick!
Oh the rushing beating heart of a young person!
To feel the blood flowing through our bodies,
and feeling our emotions slide on ice.
Hearing every word we need to,
from so many people’s mouths,
seeing all the colors of the world
in one person’s eyes,
feeling every softness and rough edge
in one mentor’s personality,
and knowing that everything will turn out alright.
Oh to be young.
- Sweater Wearing Dragons
You can feel lead in your stomach and
a rock in your throat.
You’re back to private tears,
Filled with mysticism and eagerness.
An empty, numb reincarnation of fire and
Moon-tagged wind,
Sucking on the sun’s toes,
Cries your name in loving tones.
All you get is a quizzical look
and rays of exultant truth that only say that I am
Being where I belong.
I venture without orders,
And hot air is buzzing by my ears.
The beach stretches out to me.
Sand that sounds like an acoustic guitar breathing
Beatles’ ballads
And waves that look like dragon scales,
Tell me I am where I belong.
It’s a warm day sizzling in a skillet of
Scrambled eggs.
The heat is only distracted by the wind that has
Voices singing praise to the sun.
A wind scented like vanilla.
Vanilla that looks like an oversized sweatshirt.
A sweatshirt that really is a girl in a fuzzy pink sweater,
Caught in thunder clouds.
- Picturesque Quality and Fanatasy
A smiling girl
with shameless flashing eyes,
poses eloquenty,
with a cheerful friend
in a place far
far from eloquence.
Thirty minutes of worry,
Ninety minutes of waiting,
Two cups of coffee,
Forty-five minutes of sitting on a train,
Five o’clock wake up call,
all a prequel to
someone closer than
close,
finally wrapping bear hug arms
around an eager
fuzzy red sweater girl
caught in a non-exsistent
rain storm.
Next time she gets off
an airplane,
the fuzzy red sweater girl
caught in a non-exsistent rain storm,
smiles at a silver dragon boy caught in
a time warp,
as she gallops with outstretched arms
towards a happy day.
- Falling Apart
Spectacular rays of you spill over the
Edge of the table and graciously fall on the floor.
Mocking and pleased,
You slink your way into the warm abyss of
My mind
And you whisper words of flannel shirts,
And your oversized sweaters that
I so often sleep in.
You tell me things that are better than living,
Better than dying.
Better than being.
You make me into everything.
Your cotton soft words and
Down comforter warmth is driving me crazy
With pure love and want
For you.
My perfect.
- Rituals inc.
Every night a simple frase uttered
To cover up the non-existent conversation
That was somewhere
Lost in the tip-toeing between
Fights and bickering.
Every day long, waiting to hear from each other,
Waiting for the next brawl.
Irrational pain and
Unbearable words of low hits
Taking the belt above the atmosphere
And always ending awkward.
Where did we lose the words to
Plea for forgiveness?
- A Crashing Tragedy
Renaissance gardens of naked delicacy and unadorned
Splendor blind me with such
Radiance from you that all I can think of
Is small white lilies licking my fingertips
And kittens sctraching my arms.
Your broken image makes me think that maybe
We were never supposed to be
Whole and of pure pedigree.
Your voice shows me a rebirth of Venus and
Casting away Narcissus’ clouded perception of
Emotion
Only pouring waters of
Bohemian theory and milk of human kindness
From an awestruck child’s mind,
Equal to any scholar,
Your calm approach to the hideous
Mistake and irrationality of life
Soothes my constant stampede filled with
Anxious cries and unsteady ground.
You are the constant reminder of insanity that
I crave and possess.
Thank you.
- Bricks
The veracity of your thoughts,
is nothing unpredictable.
You think I’m vain,
I’m stupid,
that I have no morals,
that I don’t think correctly.
Maybe you’re right,
you probably are,
but only in your eutopia.
You’re clumsy,
and foolish,
you’re stuck in a paradign of beliefs.
I will sooner rather than later
discomfit your thoughts of my stupidity and
vainity.
That is not of question.
The question dear ashes, is:
Will you conquer my thoughts of you?
- Second Degree burns
I see you.
You’re standing there,
just out of my reach.
Come here,
close to me,
we will talk of the future,
the past,
the present.
How have you been doing?
I’ve been just fine.
Yes, I remember you from that old companionship.
I remember that time that we
ran across the beach,
and I remember falling.
I remember playing that sport with you,
and I remember losing.
I remember your warm house,
and I remember walking lone.
I remember loving you.
You remember pushing me away.
We talk of Maine,
and how we are going to move there,
close to each other,
will you live down the street?
Will you call me every now and then?
I’m working as a photographer,
you’re a famous artist.
I’m living in the city,
you own half of it.
I’m still in love you.
You’re walking away.
- Bang
The air is stricken with sugary grief from
A temporary failure, and a completely forsaken heart.
The romantic puddles of broken heart blood
Are soaking into the desperate field of lost memories,
And the birds weep for the mongrels that writhe through
The black earth that has no name.
Screaming brethern who can’t fathom the grief
rage on with naive
Minds and uniformed heads.
The black earth is stained with morals and superiority,
The birds cling to the freedom of the harsh trees.
A man walks to the field,
And lies down his weather beaten head,
To cry for chemical nature and human maggots that
Consume the vivacity and mortality of
No one’s Earth.
The only name that could not infiltrate the conscience.
- Grey Gardens and Red Horses
Today the world went to war again.
Everyone’s hiding at home.
All because no one would bend,
And no mercy can be shown.
The bombs are being dropped,
Lives are being taken,
As long as the U.S. isn’t topped,
We won’t be forsaken.
The president is fuming with blinding hate.
Anti-fight posters are painted with strokes of red.
No one is comfortable with our soon to be fate.
And the citizens are starving, waiting to be fed.
The citizens are running,
From fire and exploding gases,
While people around here are shunning
The burning masses.
The weapons are somewhere,
But no one’s quite sure,
We just know we need to care,
While the death rate rises in a blur.
The ground is suffering with Hell high flames,
And the people can’t escape,
But still, the U.S. shows no shame,
Even through destruction is what we create.
God has closed a mighty eye,
Letting humans run free,
History repeating by and by,
But how long until we no longer be?
- Hard to Say (thank you Feuer for being my rhyming dictionary)
I’m so bad at these things,
at rhyming and scheming.
I just follow those inklings,
and keep on dreaming.
I’m sorry I get embarrassed,
about so many writings,
they’re things I really charish,
and they’re quite a sighting.
But my flushing cheeks,
hold me back from posting,
my confidence is just too weak.
maybe next time I’ll just practice boasting.
So tata for now, there ain’t no more-a,
so see you later and paz para fora.
Still Life with Stanley
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