I see a mould of a child in the wraps of a decomposing soul. It is dispiriting to be vindictive while childlike excitement makes you forget you're thrown into the sands of time.
I see the skeletons of past lives lurking in hopelessly shiny eyes. It is melancholy of the knowing surpassing all that you see while laughing in between all that you think you could tame.
I see a picturesque figure of a little girl running through fields of roses while holding the cold hands of a witch. It is the looming doom in the air while trusting your forest is meant to be sane.
I see a bridge of broken homes burning from a brush of the wind and the hiss of the wrestling leafs while the cracks are covered in mimosa all over the terrain.
You must be in ecstasy knowing you shared and passed on the suffering,
When is the remorse you show to others when I need it beyond words?
You're accustomed to the beat of your tumbling heart over the doors of thoughtless mocking,
Where is the privilege when I yearn to abide by existing?
Pretty eyes, trapped in the manor of a king like a jailed sailor of the seas,
Pretty eyes, ones that need not to speak to convince me to cease,
Pretty eyes, all that you are and will be is forgotten in each gaze,
Pretty eyes, the skims of your soul veiled behind the cast of your daze.
~how cruel and enviously sad to be you
You hone the blades in your corset when the moon is full,
And the sharper you get, the duller the hearths pull,
You ink the empty white sheets every single night,
And the deeper these stain are, the harder it is to write.
Destiny was reliving your grandmother's ambitions, the flames that set her apart from anyone. I envied her passions, the long strokes of her brushes on her limited secluded life. And she envied the power her passions gave me. Oh what she would do to them if she ever had the chance at a taste of freedom like mine. At times she only wrote to me in hopes that I fulfill what she couldn't. She tied the knot of her hands behind her back to untie my ruins.
You don't know her like do. She was once me and unlike me too.
You bind me to find the key in the piles of torn hearts,
You twirl 'em on the floor of the white and black squares until your turn starts,
You call it the wamth of a woman's body,
You call it the shrine of a diamond lady,
You nip at my neck as you're blessed with my touch,
You linger on my caramel soul trying to attach,
You call it morbidly in need to be blessed,
You call it the craze of a man possessed.
~I am not fooled. I don't believe you.
He hasn't been on my dark side, abandoned and forgotten and now that's where he lives he is surprisingly surprised that this is me when I am gone.
Читать полностью…Pining over me like you understand, like you know me is absurd,
Longing for me when you don't even know just how lethal I am is sad.
I remembered every trace of your face, outlined all your bumps, counted the steps of the bridge to your nose like it was an artifact,
I remembered every word spoken out of your hollow lips, the emotions and expressions that are magnified by candles.
~but now I remember it in a blue haze
We live somewhere you haven't been before. We wait and wait and wait some more for a miracle to sweep us away to the mythical. Hungry for the pain of existence we drink from every rumored swill. You say you envy what it is like to us, so perfectly portrayed by the lights of evening stars but do you know who we are when everyone leaves us?
We live somewhere you crave to be in. We plead and plead and plead for someone who see us behind masks. Desire rocks our boats like a vexed sea. We search for every passage out of this misery while you strive to be among us. You say we're godly and godless, unmatchable by every creature, but do you know what we did amid storms?
Sunsets are ironic. Were they meant to end the day or begin the night?
~Perspective is everything. And I mean everything.
He said he doesn't look for beauty but the insignificance of it in the face of pure love.
Читать полностью…"Some see it as a burden and some see it as a gift and it becomes just as they see it for them."
-being a woman
My voice is silenced, sipping through the broken vase that once held my flowers. I could feel losing my voice when I spoke.
Читать полностью…Everything the darkness touches, you own. Ask for visibility and you will forever be a nomad.
Читать полностью…And the thorns you cut from my roses makes everything so much harder for how am to make you vanish if I can't let go of your beauty?
Читать полностью…Every word I write is a prophecy I must fulfill.
~how are you haunted by your future?
Make these midnights dance in the light as I rest inside all the faint moments,
Make these dreamy smiles appear real for a while as I fall on cherry waterfalls,
Make the vault of heaven obey as though I am reading librettos written on the clouds,
Make your gray skin change to olive in the middle of our roguery nights.
Your soul is a gift that keeps on giving for eternity. I tried for the longest to wrap my head around the makings of you but there aren't complex prose in which I could write without trapping some side of you inside a box, shadowed behind the sparkles of your other qualities. And this dilemma you craft from nothing makes all the witches and magicians doubt their sorcery.
Читать полностью…Secrets are not immortal in the thrill they provide and what reveals them diminishes any permanent interest.
-no one's little secret.
Breathe into this dead air and you shall know the desperation of acceptance,
Breath into those delicate eyes and you'll forever instill the agony of a slow burning dance,
Breath into the heart that was raided and you'll know your hands can't be a steady balance,
Breath into your intoxicated senses and you'll know the taste of a longing trance.
-so don't breath in, breath out.
I soothe the hell roaming free in your chest as though it is my agony to subside,
I train the lines of your forehead to disappear as though you would care for my side.
It must be all of you awakening in the paleness of the night, to rise like phoneix in unjust death. It is deepening crack of a valley as clarity falls in the hands of demons. Through all the screams and cries, you close your eyes in an attempt to play pretend, to not bear witness to ruthless days, but it demands to be seen and felt. On the contrary to its cruelty, it doesn't know shame nor shyness. And the more you push it out of your life, the harder it holds you.
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