You have done something irreversible to your soul, something man made and daring to your bones, you have done so while I was in a blindfold, in the dark burning myself to find the light. You have done so to please the wounds littered on umarked paths all over, to satisfy the appetite of a beast
~and what did you gain except fear?
Am I in disbelief to believe you somehow let me in your world,
That you manifested a side you hide from your blood,
Am I deranged to think you somehow let me perfect your deformed image of love,
That you attached the rip of your soul from what I gave.
Maturing is knowing the limitations of the life you were given, but still doing something within the limits of your limited life. Maturity is acceptance of the things you can't change.
Читать полностью…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.
I spill the deep gash of blood on the steps of a lost world, reading the words of prominent minds. It is a dark habit I have grown to long for even in my dreams.
Читать полностью…You drink from the palms of hands, obsessed with the curve of my fingers that reach for you in the heat of the moment and it saddens me beyond expression. The undeniable lengths you go to see a smile, how I wish them back then. Your haunting stare that steals all the breathes around you but my own, reciting a passage from a book. We've been here before in this hazy light, dancing on the edge of grandeur and tragedy. I have no more air in my lungs left to fuel your flames. Instead I would allow you to keep the memories somewhere beautiful and young in your heart. All the ribbons in the world and I untie yours with my teeth. All the poems on earth and I touched yours. Keep that with you until death comes to visit. I won't resent you for holding onto those good old times. It's one thing to be made into tough and it is another to be born as such. You sneak a look at my reflection in the broken winter mirror as I unwrap your soul like silk, exquisite cries echo at every reveal. In the grand scheme of things, what scares you the most was not being able to see me pick you apart and put you back together. Before I close my eyes, I imagine the confusion that swirled in your orbs, the stench of hope on your crescent lips, but then I also imagine lingering sadness on your face that puts me at ease. I loathe how I love to see you wreathe in pain but know it was not in vain. It was a milestone for you to be devoid and to be filled again with a newer light.
Читать полностью…My instincts have been at rest, frozen in time, taunting and teasing me with adrenaline enough for my heart to skip but never enough to wail the sounds of grief to escape this prison I have made brick by brick for myself. The distance between me and everyone that sees me from outside the glass room must widen. The prettier the garment, the lovelier my words and the softer my face it is easier to decieve even my own eyes.
Читать полностью…How many faces must I mould before I find the one that embodies my enchanting darkness, wit and ambitions in one body and soul,
How many hairdos must my strands endure before they settle and rest on one state for more than a single fall,
How many youthful flights will await me before gravity recalls pulling down the skin of a doll,
How many hymns must be heard from the rooms of my musicians before it becomes earful.
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?