The clocks disturb
the quiet night
with their tick tock tick tock
sounds of flight
The flow of time
so quick, so slow
holds our lives
as the heat the snow
The ring of life
spinning round and round
never does it stop
it keeps it bound
Faithful to the EndWhen the lurking emptiness sets in
Once I've finally been outrun
Like the end of a story, inevitably, closing in
I told her I'd wait for her end to come
No matter how many eons I'd live to see
I'd wait patiently as her lover should
Behind a closed door, without a key
afraid to enter alone--even if I could
But standing amidst this people sea
weighed down by their polluted sins
I flinch whenever they walk through me
My existence a mere paper thin
Their screams echo from the seams
withholding tears between gritted teeth
I cringe as I count the coming years
When will it be her turn for death?
Morosive FallWe fall into the piles of leaves
fallen from the withering trees
Once alive, and once refreshed,
now dried by the nearing death
We watch as the birds fly by
gliding through the darkened sky
Herded together, and in course,
leaving home without remorse
We sigh in sadness to this all,
mourning for the summer before
Gazing as we reminisce
the glazed summer losing to Autumn's kiss
The SelfThe self recedes to make space for the urgent,
To give room for the latent,
And to welcome the impatient.
His stature is confident,
His manner is matter of fact,
And his demands are absolute.
The self does not cower so much as it allows,
It does not matter, it thinks,
After all, who can resist a restful sleep?
But the self will not awaken,
It will not be given the chance,
For he is now all consuming.
Next time, it thinks,
And the self shuffles back to sleep,
He will die, and I with him.
GraceLovely is the day Grace braces me
Lovely would her scent be
Lovely is the smile she graces YOU
Lovely is the song she sings
Lovely would I be to Grace
if only Grace would look at me
Lovely would be our embrace
if she ever touches me
Lovely is the day
Grace takes care of me
She'll end my worries
Why is HEAVEN
getting lower, and lower?
Why is heaven,
so full of SORROW?
Chip in my ShoulderWhat if I gave you a name?
my chip in my shoulder
What if we played a little game?
Hide and seek. Hide and seek.
One two a hundred
Where are you Chip?
I'm coming to GET YOU
show me where you are!
Little chip, little chip
I'm coming for you!
Your time has come
And the clock strikes ten
One two ten
Doom is nigh
Little chip Little chip
How long can you hide?
Are you in my shoulder?
Are you near my back?
Are you where it's bony?
Are you where there's flesh?
Little chip, where are you?
How did you dive?
Digging deeper, deeper red,
My fingers are drenched.
Little chip little chip
How could you cry?
This pool is nothing,
to the name I could find:
UntitledIn my mind, I am but a splinter of my ideal self.
In my mind, there is an everlasting battle between my egos.
My mind, is the self-absorbed existence called "I".
The battle is hot and cold,from
fighting blindly in the sweltering jungle
to a standstill in the cold trenches.
Sometimes, we seek an amiable peace.
Other times, we fearlessly abuse strategem
to the bitter end.
Success, to me, is always bitter--sweet.
Failure is unacceptable,and
the war begins again.
is when war ends
is the day I'm right
Lovely is the moment
Because in my wasted mind,
in my forbidden rooms
in my shackled heart
there lives Weakness.
Head buried in my busom,
Ears open only to moans,
Eyes too salted to see.
She is plagued by Paranoia
Haunted by Chaos
Tempted by Hades,
and everquestioning her existence,
her weak purpose.
You are a thorn,
Stuck in my achilles
You are a friend,
Who is ever loyal.
You don't need me,
As much as I you.
My Own HomeIn the silence of my empty home
Teardrops fall, with no echo
salty flumes were barely shone
and we all move, with no shadow
In the stillness of my own home
There is no presence, but I, alone
the air is chilling, to the bone
and in my bed, I pray for home
In the bosom of my own home
you are missing, from this room
the scent is feint, but your cologne
lingers while you've gone to roam
For in my bosom is my home
and in my home, I alone
sit, and wait, for you to come
home, to me, my only one.
Shining LainShe heard \'reality could drill into a fantasy\'
Panicked, and dashed to have walls built around her dream.
Will her mind ever return to face?
Take responsibility, stop acting like a child?
Maturity shown only through pride,
Yes, m\'lady, the others you outshine.
They all panic, she\'s about to sink,
Yet she asks the why\'s and what\'s,
Trying to obey her sense, suprise the rest.
She hasn\'t heard the song,
Isn\'t aware she\'s blocking her own ways,
Despite her complains of delays.
About to burst, the words about to flow
She had never thought before,
Why the lies, and why the goodbyes?
Why can\'t she believe her own eyes?
Isn\'t it plain to see?
Maturity would never be her destiny.
the trouble isi'd like life to be
quiet and lovely
like distant church-bells
chiming through snow,
muted by the smell of
an old book and the
feel of a fire warming
me into my chair, and
a mug of tea, steeping
the moment in hushed
gratitude, easily in reach.
for unseeing eyesladen with sky
and painted mockingbirds
on loveless branches
folding in our slender limbs
and ducking under our own
voices, fidgety and frail
against the wall of night.
between the dipping blades
and drawn shoulders
we learned to craft our words
a drumming rain
that carved canyons
in open hearts and
drew the sunshine to
our supping lips.
keen-eyed, we watched
remembering the weight
of unseeing eyes
and scalding remarks
and we learned to slip
the noose-knots and slide
through the soul-cracks
build kingdoms under
with lyrical uncertainty
and tender determination
we built a pyre of peace
in the shadows
and watched it blaze
the truth across our
as new leaves still curled
and stretching hands
unfurled in suppliance
we lifted our heads
in broken laughter,
for this light is our burden,
and even a whisper
can shatter silence
and bring the blind
Hair black and wild
Eyes with no sleep
Dark bags under your eyes
Lips that taste of sugar
Wings perking out of your slouching shoulders
Clean white long sleeve shirt
Legs crouching in faded blue jeans
Not a posture of an angel
But you are lovely
In your own way
My angel L
SuicideWhen I woke up,
I expected you to be alive.
I expected the end of your letter
To say something like,
"I'm right behind you,
But that never happened.
When I woke up,
You were still dead.
You aren't dead to me.
You should be alive,
You should be here with me!
Where are you?
Why did you leave?
You didn't have to go!
I would've cared for you!
I would've rescued you!
There are still people who love you!
You didn't have to kill yourself!
You didn't have to die.
I can't believe you're dead.
I can't believe you're dead.
i can't promise you anything.i made a mistake
when i told you that i could love you
forever. i know now that the only thing
i can know for certain is that nothing
will ever be certain again. we could
wake up tomorrow and feel something
completely different. we could wake up
tomorrow and be completely different.
that's the exciting part. it's also the
part that makes it hard to even fall asleep
in the first place.
my heart attacks
my every whim and everyday is this whirlwind
of terror and elation and i don't even know
where to end or begin or if this makes sense
anymore, but the one thing i've come to realize
is the worst kind of lie will always be the
ones you don't even know you're telling. so
i'd say i'm sorry, but i'd like to think you
already know. it's nothing worth repeating.
nothing ever is.
when i'm tired
i tend to miss you in an overwhelming sort of
way just because i'm not strong enough to fight
these feelings full time. i'm more of a halfway
girl, but there are a few things i fully understan
SleepPerhaps it's the pressing consciousness
that across the world
people are at work and school
and walking sad with worry
Did people sleep
before they had to think of that?
Or perhaps it's the dreams
the ones you hate or hate to wake from
that don't offer their portents
as long as you are staring at the screen
or the printed page
or the windshield.
Or maybe there's a part that thinks
if you can just push the night clock round
Dare yourself not to close your eyes
like the everyday sun-wakers
To walk yourself through morning and beyond
the world will have to change somehow.
And the next time you give in
you will wake to something different
a place that's slightly new
and rings with intensity
Perhaps just a little better
than the night's rejected dreams.
Coffee Shop MemoirsPhilosophers think
We may dream our reality.
With earphones attached liked IVs
I dream my own melodic universe.
Until someone laughs behind me
And strikes up conversation with a friend.
And in that moment they become my anchor
Are they spinning through my dream
Or am I spinning through theirs?
Sometimes life fits in a coffee cup,
Sometimes inspiration pours out slowly like a packet of honey,
And sometimes it all mixes together
Like liquid incandescence that I drink right after brewing.
When no one speaks to me for hours
I begin to wonder
Is everyone dreaming a reality that includes
The whole café but me?
The street outside the window
With passing strangers, dogs and cars
Is a whole new Milky Way
Waiting to be discovered.
But I am no space explorer
Aliens are beyond my reach.
Whispers of the people around
Reach my ears distinctly
Like waves lapping on the shore.
Words on paper go no way
Towards proving that I was ever here
My identity is slowly condensed
Not into the people who kno
hushi'm done wishing
on shooting stars, and
i want to be done with you:
i'll let dust settle
on my telescope,
let dust settle in
my throat, my lungs.
twist your fingers through
my vocal cords,
press your palm to
my lips and tell me, hush
don't wish on things
falling too fast
to hear you
maybe i'll wish
they are quiet houses
for muted ghosts, though
more alive than you
have ever been.
i'll let you
pull me under,
paint my eyes
with salt, blind me
so you can murmur, shh
even dead things
can be beautiful