Flaw-and somewhere deep within your bones you knew that you wouldn't move until you felt what you knew would be black wings, shatter, out of your spine-
Distances-her voice is quietas she wonders just how farshe can go with nothing butclockwork-malfunctions andwords falling through the holeher last bullet had madebetween her lungs-
a difference in milestones-your steps are steady,thunderous, lightningcrackling in your hands,impossible to forgetand mineare quiet, far too gentleto ever leave behind a mark,as if questioning if I wasever there at all-
Inordinate-she's petrifiedof being fixedbecause being brokenis all she's ever known-
Conflict-she has no wings but feathers litter her floor and she wonders-
of scars left unsignedI thought it would have been obvious,the synchronised deliriumyou've had injected into yourheart, alongside mine(the shadow's back dear and as always there's no fear to be found in this self-named black-hole I have for a heart, it's stealing your fragments from its cage, and of course, with nowhere to go they're crushed between what should have been my arms but I'm not sure if they hadn't been stars once. whoops. they must have collapsed when you weren't looking, and I'm not apologising)I'm destroying your dreams, sweetie-don't let me destroy your hope.
Sinking a metaphorical heart-she's been searchinghaphazardlyfor abandonmentwordsthat don't existand the estrangedslivers of a soulare jumping with restlessness,shadows of every past, huntingfluttering in the windwith mischievous intentandher feathered metaphorsof unending staircasestransitioning intoprodigal natureare draining awayin a wishing wellwith far more depththan her own dreams-
Mystic-forest all around, firefliessway around her hair,golden scent in the airshe's the stone statuein the centreof a wishing wellwatchingwishing dustsprinklingdestiny's breath-
Blurred and Burning EdgesDusty hands, dirty feet, looking back on Kirkstall;bright lights in mine eyes (the future is wild);torrential radio, paraplegic promises --the mirrors on a skyscraper are glinting,drowning words in a sea of versatile-violenceas you drag your feet across endless strains(and we keep gambling, and losing; harder to remember love when we're broke, and drunk, and weightless).We're sunken in a vigour like no other,leaving behind a hornet's nest was just as easyas pretending those cheers and jeers were your salvation.Screaming and shouting, the sun and moon spin:I've got to replace you (I defaced you),as sure as we cracked and crumbled under a sky of stone --ruby and sapphire were the flakes that fell,the resonance of our divergence: the breaking point.Surrendering with aimless bullets, was pointless,and I spoke with a dream-drenched crow,jingle-jangling the key to my fateas I, with sunken eyes,asked him why we're still losing(and he only cackled).
Break and Mend-you're forming ice beneath your feet as you glide across whatever you can see in this dark abyss, heading far away from the star that you turn around and wave to with an upturn of the corner of your mouth, saluting your shadow as an afterthought and it's not until you feel your hand reach for the glass just millimetres away from your pale fingertips that you feel your head touch the desk where your coffee's grown cold the pencil you'd held in your hand's
Dystopian Utopiatell me dear,have you ever fallen in love with a ghost?trying to force yourself to feel was likeforcing a sundial off its axis,shattering time was no easy featjust like the moment you held hisglue-like affection at arms length,and in a few moments aloneyou saw a flicker in your eyesthat you'd never seen before(there wasn't enough room for both fear and love)so it was when you had reacheda crossroad so long agothat you spared a glance backand realised that the tapeyou'd swung acrossboth your wristshad torn along the way(and you knew, that it had always belonged to the wind)
he is not defined, but freehe is notthe embodimentof poetryor theline-flowsof prose - there is noorder to hischaos, andthat is the way he likesit. he believesthat freedomis theway the windhits hisskin, and so hewants to bethe wind - wild.he is free.he told me oncethat hefeels like thestars wheneverhe singsalong to theradio, becausenobodycan hear him, butthey can see himtrying. hethinks that's whatcounts whenthe worlddoesn't know whatto dowith youanymore, so hesings. he sang to thestars once.he is one.i made a wishonce thathis chaotic wayswould stay mine, he wouldnot fly withthe windand he wouldnot stop singingwhen thestars got lonely.he won't.he is freeandhe is mine.
nonsense and half explanationsthere's simplicity inmostof what I saythese images weren't madefor your confusionthey're just illustrationsof never-would-be(s)and don't you wish thatI could show you theminstead of tumblingso far down this rabbit-holethat I think I might havefallen off the planet itself
Inability-this is what it must feel liketo be the pin-drop-silencein the midst of everystranger's heart, maybeit was time to break-
Edged-you use notes. reams ofthoughts, your metal framed weaponsdon't you dare let go-
train problems and solutionsProblem one.You're nowhere near your room.Problem two.The girl next to you is incessant in her chatter of 'Oh my god, so like-'.You quickly drown this out, and fish around the various objects in your purse for your headphones, hoping that you didn't leave them on your desk this morning.You feel an urge to roll your eyes and sink further into your seat in the corner, forcing enough control on yourself to not slap her silly.You were cranky.Problem three.You're pretty sure that guy in the corner was staring at you a moment ago. To make matters worse, it was through your reflection on the window next to you.This became horribly apparent when you saw him repeating the motions when you reached the beginning of the tunnel, the sound of your music being drowned out by the noise of the train.You picture yourself shooing him away, finding the glances all too uncomfortable.A little creepy too.Problem four.There were no other problems, but you were hoping t
Sonnet to Breathabout the rib. it makes sense. at Out-back my father picks it up, gets it stuck inhis teeth, and like a brutish harpist plucks it out,lets it settle. smoking preference? menthol. in-door seat? the closest waterfall. they knife outflower from vegetable. “the game” drags students incollectively, like how a yawn moves-- uncoils out--humanity starts rippling. how much of school was ina herd like this? how much was ringworm? outhere is lonelier; my romance is silent. intime I think of him and am bothered by it. outthe window steeps a sunrise. it’s five inthe morning. can he sleep? my laptop’s outand holy Book! he’s up, but then— that rib again.
she always carried maps she never followed-and she swallows her words like they gulp down fluorescent- triatomic shots there's silence all around, laughter empty of any emotional melody and she thinks she might have lost those music sheets the last time she visited a half-crushed memory so it's inevitable when the voice of her conscience strides across a milky-way star-zone and asks her if she's lost-
42you should neverlove a poet, do not trustthem with yourheart - love may betheir language, butthey are always best atbreaking.
Endorsed By The Surgeon General.She was like cigarettes.She took his breathaway,and filled his lungs with promisesthat evaporated likesmoke.
Untitledhave you everasked yourself ifa daisy ever wonderswhy it can't be arose?
breathless.breathing is my favorite song,but these days i keep forgetting the words
A Promise To KeepDreams are alive to let you knowYou have the strength Ignore the pain as you take A journey is ahead Open the door of opportunity The light will find a way It will guide you as it's burning
innuendomoon flower, tonightyour petals unfurl for me,do not shy 'till dawn.
41this world was made tocollide with your constellations, soyou'd better makea bang that's going to beremembered
concrete and wateri will always be vague, pretentious poetryand you think smoking is cooltogether we are music snobberyand skipping class ("forget school"). you are brutally kind honestyand i hide behind a smilebut you have seen the cracks in meand we've cried to each other a while. i am tied to your soul,a balloon to a brick,and though sometimes you float off,i know you get homesickno matter how far i roam,you are still my home,we will always come back(some day).
Masterpiecea Monet sunsetdotted along the canvaswith clouds by Van Gogh
Waver-she constantly has to remind herself to never leave her heart behind--whisking it away would do nothing because she's forgotten if it was ever there at all-