Speechless.I wanted to writea poem foryou,but when you leftyou took everything,even the wordsI never spoke.
december.and when they take meto the morgue,will you see the differencebetween my skin and the sheet?and when they close my eyesplease be standing over me,so that your facewill be the last thing they see.and when those tears falldown from your facepour them on my lips,so i can take you with me.and when they look awaycaress my bloodless face,give me one last gush ofwarmth.and when they bring the casketgently tuck me away to sleep,read me one last storyfrom that book atop the shelf.and when they place me in the ground,beneath six feet of dirt,leave your footprints in the snowand please don't let them melt.and when I fall to helli'll be waiting at the gates,but darling please take your timethere is no need to rush.
rain.i still have buckets in my roomfrom when you poured your heart out.plastic pails full of pain and loveand lust and tears and names and smiles.i don't know why i keep them...maybe i hope one day you'll come backto claim them.or when i'm being really dumbi let myself hope that you'll come back anywayfor me.
Flawed Canvas.Your lipsleft watercolorstainsall across my heart.My blood isn't evencrimson anymore,its a pale and dyinglilacthat bleeds onto the floorand paints a pictureof you.
Recast.It's not naturalfor a corpse to beso warmand a living soulto be so cold.Let's switch places;allow me to lie in yourcoffin,while you sleepin my bed.
5:17 AMand it's sad to thinkthat if you came backto tear me apartagain,i'd let you.
midnights always last longer than they should.i spend sleepless nights in my roomstaring at your picture on my mirrorand wondering why on earth someone as beautiful as youwould ever love someone like me,but then i rememberyou don't.
the shadows beneath my eyes remind me of you.i got bored in class last friday,so i wrote a poem upon my hand,and when my teacher walked by he read it."that's deep," he said."i know," i told him,"i'm drowning."
How Love Works.I neverfell in love withyou,you neverfell in love withme.Your demonsfell in love withmine,my demonsfell in love withyours.
Roses Can Change.White roses make youcrybecause they remind youof him.To see you smileand take the painfrom your eyes,I'd prick each of myfingertipsand drip my bloodonto each velvet petalthat adorns the snaking vineso that the red roseswill make you thinkof me.
where do you fall when you fall in love?i see my voice curl toward the sky in crystal breathsas i stand beneath the stars and ask the gods"where do you fall when you fall in love?"and in the distant thunder roars as zeus clears his throat.lightening strikes to start a fireand in anticipation i sit by the flames as he begins his story."love," he says, "is the beautiful medicationthat we drink to still our pain,but often it is overdosedand we always end up crashinglike a star falling from my sky."as i watch the shadows dance about his faceaphrodite proudly walks to uswith her golden grace and emerald eyes."there's a kingdom," she says with ivory verse, "just below the seaand it awaits young lovers therewhere they drown for all eternity."at the mention of the sea, poseidon falls down to usfrom his chariot atop the cliff and in his booming voice he declares;"and in that cavern the butterflies are drenchedand with heavy wings they cannot flyso they suffocate the lovers."with the quietest gait of a clumsy fox
They Call This Drowning.We fell in love;A deep and surgingwatercolor seawith lilac waves thatwrestled with our ailingbodies,and azure air that choked ourlungs.We were in over our heads.
this can't be pain, it hurts too much.i always fall addictedto dangerous things,but at least cigaretteswarn me on the label.your smile read only innocence,but i guess that's my faultfor misinterpretation.
Empty Pages.You are the perfect story,A plot unfurling from your touch,And poetry in your eyes.You speak with golden glory,Into sentences of hate,And promises of lies.You are the bookI never had the words to write.
We're Perfect, aren't We?There's nocolorin my face,maybe you can paintsome there.Perhaps thenyou'll actually want tolook at me.There's nowordson your tongue,maybe I should leavesome there.Then when you tell methat you hate me,the dialogue will bepretty.
Content.I went searchingfor myself,I ended up finding youinstead.
spell winter for me.and i'm okay with being a ghost,if you're the housei get to haunt.
whispers.i was so hesitantto take your hand,because when you said you loved mei knew you meant itand that scared the hell out of me.
Glassi found a mangled bodyand tried to fix it.but i got too closeand ended up cutting myselfon the jagged remains.the bleeding hasn't stopped.
.i think you know of hair wound tight round a hand like ropeof thoughts that sail in and let down anchorin the night, sleep drifting away on the black tide,i think you know of god up in the crow's nest, keeping watchhis eyes have rolled at us so much they rattle, loose nowin their pits like marbles, they say he knowsi have examined the slides of my childhood, uprooted my body,yanked myself out of my years with my own gloved handlike a weed and stared in disgust, it's only naturalthat you should still want to sleep with one arm overyour head, she said, don't you think?i think the sun lit upthe world's scarsand felt bad, hung its headthrough the horizonand cried in shamenow i don't think it's evergoing to stop raining(i am holding up my mind, i am shoving it in your face)
What I Gave YouI gave you my timeAnd you wasted itI gave you my loveAnd you ignored itI gave you my heartAnd you broke itI gave you my soulAnd you lost itI gave you my lifeAnd you sent me to Hell
Broken and despisedLittle girlOnce so inocentNow broken to the coreOf her very beingHer once free mindNow trapped in a nightmareHer once pure heartShattered into tiny piecesHer once hopeful soulOverwhelmed by darkness and despairAnd no one noticesBecause she hides her scarsUnder long sleevesBecause she hides her painBehind a fake smile...
.hatredis in labour,would givebirth toforgivenessif i let it(no)
.and they knew,they knew i'd gone -when they found me outside crouchedwith a string box and stick, singingi'm going to catch me my death,make him sick -now i sit in a gown that is whiterthan white, doesn't suit me,this ghost to myself -on the corridor bench with my kneestucked in under my chin, rattlingwith green yellow blue(i've told you, i know where i'm going)
One Day His Life Will Be a Classic.There's sorrowon his lips,and sonnetsin his eyes.Each scar on his wrist,speaks in fatal monologue.He lives a tragedynot evenShakespeare could write.