5:17 AMand it's sad to thinkthat if you came backto tear me apartagain,i'd let you.
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.
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.
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.
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.
left.i just needed you to staybut you couldn't hear me beg you,because the world outsidewas so damn loud.
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.
i think most people would call you a regret.you're the mistake i'd gladly makefor the rest of my life.but i'm just a few saturday nightsback in november.
how to love a boy who is lost.falllike you're jumping from a cliffinto a thrashing sea whose waters you cannot tread,dive into their depths and fill your lungs with waves.just don't close your eyes,because you have to search for him.feel your weight drag you to the bottom,feel the ocean embrace youand don't be afraid of that pounding in your chest.each heartbeat is sonara signal calling him and his calling you.learn to swim nowif you drown you cannot save him.swim to the fallen cities,the submerged castlesand maritime gardens.there you'll find him,lost in thought and studying the fish.i hope you saved some oxygenso you can breathe during the kiss.
friday night.on our firstdate,you took me to a cemeteryjust outside of town.i guess you wanted toshow mewhat you would do to me.
epitaphs don't count as love letters.he said my eyesgasped like a dying breathand he wasn't going to wait aroundfor the funeral.
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.
Artists.Youcan be the painter,paint words on my lips.Iwill be the writerand write kisses on your skin.
to say i'm sorry is so cliche.and on your flawless face,in the hollows of your cheeks,i poured my every secretin the form of silver tears.
what's winter?i no longer have a heart,because i wore it on my sleeveof the sweater i just happenedto leave lying upon your floor.
Candle WaxYou meltmy heartlike candle wax,but I'm afraidover timeI'll getburnt.
.and like a stone atthe bottom of the riveror the sea,i think life might just beflowing right past me
.we are allstrayssearching forhomes ineach other
TonightBring me to lifeWith your touch.Love me now,Forget me later.Set me on fireWith your lips,Breathe heatInto my soul.At least for tonight,Let me feel again.
NothingI heard someone sarcastically sputter,"You are what you eat."But hearing that sole sentenceallowed me to finally understandwhy I amwhat I am:Nothing.
the boy i used to write poems aboutTHIS POEM IS NOT ABOUT LOVE.you took the posters off the walls for the first time yesterday,moved the bed back into the corner and stocked up on that teayou love but i’ve always disliked. openingthe blinds used to be a sin but now they drown the room with sunlight,causing your hair to turn that ugly dirty-blonde color i absolutely hate.last night, i heard from a friend you got the job at that fancy newspaperand you’re finally going vegan - don’t let me forget to tell you your riskof heart attack will double, maybe triple.i haven’t gotten an email in twenty-four days. oftentimes,you don’t realize you're falling apart because you're in the process of falling apart.my mother came over to help me move into my new studio.we pushed the bed (mattress, you claimed the frame) into the middle of the roomand put on new sheets. these don’t smell like you, not thati could even smell-taste-hear-see-feel these days.you stole my heart and bed frame an
Horror me up HaikuFeed myself horror,I need to believe that this -isn't all that is.
I Loved A GirlI loved a girl – she smelled like August melancholy,sweeter still,she carried the scent of festival emotions,tempered by the midnight flamesand fireflies' glow.I loved a girl – her hair, the gentle hue of embers,reflected dancing candlelight,while in her eyes, as brown as mahogany,I discovered tiny galaxies,but most importantly – I saw my smile.I loved a girl – I sensed her heartbeat,playing to the rhythm of my breath.Her every word,imprinted tender cherry blossoms,onto my soul.I loved a girl – her lips tasted like morning aircool against my heavy forehead,her skin, softer than satin threads,played games with the waning moonbeams -its gravity, I could not resist, like the Sun,cannot escape the zenith, on Summer solstice.I loved a girl – she made me happy,and sadly - I love her still.
i didn't hold on tight enoughI held onto you so tightbecause I was afraid of letting you go,but you slipped out of my armswhen I wasn't looking.
.hatredis in labour,would givebirth toforgivenessif i let it(no)
.twenty three nightmares of beingon the operating table,my surgeon mumbles something about getting rightto the heart of things, i might feel a little sting not unlikethat one i got on my wrist when i wasyounger, but no, that's not working,would it be okay if he wereto dig a little deeper? -something crawls up and over the edge ofthe bed, yes she did cartwheelsat the crematorium becausesadness was never that much fun anywayand to be honest it was cold and a little too quietinside, there was no need to kiss heron the forehead again - and if you bumpinto the evil, sister, come and letme know -about how i wanted toslip through that crack in the pier and smash through thestained glass surface of the sea,shatter and curl up on a pew with the eels belowand simply flounder, watch the world fromunderwater, grow somecoral,i'm not really sure why it's that big a dealif i'm sick -of writingthis is my body andthis is my love(the prob
just another adolescent love poemlet’s get this straight right now:there are people i can only talk toat four o’clock in the morning, whenthe line between decency and secrecybecomes just as blurred as the one betweennight and day.you’re not one of them.i’m not ashamed of you.or scared. and don’t try to tell me that’s nota miracle because i still check under the bedfor monsters and behind the shower curtainfor serial killers. i know it’s all in my headbut things like that make me terrified;i mean, i still hold my breath crossing by a cemeteryand someone else is always going to have to kill the spiders.i’m hoping that someone will be you.which i’m also hoping i’ll never accidentally tell youbecause it’s like i lose all cognitive reasoningaround you, even when we’re fighting.you split me down the middle, half of me wantingto tear out your femur and beat some sense into youand the other half wanting to give anything,even the foun
Speechless.I wanted to writea poem foryou,but when you leftyou took everything,even the wordsI never spoke.