Hangman.I cursed my hangmanuntil I remembered whosenoose was 'round his throat.
Grateful.I am endlesslygratefulto you,Who sawmyheartand called ithome.
Best Spent.The hour hand is on afuse,set to clockwise sidestepsoon;carving down ourterminal diagnoses.Maddening,quick,the calendar sheds,the bare bones,the New Year's ball againand we are 18 and 45in the exactsamebreath.Work, family, and weekendsjust as we were toldwhile the hands we dearlywish to holdrace out of ourpanicked graspsearchingpleadingdaydreaming-Until death comes 'roundto kiss our cheeksand tuck us under soil sheets,What remains in our heads:thoughtsforeverincomplete-So pour them forward,drinks on you!Only one day for dyingthe rest is your's to choose,So every day,love better than the last.For when Dying Day comes,it won't want to wrestlea fretfulinsomniac.
Early morning philosophy.We're already bornso thelastcertaintywe haveisdeath.
Intuition.Call me paranoid,but I'm starting to seeyou're not as lostas you'd like me to think...
Victorious.I hopeeveryonegets a momentto realizeit wassillyto haveworriedat all.
The Domestic Type.Props to the housefly,who can pop in anywhereand feel right at home.
new ways to break.my heart justkeeps findingthese new waysto b r e a k.
For it is known.Good love needs not be verified.
heretic.admired & afar,his beauty became a childlike caricatureof his defiantly devious demeanour.euphoric ecstasy found its feathers, flying him'til gravity grounded gushes of his history on my helpless hips,his insanity insistent on injecting juvenile judgments into my kingdom,killing love & leaving lust,as malleable memories manoeuvre my mindnear never-ending nausea.oh, other-worldly oppression,please place me at peace!a qualm quickens the riot rising in the rosebud refuge of my ribcage,sand spreading through the time-glass(my time-glass)underneath the vile vagrant with wicked wings,wanting water in xerarch.yes, i yowl, yeszeus.
my body's slave is my mind.it's barely summerbut i've forgotten how to breathe;i fall in love with strangersbefore they even speak.it's like i'mentangledwithin the pulsating crowdlike a fly trapped in a spider's web;questions are spunall around.inferiority screams in my ear& consumes all thoughtsuntil i can't hearall the questions that are caughtbetween threads of my insecurities,weaving around& aroundthe fabric of my being -tightening its gripwith everyone seeingmechoking.it's barely summerbut i can feelwinter's chill:each pump of my left ventricleis an exertion against will,& leaves me cripple& frozen, still -but feeling like i could runbefore you could catch me.i watch the moontrade places with the sun,racing against time,but my dayhas still not yetbegun.
civil duskafter the sun set, i realized it wasn't you i was disgusted withwhen reality erased itself from behindit wasn't your left hand still hanging from my heart, refusing to let go.
when you kiss me ----i think that nightthere was something so fiercely integrous about having you appear in my dream:something complete - pure,and all at onceunfinished
windfallI would gather allthe seven seas for you.for me, you would notspare a raindrop.
CaitlinLike Escher's hands,You and IFashion one another,Lovingly,Into being.
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.
ways you are comparable to coffee (i). you make me tingly all over, your warmth delicious and comforting. (ii). one dose of you is enough to keep me going. (iii). on rainy days and cold days when no one's home and I'm all alone there's nothing I'd like more than you. (iv). you leave a bitter aftertaste— interesting and terrible all at once.
The beginning of the end.His hand reaches-Mine pulls away
Could I Send You The StarsCan I send you the stars?A million twinkling letttersWaiting above your head each night to be readIn gentle melody like midnight lullabiesFor the girl I dearly wish could hear them.Can I borrow your moon?I know without it your nights may feel emptyBut I envy its lovely radiance shiningUpon those two eyesI wish I could see wish I could gaze intoSo instead could I borrow your Moon?And gaze into it hoping I'll find the lovelinessOf your eyes there instead.Could I steal your Sun?And pocket it's millionsAnd millions of memoriesOf lightly caressing you with its raysKnowing the feel of every beautifully delicatePart of you for every day of every year..Could I lease your dreams?And reside there with youUnderneath our stars' gentle lullabiesAnd beneath the Moon's loving gazeAway from the Sun's prying raysWith you...Since you're all I really need.So could I send you the starsAnd hope they'll send my love too?
.the boy with sandy hairhas been watching youwith daisy eyes.i thinki hear the mourning dovescooing for him,and i hear his glisteningreplies of black and white.they hityour kaleidoscope fingertips,dripping like inkfrom a brushand you've been smearing ituntil you can't breathe itanymore.
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.
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.
if you want to stop hurting:i. i have swallowed down this 3am lovelike the ibuprofen i fed myself for myswollen ankle that time in spainwhen i pushed a little too hard andlet go for a little too long.i have swallowed you down so manytimes before, kept you like little embersin the crevices of my chest, burningholes through tissue and bone andeverything that i am - through everythingthat i swore i wasn't.ii. a few months ago,i learnt that it's easier to breathewith your throat open, to take itdown and let go gracefully,like opening your palms againstthe wind outside the car and inhalingthrough your nose.iii. if you want to stop hurting:listen to them speak but do not hear their words, hear only their voice,feel it reverberate against your spine and tell yourself -this isn't a bad thing.rebuild your body like jenga blocks. if somebody comes close,hold their hand and tell them -i trust you.let the air rush between your fingers,let the fire in your arteries sizzle aw
asylumI have lines to crossand skeletons to shatter,because halted mercyresides in these hands.But I will notshow mercy with you.Today is paintedwith pinstripes and brokennails, it is whenyou decide I amgood enough to beyours.But I made myself worse,when I was with you.
What if I didI told you a little of meMy past and presentYou don't seem to listenI've told you an insight of my heartbreaksYou seem to understand a little bitI've heard about youYour dreamsYour goalsYour lifeThey all seem perfect according to meI and my insecuritiesCan't seem to live up to your potentialSo my insecurities and I pack upWe left without a goodbyeYou seem to come aroundMy insecurities and I started to have mixture of feelingsI rather run over myself with a truck than to be with youBut those mixture feelings turn realThe more I see youThe more I tried to hide itI plan on telling youBut my insecurities stopped meHe's not worth the timeSo I backed away againBut if I didn'tIf I told youWould you stay?
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.
Broken BoyMy broken boywith the button eyes and puppet strings -I clasp you to my heartbeat.
Sullen.There's asickeninglysullenboywho wakeswith a songin hishumminghead.Oh,how I wish thatjustfortomorrowI couldbethatsong.