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Ashes to PhoenixHonor student, writer
Letter my life in calligraphic scriptures
And leave me to myself.
Now I am a worker bee
Oh, a member of society
So far from what I used to be
So far away from you.
She likes to dance, likes to be stationary
Likes to keep away from me
She broke my heart, before the spring set in
Before I could catch my breath.
Look how far I've come
Baby, covered in oil and grime
Ashes to ashes, shit to shit
Ashes to phoenix
I cleaned myself
With your amber, lavender, vegan soap
And came out smelling like a dump.
"Every rose has its
Sewing needles, scissors, ball point pens:
Is my sanity.
Bar shaped shadows
Dance across my bed like
Would if I were anyplace else.
And all I ever want to do is
Sleep but everything keeps moving by
At the speed of light and I can't swallow my own spit anymore
Without it tasting like someone else's.
Must be all the pills they've got me on...
Shouts back contradictions when I think
So I don't think much anymore.
Butter knives and paper cranes;
All the things that they won't let me have...
As I dream of oblivion from this cracker-box paper cell.
Bottled UpDon't look at me,
With lying, glossy eyes
Don't pull my heart strings
Until you've ripped out every seam
why don't you hear me scream
and see me cry?
You cradle every fragile wound
You play along with every game
without you I would never be the same
You're a bum, and you are perfect.
Imperfectly, ignoring me
Forgetting that I've lost my way
And trying, always, to comfort me.
I can't see that you're perfect.
too young to be so cynical,
too old to make-believe
too much of an emotional
to sew back up these broken seams [can you do it for me?]
A cliche, fickle drama queen.
[you cradle every shallow wound,
but miss all the inf
Friends Until TomorrowWe are
For a moment
Inseperatable until we go our seperate ways
At the end of each exultant day.
Will you support me for
That flashes by like headlights
On an ague, langiud night?
Or whenever it's convenient
For our ever-busy lives
Where every moment is a lie.
The Reason I am Breathing"You are lost
And I am losing
Can you feel the crystal raindrops
Are you desensitized?
I can see the light!
How bright it shines
Oh, almost blinding,
It came too late.
Please don't turn your back
On your convictions, on your friends,
And on your dreams.
Please don't lose it all
Don't lose control like I did
I beg of you
Don't say that it's too late
For you to feel the rain
And see the light
Don't say that it's too late
Like I did."
We're getting married today
The ones who cry out "Your mistake!"
Huddle up together on one side
The ones who held my hand
Stand to my right
The sun is shining, music plays
and I am suffocating
On your open-eyed affection!
On our matching platinum rings
And on this light.
I found the note this morning,
It was crinkled by her palm
It was meaningless to me
Because I hold my friends and my convictions
Close like death
And I can feel the crystal ra
To Hell With HappinessSenseless treason
What's the reason for this blatancy
I can still be all that I want to be
Without wearing a banner, a decree
Then everyone would copy me.
Shh, keep your loved ones close
And all your secrets closer
Keep your soul contained within
One hollow flask
To hell with Lovers!
And to hell with all Best Friends
Who needs companions
On this bumpy, one-lane path
Of lost convictions to the past
Alone at last.
The tough gets growingI'm knee-deep in mud,
grumbling and mumbling
about what I did
to deserve this mess
And my mother glares,
"When I planted you,
I put you deep in the dirt,
not to bury you alive,
but to teach you that
when the growing gets tough,
the tough gets growing."
pick up the slack and
pick up that slack-jawed shadow of yours
dragging on wet pavement under your soles
and hurry it along, we ain't got all day here
flex your white-boned fingers and
taut knuckles and pluck the soul from
its coffin in your slick throat
the sun has better places to be than in your sky.
Falling Back into Placei wait for wisdom
the sludge tells me
to come in
awaits, just beneath the tack
of its sticky skin
and i know
that what waits there
is more patient
eternal and hungry
but the peace
is only a skin
9 Countenances for the Curious1.
My limbs have become instruments,
but, unlike the piano of your memories,
I am still not anyone's to play.
I think I am finite,
that the limits of me are dictated
by flesh and numbers
on an inverted scale
but the dog on my lap
doesn't care what I weigh;
she wants only
to love me and be loved.
the pain that anchors you
strains your back,
the ship of your life
is hamstrung upon a reef
and you think you are watching
a dolphin at play
but siren songs deceive you.
my ship sank beneath the waters
years ago, this bubble of life
sustains me even as i drown:
there are storms in the depths
of me, and you see only
the ocean's calm.
At 7, I swallowed stories
like candy; didn't understand
that too much leaves you bloated.
At 17, I breakfasted on books
like pancakes; too caught up
to tell (some things should be special).
At 27, I feasted on fiction
like home-cooked meals; didn't know
some of it could poison you.
At 37, I hope I will be picking
at poetry; letting the flavours
of the words
placebo effectthey stuck some needles in his
skin and made him think that he was
plucked the feathers from her
wings and tried to make her
they changed the names of all his pills
and labeled him
tied some string around her neck
and hung her from the
(i only know what they tell me)
a girl at the airportwhen she eats cake
she presses a napkin
to her lips with each bite--
frosting smears are impolite
murderers of good,
faraway first impressions.
when she sees someone
beautiful, she hides her face
behind a book, book shelf, closed door
like a pious man hides his eyes
when she has something
important to say among a crowd
she utters it like the bah
of a vulnerable lamb--
a fragile thing, a hesitant mantra
to be drowned and consumed
without thought or care by the sound
of louder others.
when she falls in love
she looks around
to make sure no one saw
and when someone sees
she refuses to believe
their eyes tried to catch
QuietThe quiet is soothing.
The quiet is killing me.
For the love of god,
For the love of god,
Make some noise.
Letter to BeethovenPerhaps it was not your aim after all
To describe the moon to a blind person,
But when I hear Piano Sonata No. 14,
The splendid, yet lonely, moonlit night
When you wept
For the loss of your hearing
And where I now sometimes weep
For the loss of my sight.
It's a shame you grew tired
Of people loving that song so much.
I wish I could have told you
That it was because you managed
To derive beauty from pain.
Untitled ApathyI go to bed before I'm really tired
And I wake without getting sleep
This sick redundancy, inevitable
I miss you more each week.
I dyed my hair and changed my ways
But nothing could have prepared me
For the blow of feeling betrayed.
Liars, fake appearances
Her words were sharp enough to kill,
His ironic enough to put me to eternal sleep
"I hope the chaos in your life settles down soon"
Do you know how much your words still make me weep?
"I'm getting better every week", I say
To comfort you
But I know that no one's fooled
Not even me
And each day that I'm not in your arms
Just makes me slip further away...
The lights are dimming slowly
In the darkness, who will send hope out to comfort me?
Her lies, their accusations
Or his soundless, heartless silence
So thick and fattening
Oh watch me burn
I'll flame so brightly
In this hatred and this loss
Don't cry for me; all tears have already fallen and dried
In this desert of lies.
The BeginningHe told them, of course. He told those idiots everything, the whole damn story, including the blunder he'd made, and its consequences. Looking back on it later, he realized he had probably been in shock the whole time. It made sense, anyone would have been.
Soph was about twenty years old, and he'd been that way for a couple of years already, ever since the Hoarde had started attacking humanity from the past. Every day that passed, they ate at another day in the past. It sickened him. Those creatures had absolutely no regard for proper time and causality protocols.
It didn't seem to affect anyone else that way, though.
The Hoarde was the result of a human creation, of course, like everything bad in the world, though no one else knew about them. Then again, no one else had undiluted access to the power of creation. Even he didn't know much about the Hoarde, only that they appeared through some tear in The Fabric of The World and started killing people off. They appeared at some point in
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