|Deviant Login||Shop||Join deviantART for FREE||Take the Tour|
Dead Dreams IIAn emptiness that eats
Nothing is left for the fruitfulness of our bonds
Together we hold still
But apart we break into shattered pieces of our pasts.
Why is an onslaught of misdemeanored causes.
No one's will is enough to wretch us free
Forsaken and tainted we stand
Our fingers interlocked in a dance of subtlety
Dead Dreams ITick tick tick goes the bomb
Dead dead dead goes its inhabitants.
Bye to our lives
Hello to our ends
Wishful thoughts mean more than air
But our breaths cannot grasp our needs
Forever fallen here we land in our falls.
Death of My RitualPray, just pray a day once more
The faith of our father's will keep us dear.
A silence of love shall dream anew
As the pilgrimage of children laugh till dawn.
The words are meaningless if the letter is old
For the need of the ancients have come to pass.
Come of AgeThe dance of the abdominals ends in tragedy
As leaves of the foliage come to pass.
Come the end of constellations undone
And still see you not.
The mentions of entries are here to stay.
If only our hearts could be swayed that way.
Feet of fallen create the pyre
As the ashes of tears hold those truths.
My Weak TruthI can't save you
All of you out there
Can't become the chosen
Not even if I cared.
My faults may bury me
My fears bring on my death
And my heart threatens to pause
In a swift suicide
As my mind wraps itself in a twist.
The paper in my pocket
Stalling the truth that shall come.
The sleepless come welcomed
And the dawning forgotten
for shadows are remembered
And the light turned off.
I can't bring myself to care anymore
It keeps tearing me apart.
Lost SelfHere comes my memory
I lost it long ago
Locked within the raindrops
bleeding from the sky.
Broken came the pieces
dropped without regret
Screaming for the recognition
of the greedy blind.
Falling toward the center
shaping what can be
only to ignore it all
As the freedom fails to ring
inside my lifeless heart.
I Tell You NotPlace me in a corner
and leave me here to die
My suicidal trivia
has succumbed into my mind.
Unlike your washy process
I always get it right
Following through this nightmare
of justice served real cold
a wonderland of echoes
of a land forever grand
with an outdated legend
Bringing forth the lies.
cuz if I were to tell you
the truth of which I know
Then I'd have to kill you
So they can still ignore me
Upon this empty corner
of which I make my home.
Letter To Myself As YouHi…How Are You?
I'm…well I don't exist.
So I guess that means
I can't really say I'm fine.
It I did, I'm sure I would be.
Fine that is. Then again
Considering that I don't exist
Yet I'm here "talking" to you
Means I'm a figment of your
Imagination. That is…well that
Means…that you are indeed
Insane. I'm sorry, it must
Be hard for you to understand.
I'm sure if you check your pocket
You'll find that slip of paper I gave
You. You know which one.
The one to remind you that you are sane
While you're insane. Check I assure you
It's there. I lie not. You found it
Didn't you. Heh I knew you would.
After all your mind is gone. How
Else would I be able to place
That scrap of paper in your pocket?
I'm bored now. I find your lack of
A clear mind bothersome. Your denial
Suffocates me. After all you fell
Into society's open arms. What did
You expect to have happen to you?
To go there is to say farewell
to yourself. The you in your mind.
The one you who holds the door
And knows when to sc
Slumbering DoorwaysI do not think I shall find sleep tonight
It does not call upon my door this night
Not a single knock or turn of the knob
Of this sleep, I was surely robbed.
Begainst the malice of this deed
Just a single night's sleep is what I need
Yet mocked I am again this night
To forfeit my sleep untingled without fright.
My eyelids unweighed, too shallow to sink
For they continue to gaze unable to blink
Forever in my slumber shall be forgotten
As I lay in my bed unsettled & darkened
Listening to the whispers that call in my wake
I settle in this darkness of which I forsake
My lust for this dream of which cannot be
The day that the door comes knocking for me.
the only letter I've ever wanted to burni.
if you want to give someone the silent treatment,
the first step is shutting up.
things made much more sense
when I was younger.
I thought there was one path,
each choice a stepping stone upon it.
in reality there are a million roads
intertwined like rope.
I got lost
I chose you.
promises are easily broken.
I knew that,
but it still hurt
spending friday night
shivering in the rain,
choking on cannabis perfume
in a dirt parking lot
your face never graced.
and I hoped against hope
you might appear,
but I wasted my wishing
on ungrateful you.
you died before taking your first breath.
I took a chance
and I should've known better.
you can give somebody all you have
and nothing can stop them from
throwing it away.
you've made this bed,
now lie in it.
you slit this suture,
you're the goddamn reason
I gave up on the month of april,
and soon enough you'll fall on your own blade
like some drunken samurai.
if you want
Die AloneI take apart her heart
And lay the pieces down
In a circular form.
Let her bleed a work of art.
I forgot I’m crazy.
I’ll whisper my secrets
Only if she promises
To die here alone with me.
.What do you want to be when you grow up?
They ask it like a dare.
As if letting your unlikely dreams
slip from the safety of your mind
could bring their own
a little closer to reality.
car crash on an empty roadit happened before
we did. it was more a person
than you or I or that boy
in the park trying
to convince us to
stupid. it happened
before your smile
cracked the sky in half, before
our laughters slurred into
a dissonant song, before
your fingers traced the stories
lying on my face before I knew
just how many pieces of sunshine
were trapped in your hair before
the walls became the ceiling and
I wasn’t claustrophobic.
things I remember:
the red blur of your room like
God was experimenting with the
symbolism in modern art, the
tri-tone shimmering of your eyes
like the surface of the water, the way
you defined perfection as a scale of
women ending with a less than sensible
me, the way you always moved like
you were dancing and no one was there to
RelativityLooking in the mirror
through the mirror
seeing a stranger,
My chest swells and my heart lurches
This girl isn't me, not at all
She looks like someone
but not me.
A movie star, a homeless person.
Even when I look at photos
no memory comes up
no allowing for the thought that I have a body
Or that the cold of my fingertips,
the throb of anxiety inside my ribs
I see my arm, an armband
A scar, a vein, a ring that has no meaning
But it did, to this girl in the mirror
Even if memory fails
Existence is relative
What Writers AreWriters are people from
both ends of the spectrum.
Those that know isolation
and the thoughts that follow.
Those that know enlightenment.
And those with nowhere else to go,
but deeper down the rabbit hole.
Writers are smiths of the word,
using imagination, experience,
and emotions to temper the
glass and steel we are given.
We fill the page with pieces
And writers are Gods.
Broken or whole or
barely scraping through.
We make you see our world.
We make you feel and care.
All with a bunch of lines,
which we have given life.
Hope in my Lawyer's Paperclip JarMy lawyer's desk on a normal Wednesday afternoon
is flooded with sheafs of white legal pads and errant staples.
Today is Wednesday, but the clouds outside
his twelfth-story window are shaped like loss
and the lines around his eyes seem crater-like in the shadows
and nothing about the last three weeks of my life
has been normal, so I don't know why it surprises me
to find his desk cleared of debris.
I wait for him in a silence that ebbs and flows with my heartbeats,
the zipper on my knee highs tapping against my leg like rain.
When he returns, hands filled with coffee
and the paperwork for a restraining order
against the man he set me up with almost a month ago,
I blurt the first thing that comes to mind.
"There's only one paperclip left in the magnetic jar.
It's bent like a swan."
I can tell, from the awkward shuffling of his loafers,
that he's wondering if he should have brought the Kleenex, after all.
He knows women often cry at things such as these,
reminders of the men they've love
1969, and time goes oni imagine you
thief of space affairs, time would go on;
wonder if you'd manifest
to govern gravity’s empire
physically, just as aurally,
so to walk with a
winds at war
captivated by you; sunshine
gathered in the organized
chaos of your hair: eyes would
dance fires domesticated by
your fingertips, boasting wander-
world laws of light (reigned in
earthen measure). i’d
boast mountains by your name.
the exhaust for gods
of transience (north-
hazed) transmuted back
(for easy drawls from the east)—
i’d sip wine
from the wishbone of your
body of sea. plead
the noise of bedroom eyes
& sleepy smells to soften your
siren’s unquiet tease.
i imagine you,
thief of space affairs;
imagine you in 1969
where our time would go on.
Keep in Touch!