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Literature Text
I'm sorry
That my pen no longer creates your galaxies
Gliding across the paper
Every dip and swirl hope for another
Feeling
Experience of passion
Are my eyes passionless
Do my lips drip with dread
I still record these passing dreams
Are you sure you want to see?
That my pen no longer creates your galaxies
Gliding across the paper
Every dip and swirl hope for another
Feeling
Experience of passion
Are my eyes passionless
Do my lips drip with dread
I still record these passing dreams
Are you sure you want to see?
Literature
In The Dark
You tell me
One
Step
at a time
Then why is it
I am always
Apart of your shadow?
Literature
to the girl with hungry footsteps
I'm sending all my words back
to the people who need them--
people who wear scars like
war trophies, like jewelry, like
an identification for those suffering
from the same acceptance of
self-hate. this is to the people
who sleep with one eye open, who
cry when footsteps enter their room
at night; this is to the girls
who love by cutting their hearts
into snowflakes and watching
them melt. I left you behind and
I can't be sorry for that.
you are the type of beautiful
that kindly asks the world
to fuck off. the days we buried
have decomposed, headstones are
snapshots; sanitized breakdowns,
rusty tongues, sighs laced
with fear, I love you, I
Literature
Leaves Fall Like Tears
if I recall correctly
I don't believe I told you
why I called you autumn
anyone could see
that your hair was the gold
of fresh turned leaves
and your eyes were the warmth
of a sweet fire
everyone knew that your voice
was the playful crisp air
and your laugh was the memories
that fly on the fall wind
and your porcelain skin
was the pale full moon in the sky
but if I also recall
I don't believe you understood
exactly why
I called you autumn
your mind was a cold bright flame
that only a few could grow accustom to
your dreams were just out of reach
like the bright leaves that fluttered away
and even after that you still smiled as they passed
y
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