Today I am a Kite

Its better to think the worst and apologize for being wrong than to blindly but blissfully trust and be made to feel like a fool for trusting so easily?

Today I am a kite

It is said that Fate, are three Spinsters sister who control human
life using strings that connect the moments
our lives together.

I believe,

among those millions of strings
exists a single thread of trust just long enough to wrap
around a pink. The perfect promise to never to let the wind
carry me away.

For,

I am that kite with too many keys and not enough
locks. A bit too long a tail but motely in color. Too high
to distinguish faces, even on the brightest of sunny day.

Phyllis McGinley said in Ballade of Lost Objectsin 1954

Sticks and stones are hard on bones Aimed with angry art, Words can sting like anything But silence breaks the heart.

paper, on it was love poème written in french

I am a string of paper dolls clipped to a clothes line, blank as a newborn baby hanging in the sunshine. where am I going? what am I doing here? i am starting to think that the people hanging up here with me are too much like how I used to be. waiting to be snipped down and used for something. Always waiting. All waiting. we are all waiting.

for 3 years I have screamed at the heavens, for giving me paper-cuts. what are we supposed to do with these, i asked. i cursed myself for drenching my already fragile skin with alcohol, make-up and lighting on fire rolled blunt tips.

my paper throat burned with a New Year affair and a knife named lust. I was dead before the first slit, drunk off the first sip, and lecherous at the first thrust. delirious and masculine. he was masculine and I was delirious. but only for a couple months, a couple hours, just a seasonal fancy.

I woke up today and I was no longer hanging by myself. A broken flower came and snipped me down. placed me in her backpack and pedaled me around. 

lunar cords

I feel so small, especially
when the Moon shines down
too many lines
too many sharps and flats
on my night
The problem with trying to
tie a string to someone is
when they leave you,
there is always either too much cords
or not enough, and
the emptiness is not puddles
but oceanic and
unrelenting.
The strands are thin tonight.
rejection
stings like the shallow cuts
in the strands that connects back to
my heart.
I keep giving pieces of myself
away and foolishly still
think I can stay whole.

I climbed
A poet's
Tree last night
To wrap myself in it's
Leaves and pretended the branches
Were your arms.

I don't mind the splinters it gives
Me because unlike the ones you give me
I can
Pull them out.

And as much as I would have like to
Take a pocket knife and carve lines
Couplets, haiku's, limricks, sonnets...
lines into the brown bark and pretend it
Was your skin, or my skin.

I couldnt.

I can't do much of anything now a days
Maybe I am just a morning glory
lost withing a tangle
of vines.

A dark exchange.

Sunlight over me no matter what I do. My heart is being burned from Within my chest. No longer protected, no longer being held warmly in your palms and kissed softly with your poetry. Everyone holds flashlights that reveals my burnt spots. I try to block. Sunlight finds me no matter where I go.

Where ever you are, do you think of me? As I think of you. Are your hands cold and dark from where my heart once were? shadows that used to hide us from the world, are my shadows I can't seem to find. I want them back, damnit please. The sunlight hurts my eyes and burns my heart and leaves dry spots on my skin.. Give me back, give me back, give me back...my darkness.

A denial of me is just not worth the effort
Of continuing to act like I know her.

No matter how much it breaks my heart

I dont love you anymore

Her stare was hard.
Like a rock that was
thrown from her hand
and was caught by

my face.

I can taste blood from
where I accidentally
bit the insides of
my cheek. And fuck
did it hurt the stare.
Not the rock metaphor
used to describe the stare.

That was all figurative

But the 5 words that
followed was
the actual pull
of the trigger
to the gun that
released the metal
bullet which
pierced my heart
and literally
killed me.

Moist and Damp

I went swimming and stayed there for days.
Laying on my back
with just my face pointing towards the sky.
With gravity pushing me up, never letting me down.

I heard my heart beating and
I felt, even days after
in a drifted high
the rhythm of me drowning.
It put me to sleep at night, gave me
a tune to walk to and
a song to capture.

Its a coping mechanism that I
switched on to reassure myself that I still had
...sorry have,
a heart. A beating red popper
that is still whole, all mine, and alive.

I go under every once and a while.
Just to be reminded what still lives on in my chest.
Long ago had
I gotten used to the dull ache
located just under my ribcage.
Now, it just tickles whenever I sneeze,
acts as suppressant, and
clenches with each breath.

I have learned
not to trust the people I meet,
for they will easily tie rocks to our
wrist and watch us sink.

Relapsing pt 2

Relapsing yet again. Injecting more ink from her heart and out of her hand. So much writing that her fingers becomes swollen. Water burns and bandages itch. It bleeds out pain and bliss unlike no one could ever hope to understand.

From the start to finish it overwhelms her. Surfing the skin and bringing chill bumps with pleasure outlining each hair. But afterward its always a fight to stay warm. She wonders how could it feel this wrong.

It hurts to breath as her stomach decides to be sick. The end always leave her feeling so defeated. It disgusting to see the hold it has on her. Instead of the hold she supposed to have on the pencil. Because the only cure she has for the stinging, the only ointment available to heal the wounds caused by her obsession is more writing.

sick withdrawals

The highway stretched far, and I have yet to see an end. My feet hurt and My body hurts even more. Today the angels touched my chest and praised my heart. But they refused to chase away the cough that runs after me tonight. Or the drowsiness.

Or the headaches.

Temptation was thrown at me. But I see no point if the nausea wont let me keep them down. No point at all.

too much talking and not enough words

I am really irritated.

I hate violence
but I hate stupidity more.

And

If I had a gun at this moment I would
wish for grapefruit size bullets,
cause sometimes you need it to hurt just a little more.

:)

sick and restless

She felt the nausea sitting on the top of her stomach.
Underneath muscles clenched repeatedly imitating a dull stabbing
Release lasting only seconds before tightening
forces more fluids upwards.

She wanted to die
or rest
Or Would even settle for only sleep.
Whichever provides the quickest relief

Compromising has always been her easiest solution to all
because she really just wanted to reduce the fever.
Irritated and more testy as she became hotter and dizzier.

And
Tired, Oh
she was so tired.

verb equals pain

Verb equals pain.
Just as the water flow out her body
across the bridge and down the faucet equates to her turning away
from the subject reflected across from her
So disgusted.

At a one person party that everyone is invited to. Celebrating life
in the deep depths of the bathroom. The verb
rising and overflows.

Remembering verb equals pain and pain
equals life which is now pouring
down the drain faster than the pouring water rise.
Holding her breath to the music no one can hear.
Because no one showed.
Because life equates to no longer needing to be surprised

Hell fire

She is still so angry and wants to light some shit on fire. No words are exchanged, yet she hears her voice everyday. Mocking, taunting, laughing...Holding her power

Today, ripped another page out and got a paper cut from the wire.

FUCK!

It felt like someone was pourin gasoline on her temper to set the world on fire. So raw was the smell deep inside her skin it stunk. Painting a violent picture of change as she tried to kill the need for...

If only she didnt knew how she brought this upon herself, would the burning not hurt as much. Its not the first time she felt the pain and it surely isnt the last it turned her into a flirt.

Loveless, eternal

With blackened wings, you soar into my bein. Piercing my very soul, Left empty and bleeding. What is this haunting you bring upon me? Swift and sure as darkness wreaks.

Becoming hollow and devoid. Thrust evil upon me no more, Sweet and foul daemon, Leave of what remains of me.

Silence is not becoming. Though absent you have become in presence, forever tainted I will be. Impossible is victory for what will can defeat this...

Loveless, eternal.



Maurice Cross

Another day

The words she didn't say were still ringing in her head. No...not ringing. Screaming! Wanting and needing to come pouring out. Like the liquor she knows she shouldn't have drunk. But the heart whispers doubts and sows her mouth shut. She must not be weak it says. You need that drunken smile to hide behind a normal front.

Existing in the middle of a day and a dream she finds she is feeling wonderful lost in between. So unaware and yet feeling too much. Seeing things not meant to be seen.

But its the tender touches hurts the most and yet we are addicted to the things we hate. Another burning swallow prevents her from crying too much.

Wanting to runaway from fate, all of life's trials, and the sad faces she see when she closes her eyes. Is nothing but a broken wish.

So pathetic the words scream as she brings the bottle up for another kiss.

Constant buzzing, right behind the left eye. She was melting into the sheets as the night progressed. It would be nice to sleep but this headache does not cease. Sighing as its been 4 days. A sign maybe?

She didnt want to talk anymore. Barely able to hold a smile. After a while the ability to redirect conversations away from her becomes painfully too easy. Trying to ignore that there is something deeply wrong with her.

She knows this. But maybe if repeating 'Im fine' enough times she could fool herself into believing, like she does with everyone else.

Sleep

When pain brushes her hand from behind
Tightly sealed lips press against the knuckle

love is seen beyond closed eyes
time please don't fly right by

For pain only surrenders when she sleep
Yet loudness is consumed by hatred so deep
Forcing the peaceful dead, to wake

Whisperes of the Night

Love shines brightest in the dark
While the touch of a stranger is as burning as the sun
But intense sorrow consumes lovers of the moon when apart
Trapping lonely souls so tortured and young

Dreaming and living in constant heartache
Lets death becomes beautiful whispers of sweet promises during
Twilight nothing but the of passion only two lovers can make
Will keep burning love in the dark shining bright