So basically, I'm doing great.
I will one day be productive. It'll happen.
CandlelightCandles make halos,Candlelight by ~palesile
but sitting in it doesn't make me
an angel. It's the big pilled
down comforter that acts as my wings.
I surround myself in a cozy fortress
leaning against boxes decorated with dust
and labeled with holidays.
My tiny candlelight makes my cheeks glow
even when they're not warm and sets
a wildfire in my eyes even though
they're blue as ice.
It's all just bright enough to illuminate
my fears and then
I don't have to
feel wretched for such a long time.
I create my illusion,
of being wrapped in love and warmth
where there is only thirty two degrees
and dark nights without any stars. And I sit
in hopes I will forget my sorrows and the
shutters will close to cover the
broken glass windows,
the wool will cover my eyes.
The paper thin skin will suffice
for my lack of sheep and
my eyelashes will embrace
and I will immerse
myself in twelve hour slumber
whether I dream of tragedies
or you. It makes no difference.
FragilityI never know where to begin.Fragility by ~palesile
I just want to open up my ribs
like a cherry wood cabinet.
That maybe you'd
find something worthwhile inside.
All beyond the mess of thoughts;
I could immerse you in my feelings.
They're not all fantastical but
some of them make sense.
I couldn't tell you why, I simply
don't know myself. I've just ached
to be able to explain..
There were October days that
made me feel so small.
There was one where we were driving
along and along
and all the crimson and caramel
that surrounded us looked so
angry at me. And I've never been scared
of a god damn tree
but their beautiful colors were
ceaseless and enraged.
I did not like them that whole day.
I almost wanted never to like them again.
My forehead wrinkled with worry -
I swear I
thought they would burn me to the ground.
This feeling caught up with me,
a recent November afternoon.
While the leaves were just starting to look
bewitching again, the waters I was
about to cross were, to s
It's Not RainingTap dancing rain on open windows.It's Not Raining by ~palesile
and the wind chimes of my eldest neighbor
all tuck me in up to my ears
and kiss me gently
making me heavy like lavender would.
If it had only stayed more than those seconds.
I like it much better than the
train that comes at midnight
and again three minutes past
to make a lot of noise.
It's not raining and my light is on again,
contradicting the sun.
I feel like a puddle
but I can't sleep anyway -
you told me to shut up.
Day One12:31Day One by ~palesile
The water is all moving in the same direction.
To the left.
I like the left side of the boardwalk.
Sideways, not longways.
The sand's not moving. But I am.
my life is like a spinning platform,
the one you stand on
while you're trying to get into your log flume boat.
That doesn't make sense.
There's a peninsula
of charcoal rocks.
I want to be standing on the very edge of them.
I would be powerful
and then jump in for a swim.
There's nothing more mystical than laughing.
Everyone has such a nice laugh.
I see a middle aged couple nearby.
I want to be them one day.
The woman keeps putting her hands in the water.
It is fall.
I hope he loves her.
The water is green.
There are two birds by the water now.
They remind me of the couple.
except the sand.
You know how the world is on
such an angle when you lean your head
to the side?
craning your neck..
I wish I was falling when I di
headaches are a habitthe things i think
have stopped making sense
to anyone but you,
and maybe its because
you have to witness my nightmares or maybe
because my tears have dried
on your skin -
across the bridge of your nose,
like places we talked about jumping from
and now headaches are a habit;
thunder is relief
among the morning birds singing out
125When you twist my tongue
To form foreign sentiments,
I feel like I'm telling a lie, and
The constant pressure to please
Consecrates my subservience to you
In your arms I forget all
Of my rights to opinion
In your clutch I forget I
Have any rights at all.
Your strong arm
Rips out my voice box,
Blots out independent thought,
Your rules dampen
The fires of revolution
And your undying love
Brings me to my knees,
In constant service,
I am yours:
My country, 'tis of thee,
Damned land of poverty,
Of thee I sing.