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CandlelightCandles make halos,
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.
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.
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
with all the splashing.
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
Desire and Fear: Of Making SenseI never meant to torture you; I am so sorry that I lost my way. You insist that I ever had a way but I can't remember that being true. My map
is soaked through and my ink roads look more like smudged makeup and tear stained skin. I have no path mapped out.
I thought I did but everything is the same color out here and my compass only points to me. I wish I could just hop a train, any one, and find myself
along the way. The conductor would help me off the old charming locomotive and I would be a new person.
Whoever that was who caught the train at the last second now has white gloved hands and knows where to take her yellow cab.
I'm sorry for whenever I stopped making sense. I guess I have misled you.But if any lie, it is white with a halo. Perhaps I made you believe I was sure of
myself. I'm sorry if you hate this love spell, I too wish that you had seen how very sad I was from the beginning. Maybe you could help me though,
it would seem that I've misplaced my rhyme
and my reason. I for
StruckRemember three days ago when
at two am (feels like five minutes\
Remember one second we were
I feel knots in my shoulders and you
raise your voice
i had that ugly smirk
remember you shoved me
how could i forget?i slam
into the wall
you broke the fucking cage
the gates were open,
my demonsI lost myself so completely
I started swinging and I
screamed at the top of my
I wanted to hurt you so
And the panic in your eyes was beautiful
you did not know what
to do with yourself except you
opened your arms and trapped me with
"baby" in that voice; you held me down
until adrenaline drowned in the sound
of your heart pounding and trying
to bring me back
i just cried because i had
not felt so sorry
in a long long time
Mid OctoberMissed it by that much.
(, what you smelled like)
It came and went beneath my
feet in a wisp of crimson leaves and
(Of last year)
Surrounding my bones
and widening eyes in a sweet
and surprising daze.
I suddenly remembered what
your mother’s house smells like
on the first day of autumn
and what your pillow smelled like
when you taught me how to
play video games - In your room -
and what your neck smelled like (before
you got that cologne for christmas)
when we layed together
and fall was like a secret
safer than a pillow fort between
our warm bodies
and mismatched socks.
The Guest RoomThe day my curtains had lungs reminded me of
the time I suffocated next to those ugly stains on
the lavender carpet. You know how much
I hate sleeping with the blinds open; The
stillness under night's cloak is unnerving.
It was such halfhearted sleep, tepid,
and with open eyes. I saw none until
the moon chimed four in the
late night and your shadow swept
across the guest room floor. Perhaps
I should have been more distressed but when,
in my haziness, I felt your arms slink around
my sunken waist and your breath on my
bare shoulder.. Ghost or not, we were
enamored - even I could catch forty winks.
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