Regretful Yet?Does it pain you when she presses Her ice cold fingers up against your chest While her hot breath whispers in your ear Because it reminds you of me And the way I used to have you Pressed up against the wall With the heat of you beneath me Laughing because I was literally an ice princess That only you could melt?Regretful Yet?
Does it pain you when all your replacements Don't live up to fill the hole that I left you with After you went behind my back Took me for granted and Left all thought of me behind?
Does the hole of yours grow bigger Each passing day
Pen to PaperNothing's better than pen to paper Writing your heart out with words you can't say But feel deep withing your every being Letting it all out, releasing the pressure And knowing... You're not alone.Pen to Paper
Haikuthon - December1. When you walked by Not noticing me stare My heart skipped a beatHaikuthon - December
2. My fingertips are like ice But when I lace them into yours I can feel my body burn with love
3. Judgement was clouded With a few slips of acid In a virgin drink
4. She walks as if She doesn't have the weight of the world On her shoulders And the tears to prove it
5. Autumn leaves fall down Fall down to me and bring back My sweet October
6. Frustration wells up And slowly Bursts
7. Standing still in a sunflower field &nb
InnocentShe went to write about Love and beauty And everything that she felt But a charming boy with honeyed words Knocked her off her feet And knocked her up And ruined her little, innocent world All in the time of a passing moment Where the darkened sky meets the horizon And judgement is clouded With a slip of acid In a virgin drinkInnocent
Captive Dreamersthe bottle in your palm, always a comfort but your arms are shaking and bruises cover your face but you hardly notice the pain.Captive Dreamers
your words were a kick to the face and a punch below the belt. you left me battered and bruised a dieing empty shell.
belief is no longer there a mistake made isn't forgiven. tears run free from a land we're friends - remain that way.
words cover your hands
in attempts to remind you of the pain you've caused, and to cover the marks.
because maybe if i scar myself
so badly, that no one wi
parchment handsi write poetry stanzasparchment hands
on my hands because
there's never any paper
around and
palms are tougher
so they work better than
arms and legs and hips
as far as writing surfaces go.
my mother said it'll kill me, that my
veins will run ink but in
not so poetic phrases and
i think it will be pretty and i am headed there anyway.
headed for the metro on washington
streets at midnight is
enchanting because the faces
you see aren't quite there and
things can't be shadows
when everything is in shadow and
street la
SandLines My line is made of #2 pencils and red caramel syrup. Your line is made of razorblades and pearls though the opalescent teardrops keep trying to roll off. I suppose it’s not important, though, giving the sand beneath us continues to shift. My little brain is misfiring, changing my line as I become numb to sharpness of society. Push a little further forward; get pushed back a little more. Dancing in my circle while you casually drape yourself with ambiguous lemon drops and bloodied androgyny. I need super glue for my line to affix each grain, stacking them up to build my line intoSandLines
| It's simple. Get to know me the old school way. I mean personally, ya dig? I've got email, AIM, myspace. Talk to me and get to know me that way. Not by reading this cause you'll never know me. Or you can just read my poetry. "Truth is always hidden in fiction" anyway right? Peace. |
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"To really ask is to open the door to the whirlwind. The answer may annihilate the question and the questioner." - Lestat
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"To really ask is to open the door to the whirlwind. The answer may annihilate the question and the questioner." - Lestat
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"To really ask is to open the door to the whirlwind. The answer may annihilate the question and the questioner." - Lestat
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For who we are can only be deemed by what we think of others.
For what we are can only be read by what we think of life.
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"To really ask is to open the door to the whirlwind. The answer may annihilate the question and the questioner." - Lestat
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