And this reminds me,

This reminds me,
      of the days where you stomped upon my heart
during countless midnight absences
          when I was left to ponder
just what it was that made me so unwanted
  As your pride stood above mine a tree
ripping me until I was nothing but pieces
    lain at unrelenting feet.
my unavailing form left decaying into
       bitter hearth,
and then your gentle wind comes sweeping me back
      up into arms holding each shard together.

Disgusting

Hollowed shell, trying to fill itself
 with countless carbs stuffed into wordless mouths
angered for some grasp of context trying to mutter something
          tangible
but only finding gaping cries of I'm too much
                       I need to be less
so I stop
         and the trembles began,
Weakness poured through my veins but I was still too much
          so I became less, and even then I was followed
by grimacing demeanors
     and countless floating leaf words
                 and it seemed that
no matter how much I wasn't
            it was still too much

Glass Ceilings

She crawls on glass ceilings,
balances on paper ropes,
translucent skin blanketing corroded bones
she is lost inside paper bags
Stuffed in crevices no one can see
until he comes along
peeling her from the glass
catching her as the rope
breaks picking her out of crevices
making her skin opaque he rips apart her bag cocoon
and carries her away
and then drops her in volcanoes because
to him, it was only a game

abandonment

Abandonment is a dancing drop
spinning jumps, over hurtled rocks
communication lingers weaved through fingers
lace veils in black drops grabbing them with
every last ounce of strength you have
because once someone is gone
it does not matter if they are dead
pain in a bombshell
explodes upon the pang
you get with the realization
to them, your voice is lost.

Acrobats

Whispering acrobats falling from high-strung tight ropes,
and I am the saftey net below,
Tattered and torn
many holes worn, but they don't see that
the crowd is stunned, stones silent in their gravel seats
am I just as at fault,
as the spilt tightrope above
the stumbling feet
the collapsing corpses hurling down so neat
blood splattering the porcelin hearts
of Love scorn tumblers
Figures of white carried out like royalty
and only their stains are left
amended by death
-the cruel mistress
bares witness

Alone is a taste familiar to my tongue,
  when the sun of humanity depleats leaving
                       darknesses depth in its wake
the effervessent tears
pour from my eyes
as if they are gyzers set to explode on comand
             It only come after I'm threadbare and torn , after
I'm buried.... but not mourned
and you are the hate that cracks parched lips
     choking back the curses of adolecence
 lost in rabbit holes

Tricks

Sapphire and white
carpet my eyes
with flocks of interruption's
soaring shadows across my abyss
inside I am dark,
with running carmine springs --
my thoughts are barb wired around your absence
         you are lost to me
in "Dear John" letters.
your hand writing
vines itself around me
          constricting
-as if to hold you inside my memories;
to imitate your warmth and embrace
and in their wake-
I become ice.

Spring

Warmth melts the ice
 coveting barren lands
desolate and waiting for poking emeralds
     to disrupt planes of white;
for the sounds of
running streams washing away whats left of frozen tundra
the musk of trees
(other than Evergreens)
blooms with the budding tulips

Transleucent

I will dance-
    around truth hidden behind
steel walls placed to protect disapointment
I see through it
        as if it were transleucent
your stature gives youa way
   Silent brown eyes pleading, bleeding into mine- as if
asking for a peice of my sanity, of which, I have none to give

Empty Promise

Acid washed hopes
  stuffed inside threadbare dreams
no matter how battered-
 or torn they may seem,
I cling onto every last vine
and swing from promise to empty promise
grappling for memories lost in the chasms gape

Truth

I'll never be worth it.

Addiction

It is an addiction we fulfill
Because as trees, we can't
stop reaching for the sky
as children we can't
give up on getting older
as dreamers we do not
let go of hope,
we cling to every last bit of barren string
fruitless demeanor's pouring onto our face and still
we run on
like sentences unpunctuated ,
always striving into the
inevitably
wrecking,
blinding lights of solitude
for hours bubbling our lives over our edges
and onto the blank sheets of innocence
waiting to be defiled with our words
filled with our intricacies
-our elusive tendencies
Because as a writer you caress your anger
with pens
and paper

Glass Ceilings

She crawls on glass ceilings,
balances on paper ropes,
translucent skin blanketing corroded bones
she is lost inside paper bags
Stuffed in crevices no one can see
until he comes along
peeling her from the glass
catching her as the rope
breaks picking her out of crevices
making her skin opaque he rips apart her bag cocoon
and carries her away
and then drops her in volcanoes because
to him, it was only a game


*(note to readers, I don't know if I'll keep this one up. To me it seems kind of cliche teenage rubbish, then again I never like my work so what do you think? please and thank you)

The paper-mâché girl

stories soaked in mixtures
meshing her into some unfathomable shape
concrete now, frozen in place
hardened by all the world gave her to taste
Alone is  familiar to her tongue
and silence cracked her already parched lips
Carmine coils began to paint her crust
staining her with misfortunate lusts
of all the world wanted her to be
but when she refused to be their puppet girl
tugged by the strings of incompetent composers
cutting the binds with sharp edged scissors
they dropped her into to paper-mâché fixtures
forever cocooning her as a craft