poets

Swallow

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Self destruction 

Everything is ugly
You make me believe I’m the sick one
(Maybe I am)

You tell me how I feel

(Or don’t feel)

After all these years you don’t know me at all

(Or maybe I don’t know myself )

I feel that way sometimes

A stranger to myself 

The scorpion kisses me with it’s fire

I lose all my desire for anything

But self destruction 

The Epitome of Splendor

He said the only cuts worth having

are the ones that scrape against bone

the ones that grind you down

and build you back up

He whispers through the bitter-blood taste of the Cabernet

Do you know pain?

I etched it into the skin on my wrist

years ago

the night of delirious bowling

I made myself vulnerable

only to swear never again

I have paid the price for this oath

For apart we were a plague upon the other

Together we were the epitome of splendor

Do you think this is true?

His grin is cocky,

knowing

and he tells me

My writing is the epitome of spendor

when he is the muse. 

in between chords

Dusk brushed the building tops

I saw the twinkle in your eye 

within the city lights

A sigh formed in longing

the memory of a frosty kiss…

the smell of leather

the scent of you.

These are things I will forever miss…

The music played

and I liked the sound his fingers made

sliding across strings

in between chords

But nothing could break me from this melancholy trance

I was sad about the news

the man on the moon 

needed a space suit to breath

and all mountains will crumble

into the sea

eventually.

Boys passed me in ski masks

but payed me no mind

except a nod and a peace sign

The wind blew back my hair

my skin became ice

I stood on top of the mountain

caught in between chords

and waited for it to crumble.

trick

There was this trick 

you could do with words

it chipped away at the jade in my heart

although I violently objected

I desperatly wanted to give in

So I tucked away your roar

within my pockets

You were the screaming echos

of mistakes

heartaches

and regrets

on sentimental days

I searched for you in wrong places

in stranger’s faces

until it felt as if I hadn’t dreamed

in 10,000 days

and yet you were always

right here. 

Shooting stars

We drove in search of darkness

to escape the city lights

in search of lonely roads

and shooting stars

We found the nothing we were seeking

and laid our blankets down

on the hood of her car

while Lana sang 

blue jeans and white shirts

we gazed upon the vastness of the cosmos

and the universe gazed back

as we murmured our discontent

inbetween our exclamations of awes

and for a moment

it felt empowering

to feel so small. 

Strawberry Fields

I’ll try not this night to waste my time

on foolish endeavors

To stay somber, to stay sober

and still be OK

And maybe as the stars light the sky

I’ll write for you

while the little boy in the background wears his mascara eyes

and argues with a tree

I’ll fantasize the lyrics are mine

and you are mine

and we have all the time in the world

to make mistakes

to endure heartache after heartache

until I am too foolish to fear my own vulnerability

until the darkness lifts

until the dawn bleeds color into your black and white 

and shortens these long sleepless nights

This life can be strawberry fields 

under the swirls of your orange and purple sky

I’ll paint your oil stained hands

and perhaps for this moment

I will stop my wandering

and stop my wondering

what it was

you ever saw in me.