Religion is for people who’re afraid of going to hell. Spirituality is for those who’ve already been there.
No tree, it is said, can grow to heaven unless its roots reach down to hell.
I exist as time —
all others, the wind.
You, the second hand,
capture my every thought.
Always movements, yes,
even in this muted world.
Hauntingly, it speaks,
such an ever widening gap.
Go, do tear the rain
from overburdened clouds.
Know, for sure,
it will always, always hurt.
The same home, no drop
ever so fortunate has found.
My love, my love,
it will always, always hurt.
If you want to kill somebody, conquer his heart, Then leave slowly and leave them between death and madness.
You begin the process of taking the thread and sewing your lips shut to avoid the pain that comes when expressing the feelings that flow like poetry. Through admissions of love, the questionings of sadness, you ache with the need to speak but you know you must refrain. The pen lays on the desk. You reach, snapping it in half with ink splattering the walls. Angrily you wipe your hand across because all you see are the words pressing against your gums. Wanting to scream, you taste the blood as the sutures begin to tear. Hours pass and relief is a distant dream. There is black mixed with the rust of dried blood and numbness is finally making its way along your muscles.
Relaxing, you find yourself beginning to sleep. Eyes drifting closed, the only thing you see is the reason for the needle, for the scalpel laying on the floor where you carved the phrases into your skin whilst searching for a cure.Tears begin to fall, nails digging into the hard wood floor. You’ve dreamt once, awhile ago, of a day where there were no four walls holding you captive as your heart lives beyond, in another room. There was only two hands, gripping each other with the reassuring ease that the idea of being alone is nothing more than the fractured thought, left in the corner of the mind to be forgotten.
Hope is a powerful thing, for it is a part of the soul. The only thing you can do is pray it is enough to keep you in the air before falling to the ground because for some, a broken wing is enough cause to just give up.
My heart is doing that thing where it beats so hard it rattles my headboard and the loudest thought in this mind-numbing cacophony is: fuck you for loving me so fully and deeply that my body has to work twice as hard to survive after you leave.
Everyone is born seeking
a puzzle promised in a dream,
a confounding configuration to which
only one solution ever exists: sacrifice.
In this holographic existence,
we only ever see one side
Q:Hi! I've read your poems and I really like them c; but I'd be really greatful if you could maybe check out some of mine and tell me what you think? All of my poems are on Twitter @blank__paper I know it's a busy world but I'm just trying to have my voice heard!
Hey there, Princess.
Thanks for getting in touch and for reading. It’s always nice to get a message and, as you know, just as exciting to be read.
I took some time to read your whole stream. I like your style. It was a pleasure to watch your growth. As for what I think: To me, you shine most through your delicate use of metaphor. Here are two of my favorites, rich with attractive imagery.
Please don’t leave, I can’t bear to think of the sound of air blowing through naked branches whistling through me because I do not have you
Be my candle on a fall sunset evening. I’ll be your reddening fingertips as the leaves dance across your feet.
I’ve followed you and I’d suggest my twitter savvy followers give you a worthwhile perusal. =)
Looking forward to more bite-sized bits of you,
از دسـت غیبـت تو شکایت نمیکـنـم
تا نیسـت غیبـتی نـبود لذت حـضور
Growth, retraction, stress,
Warmth, darkness, and time at sea —
Billions of our tears.
My heart was not in me but with you, and now, even more, if it is not with you it is nowhere; truly, without you it cannot exist.
I don’t care If you hide me away, as long as you come find me again.