Sometimes we give in

Its human nature -
trying to be strong
and actually succeeding

but only until

the candy coating
of joyful strength
slowly melts

struggling hard
against the passion
of luminous longing

sunset

this afternoon
I saw the sun
as she rested
before coming home

from work.

Its not polite to stare,
but I did, while I could -
I needed to.

I knew she'd understand

I love her that way-
peaceful and sleepy

her light

resting

against soft

pillow clouds

noise pollution

I bathe myself
with sounds
too big
and
too loud
for contended hearts

how could I give in
to the plea of my ears
when these
and all that they stand for
block away my thoughts,
sheilding me
from your memory

A fool I am
to have tatooed your voice
in all the fragile corners
of my tired mind

Its presence makes me weak

So I listen to others
as they sing -
they do
all my shouting
and my screaming

hoping that
when I walk back
into the room of silence

your unwelcomed voice
in comparison
shall merely be
a fading echo-

a distant noise
slowly drifting
to non-existence

to the past

There is a place
where pain is forbidden

at times,
I deem it
to be my utopia

I seem to cry tears of wine
that you cannot resist

and
oblivious as I am,
I oblige
to your addiction.

explicity
you seem to drink my pain

needles in my heart -
nectar in your tongue.

ethereal

I long
for pure
total
weightlessness -

understated
ecstacy

beyond the reach

of words
thoughts
feelings

right there,
in a distant
fragmented
dimension -

where I
become the wind

and forgiveness-

becomes me.

Galapagos

once more,
Billy is singing me to sleep.
and desperately
I try to be lost in the fabric
that he has woven
for me to hear.

Tonight
This is what I choose to believe;
that I am not myself
but merely a memory
made to liberate
trapped notes
in his untouched past
and his forgotten future.

I am the lady then,
years back.

the present apple
that he breathes

the pale ghost
of christmas future -

this is all me
when I chose
not to be myself,
but his summoned muse.

And I hear his songs

and in his pain I hear my pain
only tonight,
I choose it to only be his
and without question, he agrees.

and in gentle calmness
of fake comfort
and illegible escapes-
daydreams
real dreams
and all in between,

the echoes of his voice carry me -
and for that moment, I am free.

and I sleep

In celebration of my silent victory.

...

See me

Not through the mirror

But through my eyes

So that you may learn

Not the lies

Nor the estimation

Nor the impression

You have formed

From the freedom you took

To measure me...

Then shall you only

Truly understand

I am right when I say

You have not seen me

Not at all.

you

Slowly
in denial
in supposed calmness
in oblivion
I hurt myself.

This
is what
you have become;

this thin
decieving
cigarette

nestled
in my shaking hand.

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image taken from bbc.co.uk.

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twister

light enters the distant corner
and she sees the familiar face
now, of the stranger
that she once shared the world with.

the audience applauds,
shouting and cheering
in glorious abandon-

she hears nothing
but faint whispers
muffled giggling
and sweet ramblings-
the air outside is cold,
but he is warm.
for her,
that is enough.

colors danced as the rhythm began
in careful, beating paces-
smiles and movements
beer and laughter-
eagerness
glaring brightness

A few moments
were all that they had-
intense stares
that shared secrets in silence -
(she never spoke that deep,
that whole...)
As their eyes conversed
without words,
she bared her soul.

He looks around,
and is pleased with what he sees
and he smiles as he hears them-
the loud, faceless crowd.
the crowd that she now resides in.

It was was rough and rowdy,
as he started the night.
but she did not mind;
she was someplace safe-

here,
in the the bittersweet shade
of a silent morning,

where her eyes
were all that his eyes could see
and her voice
was all that he chose to hear
and her smile
was all he wanted to need -
and happily ever after
seemed to step out of the fairy tale

loving

misleading

embracing them.

How

expansion of thought
and of theory
to hide
the inner longing
and waiting
and wanting
that she has placed
under thick,
barbed wires -
that is her escape.

In repetition
she recites:
I am fortunate,
I am not shattered.
my heart is merely broken;
my soul is only bruised.

she floats with
the sparkling notes
that fly and dance
in her room -
she is one with them;
they are her pain
and her joy
that freely move,
away from the prison
that she has planted
in her core.

Sternly,
she speaks to her mind:

read those volumes again,
every word that you remember
and those that you forget -
be the thought
that fills the space
between the lines.

listen well,
and drink the beauty
of any simple tune -
so that for you
It is nothing short
of a symphony.

watch,
reflect,
and for a moment,
fully live on the passion
pouring from the tv screen -

hoping against all odds
underneath the enchantment
and the painkillers
disguised as art

hoping,
hoping too hard ...

to heal.