mime

I long to rest
the enchantment
that you have unknowingly
planted inside me

(a longing I dare not face)

I cannot help
but succumb to your rain
for it's hard to resist
when an innocent gaze
is all that it takes
to lure me in

and even though
you choose not to speak,
I need not ask
to satisfy my craving
for your story.

the windows
of your soul
betray you-
I see
your dark fairy tales,
(most of them, sad
all of them, beautiful) -

they roam,
flowing in
bittersweet grace -
enjoying resonance
inside the intensity
of your silent eyes

release

I own no words
none that can absorb
these tiny
bitter pixels
that scatter
as i exhale

I'm too weak
to command
the needed presence
of comforting words
here, in this
solemn
lonely room.

I've no words
to speak of the song
of my painful heart-

so
tonight,
this is my poem:

these drops
of sparkling tears
flowing
from my weary eyes.

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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