Sunday, May 10, 2009
Wednesday, May 6, 2009
when you see my face hope it gives you hell.
it breaks my heart when people i know, become people i knew. when i get to a point with someone when they can walk right past me like i was never a huge part of their life. those people i could talk to for hours can't even look me in the damn eye. good things change, and there's nothing i can do about it.
Sunday, May 3, 2009
A Letter I'll Never Send (one of many)
i'm back in the rabbit hole, nothing's changed, at least there's that: consistency. i still miss you, i still think of you, i'm still sorry and angry. there's a thousand memories i have linked to you, some wonderful, some ugly. after the shear volume of compiled beautiful words we've both had in us isn't it a painfully ironic ending? poets with nothing to say.
i swear i'd spend the rest of my life writing nothing but light at the end of this tunnel if i could find the fucking tunnel, i'd write you nothing but white flags. but to you i'm still an eternal night. so i'm left writing poems about wind chimes and world peace while even in my sleep i'm fighting wars that grind the enamel off my teeth. i wake with my jaw clenched and my body bend thinking about how many dishes i'd have to break in the attempt not to break myself. if ghandi were alive, he'd shoot me.
i think of you, all the mistakes i've made and remember myself with track marks on my tounge from shooting up convictions that hung innocent people from trees. it may be too late but listen, i found the sissors and their in my hand. that means everything to me. it means i'm forgiving you even if you chose to never forgive me. it's my hearts thank you to you for helping me see that the only god worth praying too exsists in a room of mirrors.
you could stand at the cliff that looks over my memories and shout nothing but ugly through me but i promise all i can and would echo back to you is the word beauty, beauty, it's all been beauty. even when it was hell didn't the flames look so pretty?
i swear i'd spend the rest of my life writing nothing but light at the end of this tunnel if i could find the fucking tunnel, i'd write you nothing but white flags. but to you i'm still an eternal night. so i'm left writing poems about wind chimes and world peace while even in my sleep i'm fighting wars that grind the enamel off my teeth. i wake with my jaw clenched and my body bend thinking about how many dishes i'd have to break in the attempt not to break myself. if ghandi were alive, he'd shoot me.
i think of you, all the mistakes i've made and remember myself with track marks on my tounge from shooting up convictions that hung innocent people from trees. it may be too late but listen, i found the sissors and their in my hand. that means everything to me. it means i'm forgiving you even if you chose to never forgive me. it's my hearts thank you to you for helping me see that the only god worth praying too exsists in a room of mirrors.
you could stand at the cliff that looks over my memories and shout nothing but ugly through me but i promise all i can and would echo back to you is the word beauty, beauty, it's all been beauty. even when it was hell didn't the flames look so pretty?
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