UntitledNothing There was once a man who lived in a grey city.He was quiet,And no one noticed him.He lived alone,In a large houseThat could have easily fit two.The hallways were always full,Filled with the mournful colours,That bled from crayon tips. Everyday this man went to work,Then returned as the sky turned black.Everyday this man was greeted by nothing,Smiling, until the man trudged away.Nothing was nothing after all.It was always the same routine.Every day for the longest time.But the man never changes. The same.No matter how hard anyone tries to make the man realize,That there is Something.That it is yearning for his attention,That all it cares for is him,He will always blind himself from these things.Besides, it wouldn’t matter.Nothing would move on.It would forget. So many years.You left me alone,But why?Did you fear me?Did you hate me?Did I make you feel guilty?I still loved you anyway.
progress reportthe astronauts never returned and neither did the newsin my hands i fold a megalithic pigeonthe take-home message is: the cosmos is a cold dead bitchas you sleep under magazines, waiting for nothing.in the shackles of a sterilized den, there's an actualmastodon heart, pale and glassy pink, icy filmtightened like a fist; - and the scientists despair: it's the morning of the opening,then the few slashes of paralyzing waves.like a sign we'd make when we were younger, a way to disarma bandit, or a preacher or the oncoming horde of space invaders.but the drawings you sent to venus never returned, and now the crack, and the scientists at a loss before the angered public.they release a report that states that the floodgates opened by themselves, that the valves erodelike the chalky sand that will swirl and hiss
DownfallAnd in this dark harvest of seasonMy life has completely lost reason,For which or against to decide.All lost in a savage and endless, bleak tideIn sadness and in kindnessIn light and in darkness.In a boat made of hopeI shall sail to tomorrow,In a winding hurricaneMade of treachery and sorrow.There's a spear, endless, and colossal spear...Piercing, slashing though my head.Starting somewhere in heaven,Ending somewhere in hell.Fighting, burning, crying, crashing.Are the armies within.In my head they are all thrashing.On the heaven's and hell's whim.To be light or to be darkness.A perpetual array.It's not merely my choice,But the choice of the way.It's an option of the voice,It's a thin line of gray.Is it a choice forced by fate,Is it a pre-set time and date?Or a choice to which I myself sway?But here's our story anyway
."Nothing that I do will matter.As all things will merely shatter!"All my hopes thus darkness scatter,As it shoves me a decree.As it si
the ones they call the foolsWe were a list of promises broken,exhausted and frightened to be heldin the hands of dreamers and liars and both because fingers have the tendency to let slip the things they love the most.That’s why we’re fleeting. Why poets call us clouds with no real direction. But really, we’re both running awaya
4 Random Poems The One About KitKats Frick frackSnick snackI need a piece of that kitkatI need a breakIt's a mistakeTo do things for to-do-them's sakeAnd I'd live life-Husband or wifeWith obligations and strifeSo turn awayWhile you mayIf there's nothing to make you stayBring your phone,The comforts you've knownAnd go find a new homeA safe placeAn empty spaceVacant of life's bitter distastesAnd I'll find what I lackedRoll the cross of my backFuck, I want a kitkat. lisuje is like- really pretty, guys. I promise A pale, pretty faceSurrounded by sandy dunesBlue-grey eyesReal and wild like a typhoonWatch her hairCarelessly roll down her backWatch her skinLike marble that wouldn't crackSee the graphiteRubbed on the side of her wristSee the pencilHeld firmly in her closed fistWatch her drawAnd capture what's actually thereWatch her DAand Tumblr, if you've time to spare azuneechan is love. Azuneechan is life. I'd seduce your pagesMake their kne
The Laws of AttractionHe likes to tell me how stars work.He explains that Hydrogen ignites, collides, infuses -and while he’s talking I am tryingto stifle the reverb in my heartbeat.I try and stop my heart going supernova.He tells me that the Hydrogen fuses into Heliumand eventually the star runs out of each -I try not to be forcibly remindedof every time I run out of Oxygen when he smiles at me -I’m trying to listen.He details how the stars elements burn outone by onecreating heavier elements that burn less brightly.I’m comparing stars to loveand smilingbecause to me, Hydrogen, Nitrogen or Iron -a star’s still a star at all its stagesand I love the stars.He whispers to meabout how these elements dispersehow they reform and relapseand I recall how stars become everythingHe’s got his hands in my hair and his grip round my heartso when the silence falls I can’t help but rush;‘There’s static energy in my
I'll Wait by the WaterThis is the place where our memories began.A creek at the bottom of a canyon,red cliffs on either side and a giantpond dam to the north that wildflowers grow on.Paths that we created through the woodsand up and down those copper canyon wallswhile we pretended to be wild Injunsor wanted outlaws being hunted by a posse.You were on your knees,in the middle of the creek,when I found you.A neighbor girl, trespassing.I had a mind to chase you offuntil I asked what you were doing.You looked at me, smiled, and said,"Catching crawdads. Come help!"After that day, we spent Springs and Summersbuilding fort walls and chasing frogs,skipping stones and arguing baseball,sharing comic books and trading punches.You could hit as hard as any boy I knew.We had our own bridge to Terabithia,our own kingdoms of knights and castles,won the World Series with back to back homeruns,settled the Wild West and discovered gold in the mountains.My parents thought you were imaginaryuntil I bro
I amSome would say that I'm a shadow of myselfBut truth is, I've been a shadow all along
RazorMidnight's tawdry pulseis feeble under my fingertips,and her long black dressfeels like Augustslipping through my fingers.I like how her bones complainthat I misuse them,tender to my touch,and how her jaw arches backand the moon arcs like a razoracross the room.We flaunt the stars,the stones under our skinstretching the bed frametill we crack.And I fill you up,your arms a battleraging in the waning liesof morning.
-Demons do not run when a good man goes to war...They march beside him instead,All for the glory,Of watching your world burn!
There was an old clock in the hallThere was an old clock in the hall,Whose gears had been broken and stalled. Then ticking ensued, And it filled all the rooms,Though it wasn't the old clock at all.