I haven’t learned my lesson

A rush of blood through the veins

A bolt of lightning to make the heart beat again

Hot tears simmering against eyelids

Cold drops of sweat on feverish skin…

Oh, what I would give to feel again.

I gave heartache the longest break,

A thin layer of frost coated my skin

And I placed chains on all the bits of me within

That ever longed for love.

I clipped the wings of that captured dove

Soundproofed the glass to stifle her song

I doubted I’d miss it after so long,

But now I can’t even recall the sound.

Now, I don’t miss your mischief or your mistresses

I long for steady heart-beats and only tears that accompany a smile

Hope has yet to seem worth-while,

When I remember cold and lonesome December

When ice and snow trapped me with no place to go

Your arms twice as cold, the novelty of me so old

In your fickle heart.

I do dream to the sound of my favorite song,

Of breathing normally after so long –

Inhale, exhale and carry on

With no drugs or no alcohol, just faith in love.

A rush of blood all through my face

Electric pulses resuscitate

Heat of the sun when it’s finally May

Cold chills of excitement; heart, don’t hesitate.

Oh, what I would give to love again.

 

Rainbow Rouse

Red lipstick makes you think I want you

I wear all black simply to daunt you

With pink flowers to awaken your gaze

And let you imagine my innocent days

Brown eyes to watch you wake

Under heavy lashes, to filter your face

Blue days in a cloudy haze

With white cotton clouds to give us shade

Yellow sun and silver moon

Mixed with the orange and violet late noon

Green grass after the storm

Reminds me that I have no need to mourn

Grey everything; a forecast forlorn

I can’t see your silhouette anymore

Just light and dark shadows in monochrome

And the glistening road where I seek my way home

All of the colors that I know

Couldn’t form a scene where I hold you close

In the damp air, a sunlit rainbow

Promised me the floodgates will close –

I’m still waiting.

 

 

 

 

Oh Star, Die Tonight

Upon a glowing satellite I make a morbid wish tonight

With teary eyes, I hope to make a pagan sacrifice on her life

I’ve never seen a star fall, but I confuse the flashing lights of jets

In the midst of their midnight flights, but I’m disappointed by yellow lights

Hear me, clearly, white plasma being in your angelic glow

Fall down from your reign and ease my pain

Use your thousands of years to alleviate my fears

And take your brilliant heat to melt things frozen in my memories

Not unlike you, I want to be born anew

I can’t fight the hurt and lies that have passed before my eyes

I can’t wear away the scars that speckle my skin like black stars

But you… lucky you, you still shine true through the darkest dusk

You have no surface to be succumbed to rust, to negligence or dust

Though in time your flames will explode and you’ll be mine

You’ll fall so rapidly, your tail will spread for miles against the sky

And I’ll be there, I swear, to make my wishes come true

But tonight you live, and I have no use for you

 

Yet I fear the day you pass away, and I’m not there to pray

And ever worse, I fear you’ll pass away

And all of my hopes will dissipate along with your silver flame

I May Be Toxic, But You’re Venomous.

I burn at the touch and I make it hard to breathe

I’ll make you so weak you’re unable to leave

Down on your knees, you scramble away

I don’t have the antidote to convince you to stay

I’ve also been feeling rather ill from your bite

It withers my veins as it eats me alive

What’s left of my blood pumps venom into my heart

Now a bruised piece of flesh that is falling apart

It was wonderful when you deeply breathed in my air

Sinking in your teeth with my fingers in your hair

But the aftermath isn’t pretty, I know

Yet not wretched enough to stir your rigid soul

I’m sure that you’ll quickly detoxify the fumes

Breathe in fresh air until your lungs resume

But your poison has turned me into stone

Cold to the touch, heartless and impenetrable.

Moss on the Glass

An old dreary home, a homely abode

I sit in the rocking chair and glare at the clouds

I await the shower that will come cascading down

And rinse all the dust from the glass – at last

The thunder rumbles and rattles my heart

It bounces against these feeble ribs, as fragile as it is

Can it not break under the ivory cage? I almost wish it did

As it keeps throbbing in lament, it keeps on reaching for my grave

And I retreat beyond the door, the warped wood and oak grain

I watch behind the window pane, so solitary in my pain

The lightening dashes across the grey

And I see sparks in stolid dullness

Peaking through the crawling moss

As it conceals my window panes.

I call them hopeful and yet foolish, those wretched vines

I call them weeds and I call them lies

They seep into my tough stronghold

They seep their roots between my fingers’ hold

I want to watch the world go down in flames

And then be doused by rain

But the moss, it covers my window pane

I don’t want to hope, but it eases my pain.

Romance is…?

Bold and blurry dotted lines and fluttering butterfly hearts. My fingers reach for yours in the dark, though my other hand clings to sleep for the fear of waking from this dream.

Do you dream of me?

A dozen roses only live for half a dozen days. Love fades away, but will you stay? Long after the last withered petal has hit the ground and only thorns remain, will you stay?

I blush at your gaze and I blame the heat on a cold and rainy day. I hold you far away and toss the red string that never unravels; it just won’t break.

I’m afraid of you, I hate to say. I hate the way I feel so fragile when you seem so brave. Love has never seemed to play kindly with my heart, and if there are any more fragments of it left to break I would much rather toss them all away.

And still I ponder on what romance is. I covet it, a thing I’m not quite sure exists. A thing I’m not able to miss as I’ve not had it. And still I obsess over the chances of a nervous first kiss, of innocent lips with no lies and no lust. Of friendship, of trust.

Do you wonder too? Or has age made you bitter like me, and you’d rather only be with me for one night? I’d hate to wake in another stranger’s bed, full of dread with all of my dreams wilted and dead – Like a dozen roses, six days in.

Earthquakes!

Faces.

Bits of age old places; barbed wire fences in smiling braces.

Furrowed brows the farm-rows before the crops,

Teary eyes the waterfalls and then the sparse rain drops.

Earthquakes!

Hearts shudder and pound violently out of control.

Sparse flaws on the skin; soft little knolls,

Moon craters, crevices and sun-spot moles.

Folding ocean surface ripples, delicate creases and wrinkles.

Bright eyes, starry skies, glittery make up and colorful dyes,

Algae blooms’ impending doom and faint hair highlights – plant-derived.

Summer breezes sighs of delight, warm breathes and sun-bleached sights.

Earthquakes!

Panicked shaking, tsunami waves and crippling fright.

Morning dew on green grass blades, beads of sweat on blushing faces,

Bird songs echoing in the day, melodies repeated on radio stations.

Your smile: so eternal, eroded into the mountainous region.

Earthquakes….

My heart still tremors. Your smile remains after all of the seasons.

Things with Wings

 

These trumpeting geese wake me every day. Their deep voices carry in the foggy morning rain.

I ponder upon how it is that many things with wings found light ligaments in place of their feet:

A bat is just a rat that finally took flight to escape the plight of the destitute streets.

A caterpillar would be a worm, but at some point it learned that beauty could be found underground, or buried deep in a cocoon.

With silk woven without a loom the worm still weaves the softest cloth. So why do we think the butterfly is so much more beautiful than the moth?

Its dusty wings are dull and tattered like our neglected things atop our mantles, or the wardrobes’ cobweb-laden wedding gown

Left with whimsical memories of the freed doves – and the dove is just a pigeon that we love for her soft, white down.

But does the pigeon know that we see her as a clown? Why is she the pauper while her sister wears the crown?

And lastly, the crying girl who leans over her balcony finally dives into the sky with her good-byes damp on her pillowcase.

She didn’t fly then, but found her wings in the pile of things discarded from her room shortly after her guest-less wake.

Her body slumbered, forgotten, slowly sinking to the bottom of the geese’s’ foggy lake

Where the vultures can’t find her and feed down to her bones; where all of the things with wings can never travel, she rests alone.

But in the sky she’s learned to fly with the bats at night and the geese at dawn, and through the day all of the things with wings preen her feathers and sing her songs.

The same things who couldn’t grow wings carry on. Undaunted still, though not yet angels, they simply meander along.

A Wish on a Waning Moon

The softest of footsteps move down the hall, impossible for me to hear were it not for my vivid imagination. Curled up in satin sheets, daylight winks through the slanting blinds and stripes the bed with molten silver. Throughout the crack beneath the door, I spot your toes pause outside, your hand on the doorknob although the hinges hang open.

Why don’t you come inside?

My mind spins and my heart hammers until my stomach aches. How long do I have to wait? Time has me frozen here, my knuckles red from gripping the bed covers so tightly.

The door is open….

Yet the handle doesn’t twist. A shuffle against the dark wooden floor and I don’t see your shadow there anymore. I’d lift my head, but I’m paralyzed, still as stone in the crevice I’ve embedded into the mattress.

You don’t have to stay for long.

A cold sweat works up my face. I just need to move, just a little bit. To part my lips and cry for you to come back.

But I can’t….

I have no voice, I make no sound that your ears are capable of hearing. Is it because you don’t want to hear me? Because you don’t love me at all. I know this, but still, I’m warm and I have a beating heart. I bleed and I feel. Just tell me that it’ll be alright. Hold me one more time. Give me something to feel.

I fear that I’ve turned to stone, and time will no longer wake me in the morning. I’ll never move forward. I’ll never be somebody. I’ll never hope again.

The light through the sheer curtains pools onto the floor. Shadows move, but I can’t. I’m paralyzed. I’m a shattered doll. I’m a broken rose. I’m an eyesore.

In a world without warmth, I’m frozen still, too cold to move. The day is waiting for me, the sun fatigued, and yet I haven’t budged from my pillow. My skin is stuck to the cloth with tears like hot glue. My pained breaths echo through the room.

I just can’t move.

And until I do, I’ll bask in the rays of an eternal noon. The stars won’t come out to consider my fancies. My wishes float idly toward the ever waning moon.