Writer, Artist, Model

Posts tagged “dark poetry

A title mouth

I wish my title mouth could give you a brief description of what my life story has to say.

I wish my bruised ego showed on the purples of my face and I could show you what’s behind my sleeping eyes…those dreams I’ve been plagued with like disease.

I wish you could take that away, I wish I could take them from you…

I wish my fate was written like it is in the palm of my hand, all faded and unreadable, so I remember not to rely on that kind of thing.

All I wanted was to paint the sky, the way it looks in your eyes, all the brilliance of blue and the sadness of grey, those hues I wish to only paint away.

I want to replace the devil with a sweeter embrace.

I want to hold the world against my heart again, with its stabbing sadness and bleeding sores and I don’t care if its love infects me to have a friend…

I’ll say goodbye, if it means I get to say hello to you again.

It’s not a somber thing to loose a thing you never stood to gain.

I see the light in your darkness, and the darkness is my friend so I reach for him too, only to be lost in that cold embrace.

They call me winter, they say I make the summer sun shone brighter but my pale skin hasn’t seen the world in days.

You say you like the way my capillaries play. They gleam because I have you under my skin.

I wish you could see the space behind my eyes, the synopsis that light my way, I wish I could use their embers to carry a torch into the symphony of passage ways I see when I look at you.

Days like this pass quickly, and I unfortunately am familiar with their somber song.

It goes like this:

Everyday is the same, driving down the steady lane

Until a stranger stops you in your tracks and uses their hands to use your heart

They usher you to far off places, regions unexplored by the bravest soul

So they don’t have to die alone.

What a selfish thing to do.

They dive in the shallow end, and we dive with them, as helpless fools,

we loose our hands to destroy our fall,

And there we end, two fools in shallow water, trying to breath the blood bath we’ve created

Life’s messy, and when I swallow the taste of iron and water it fills my soul, and allows me to sleep.

It’s just a melancholy dream. A macabre and distant play that haunts my dreams shadows my face.

A drowning and a dying I don’t care to erase.

 

 

 

 


The Aches

Some nights I try and recall the past. A past I have done my very best to bury deep. I have wanted so many times to encase it in concrete, to sink my past into an ocean. The only ocean I find lately is the ocean of my conscience. This abysmal empty vastness I stare at everyday, I look down deep into it and wish it had a name like “heart”, a name like “soul”, but I can’t find it. I bury it with dusk brown soil and hope the aches of it subside. ¬†

I find silent days lately, they are filled with voices that tell me to push on. They say, “beauty will come” but I still see grey. When will the grey subside?

Perhaps I am old already. I have come to the great divide in which only talking to four blanket walls will cover me. Only those four white walls will give me peace again.

They call it institutionalized, and it seems to come and go like a wilted breeze on hot evenings. The evenings I can smell the cool air a breast on the wind, I can see it sauntering in with no real business being here. I suppose thats how my summers have always begun. Akwardly. With this mix of hot and cold, awaiting the madness of warm nights to begin again, like a numbing salve to take the winter aches away.