|Deviant Login||Shop||Join deviantART for FREE||Take the Tour|
NightmaresI know you, I walked with you
Once upon a dream…
Actually, it was a nightmare-
And I was running.
I sang a song of summer-I sang a song of summer
On the night we said goodbye;
Whistled loud to all the clouds,
I bottled up the sky-
And as we strayed into July
I dreamt of crystal June;
I stretched my dreams onto the seams
And sang a little tune.
When we crept through autumn, though,
I started having doubts:
I tried to rhyme but felt that time
Was stumbling about
Drunk on every winter hymn
That melted frosty air.
But warmth of spring began to sing
Of secrets everywhere-
So as we sang of season’s past
And said our soft goodbyes,
I unlatched the melted cap
And let go of our sky.
..I’ll lay on the ocean,
you hang from the sky-
and maybe we’ll finally
get our horizons to meet.
(I keep reaching, but you’re too far away)
Maybe the clouds will cry againYou felt alive
but you didn’t want to be.
Wish I could’ve helped,
But you’re too far away by now
to hear me
(the wind carries my words
in the opposite direction).
Surrounded by the sky,
I wonder how someone could be
and not even know it.
The clouds keep asking for you-
trying to connect the wisps of fog
into something that can hold us
(it never works without you-
we keep falling through).
There’s nothing left we can do
besides sit on broken skyscrapers
and try to fly away.
Please come back
and help us rebuild the world again.
We are nothing without you.
11.9I watched them burn today.
Watched as they screamed,
choking on smoke
at the same time.
It looked like hell itself
had stroked it’s fingers
across broken windows-
set flickers to the remains,
then blew gently
to spark it to a wildfire.
Some jumped, to save themselves
(guess a shattered body
is better than charred flesh).
Doubt I’d have the strength
to kill myself-
maybe having to feel
each of your nerves
consumed by flames is harder
but it’d be quicker.
I watched them burn today.
(thought it was their screams I keep hearing.
but I think they’re mine)
Your Broken GuitarYou played me like I was your broken guitar,
Fingertips strumming over
Fragmented strings, palms cupping
Around my neck.
You picked me up from the shadowed
Corner, swept off the dust,
And held me as if I was the most magnificent
Instrument you’d ever seen.
Your voice was off-key,
Your pitch, too high-
But even still,
You were the most beautiful thing
I’d ever heard.
Wish Silence Wasn't FadedHaven’t heard anything for a while.
Been sitting here
drumming ragged fingertips
across plastic arms
of straight-backed chairs-
silence is white and unforgiving.
Wish it were golden,
like everybody says;
seems like everybody lies these days.
It’s gotten pretty bitter in here-
gives rise to goose bumps
from all the blank walls
They’re here, but-
Doesn’t look too good, they say.
We have to move on, they say.
So they moved on.
That was a long while ago,
but memories don't care
just keep coming back til
Nothing feels right anymore.
The world doesn’t seem too special-
always said it was beautiful,
but nothing’s shining right now.
Wish God could make it golden again.
But maybe it never was to begin with.
Fooled me with your eyes-Fooled me with your eyes,
made me sink like the Titanic
with you as the glacier
imbedded into my side.
Hacked into my system,
fingertips sliding over
skin, pushing all
you broke my firewall, you know
-had to reconstruct it
with matches and
twigs; it’s quite pitiful.
Guess there just wasn’t enough
to keep you out-
for someone who’s colorblind
I’ve sure been seeing a lot of red.
1.They say you shouldn't drink with Death,
and yet I find myself pouring
another glass of amber liquid.
She's quiet, my companion;
doesn't talk much.
It's strange to see her in person
after hearing all the tales
and fables meant to scare
little children and to
put grown men in their places.
She's different than I expected--
lighter, not quite so hidden behind
a gray cloak or embedded in the shadows.
I ask her why she has graced me
with her presence, and she turns her
hooded head in my direction.
Long ivory fingers clutch the glass
and I notice her nails, like mine,
have been gnawed as far down as possible.
She doesn't answer my question--
not that I really thought she would.
The flickering candle between us
melts ever so slowly
as the small flame arches and twists.
It casts a glow on both our faces--
I am surprised to find that,
though not beautiful,
Death is far from the monstrosity
people have made her out to be.
I feel a sort of sympathy for her then.
What would it be like to never
anti-socialanti-social is the label
with a meaning misconstrued,
and wildly overused
here before you, here i am
the real anti-social
and, frankly, i don't give a damn
i'm the wildest form of atypical
in this strange society's eyes
but its norms are far from normal
when we're built on nothing but lies
i've disowned almost every relative
(save my mother) that isn't already dead
i've found an inner circle of friends
that are my "family" instead
my relationships build over several conversations
and upon two simple words: honesty and respect
abide by those words and you'll see my best,
but don't screw me over, because i give what i get
with the internet spiderwebbing around the globe
there's supposed to be human connection
i've searched for a reason to care,
but all that i've seen is dissention
there's nothing wrong with not following society
but i can admit i find it unusual, too
that when you don't care to be in my c
And There Was Lighti.
He was seventeen when he died.
I never went to the funeral
but I walked past it the day of
the service. His mother
was in the backseat of a blue Dodge,
door open, head in her hands.
"My baby," she kept repeating.
"My baby." It would go from sobbing, to
screaming, to a soft whisper that
I could only hear being carried
on the wind.
It was a Wednesday afternoon that they found
his old red pickup truck parked
out front of Slim's, two beer bottles in
the back and the windows cracked to let the stale
I heard that his dad told the police he was
gonna take that old truck and fix it up, because
he had promised his son before—
because it's always in the before—
And in the after, his mother never had dry eyes
and I'm pretty sure my mom told me
that she saw his dad at the bar every night,
drinking his sorrows down because some people can't
handle the stress.
Some people can't figure out why their son would
"Some men just want to w
I have a lot of fears.
You know the cliché,
Afraid of being alone,
Afraid of being forgotten,
But I’m already alone
And they can’t help but not forget you-
And everything in-between.
I feel like this doesn’t make sense.
But I’m afraid my paranoia,
Will seep through my eyelids,
As bands of streaking colors—
Every color that refuses to mix well.
Turquoise, brown green,
Burnt orange and lilac pink.
I’m afraid I’m in too deep
Of the waters of another human—
Not afraid of intimacy,
But the thought of being so open,
That honestly worries me.
And I’m afraid I’ll spiral out of control
And way too into love.
Just to be pushed out.
And I’m afraid I’m too paranoid
About being too paranoid.
So caught up with not being so,
I am too much.
I’m so afraid of a back stabbing,
That I’m worried about being shot
From the front. I’m afraid of being afraid,
Silent AngerLonging to scream like a prophesying Banshee
Stopping you in your tracks
Wanting to shout painful ire
Desiring to shake the world
Knocking you from your feet
A soul's death voicelessly foretold
By silenced and festering predecessors
United in frustrated agony
Pounding for release
Wanting to make my accusations
Testify to the truth
Release justified wrath
Instead the Banshee's cry
Joins the writhing mass
Silent anger, silent death
Never Know Itmy love is
it is muddy
my shell is
to hide the
will eat holes
in your skin
my pen will
brittle teeth.my dad always warned me that
things in life were very
fragile, and that i had to be careful
not to break them.
(he never told me how to not be
broken by all the
Keep in Touch!