Tag Archives: lines

luna cielo

for there never was

and never will be

a finer vagrant soul

to poetically allude me

than the billows of notes

that fall from your shade

and the stars in your lips

to sing a thousand serenades

dear, if only i could compose

about all my woeful throes

in lights enchanting as yours

no word a wasted recourse

and the aesthete that lies

beneath restless amber eyes

will dream up a promise

for fallen eternity’s premise

where the universe spins

as relentless time should be

and no whispers of parallels

between the lines of you and me

i’m quite dizzy from the sun again

but i’ll close my hands, count to ten

and wait against such fragile hope

that you’re the sunrise to decode

so why do i weep, ever still?

in the midst of my bedroom floor

only bare remnants remain, until

a voice paints a distant nevermore

of faithless keep, an endless rue

tomorrow’s heart, nor i nor you

southern nights, quaint afterglow

the days pass on as we’ll quietly go

i may be weary, yet do not think

i’ll give up when i’m on the brink

let’s chase the wind, and we’ll ascend

to an everlasting paradise we can spend

for there never was and never will be

a finer valiant soul to poetically allure me

than the muse of the moon and billowing notes

that fall from your shade and the stars that you wrote.

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word vomit

And here we go again with all the things we said
And not a minute spent to think that we’d regret
So we just take it back, these words and hold our breath
Forget the things we swore we meant…

~*~

i keep wasting my words

on someone who doesn’t

give a single damn anymore

every profanity and melody

symbols and type bringing up

yet another detestable score

.

i keep wasting my words

on someone who doesn’t want

nor deserve it all anymore

and i keep running out of lines

choking on my dictionary

and still you asked me for more.

~*~

I’ll write you just to let you know that I’m alright
Can’t say I’m sad to see you go
Cause I’m not (no, I’m not), well, I’m not…

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The Art Of Oxygen

“And baby, honestly it’s harder breathing next to you, I shake.”

~*~

A million breaths were held in the company of hope

As the lack of oxygen is making the wind choke

Exhale now, I’ll pick up your pieces if you can pick mine

But don’t taste what you can’t have, don’t be asinine

All my worries are invisible like the writings on the wall

As I inhaled opalescent fog, I only found out about the catch as I fall

Between the lines of what you refuse to read, I’ll get what I need

I’ll learn to live without my lungs, I can’t afford the air that you breathe.

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The Smiling Man

And I just can’t look, it’s killing me and taking control
Jealousy, turning saints into the sea
Turning through sick lullabies, choking on your alibis
But it’s just the price I pay, destiny is calling me
Open up my eager eyes, ’cause I’m Mr. Brightside…

~*~

there’s a man with a distinctive smile

etched on his face; a sneer that was

chiseled in by a thousand contorted

facial muscles, until all the wrinkles

deepened and the fault lines became

permanent highways leading nowhere

.

but past his craggy visage; his crooked

nose, his ears that stuck out a bit, and his

eyebrows that arch high on his forehead,

only his eyes are in ever perpetual change

sometimes glinting blue, sometimes a dull

grey, sometimes electric green, sometimes

verdant brown, but never black nor white

.

and that smiling man—with the lips so thin

that one would wonder if they were drawn

on with a graphite pencil—sometimes when

time is at a standstill and the entire planet

ceases its rotation, his rugged countenance

smoothens out, his crooked nose straightens,

his ears lie flatter, his condescending brows

fall down a notch or two, and his eyes lose

their chromatic spectrum, flickering away…

and sometimes, if the universe feels truly

unlucky, they might just see him frown.

~*~

I’m coming out of my cage
And I’ve been doing just fine
Gotta gotta be down
Because I want it all
It started out with a kiss
How did it end up like this?

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meta; & skin (xxxii.)

i used to keep count

of the crimson lines

a bleeding notch for

each one of my sins

but now i lost track

of the number, both

arms exsanguinated,

and i ran out of skin.

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metal & skin (xiii.)

am i really that ready

to bleed out once more?

to have lines on my body

to continue keeping score?

am i really so ready again

to taste the love of a pain?

and if i find myself gasping

will that make it all remain?

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Scarlet Lines

Be relieved

That the marks on my skin

Is red ink from a pen;

And not

Train tracks of stitches, or

Wounds from a razor.

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