Tag Archives: masterpiece

phantom boy

don’t you go,

phantom boy

i’m still not done

painting your portrait

to hang in my walls

long after the house rots,

long after i’ve passed away.

they said to let you go

for you’ve already found

your bluest heaven

where you can sleep with

fleecy floral angels,

but i don’t think i could

let you go that easily.

i want to capture you,

your ethereal silhouettes,

your faded outlines,

your scars and scepticisms,

your details and blurs,

and your coalescing heart.

because i still have mine,

phantom boy

and it beats angrily—

refusing to let me rest

until every colour, linework,

and careful brushstroke

is immaculate and

tastes tangibly of you.

i know you wish to leave soon,

phantom boy…

but won’t you please stay

and spare me just

one last masterpiece?

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Pretty Little Thing

Right before you fly you fix the broken wings of
Everything that carries you forward now
Patching up the holes remaining in your word now
I start to question what is real or not, pick apart my every thought
Dig in to a dark place, bury the thought of your face…

~*~

A wish to avoid a blatant lie

To a spine with broken bones

Waiting for retaliation in the

Shape of a forsaken home

.

As mirrors began to whisper

About the drama that unfolded

It all tasted like high tension

Keeping her weak wings faded

.

Fingers forward, burying blame

Twitching petals, her lavish name

Draped in linen, maiden serenity

Masquerading a sorrowful calamity

.

Of an oil painting melting away

In the warmth of this winter fire

Lost palettes ebbing and arching

An abandoned masterpiece dire

.

Grim faces arrested in quiet disgust

As snow fell and tainted mordant black

Onto the pallbearers dressed in drab

Carrying away an eternal chill in her heart.

~*~
Pretty little thing, you know the way to make me weak
But I’ll stand on my own feet
Shame on you for hitting where it most hurts
Shame on me for listening
Pretty little thing, I think you better turn away
My attention is ending…

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A Note To Send In The Sun

It’s hard to be living, you gotta play the cards you were given
You think it’s simple but it goddamn isn’t
It’s tougher now than breaking out of Shawshank prison
And as you’re hitting your prime
People say you been committing a crime
But I won’t quit till I’m home
I’ll chip the limestone a bit at a time…

~*~

I’m rigid and frigid, yet bespoke

Speaking of sharp tongues that limit

Themselves to asking “what is it?”

As the audience applauds the cynics

And sits in mentalities of finick

Spin it, another losing tale to uphold

The tongues of silver and hearts of gold

If my failed memory was distantly bold

Then why is the thought of you so cold?

Sold, the paintings I hid in the cellar

Buying my heart for a million dollars

Clashing in shades of blue and white collars

Eyes that could never appreciate the colours

Call her, the girl with piercings in her skin

And her tattoos that tally her sin from within

To keep the demons from gladly releasing medicine

She was injecting just so she could stay breathing

Was she so wrong to want to continue living?

And if living is a vice, then I don’t have to play nice

And keep on hanging to surprise just so I could receive their lies

For this world is not a masterpiece of peace waiting patiently on the shelf

Rather, it’s an empty canvas depicting ruin for the better

An accurate self-portrait of oneself.

~*~

Shit in storage, living from a suitcase
Thinking “this is how a silver spoon tastes?”
Cause you can make a dream possible
But it’ll never be easy, no matter what you chase…

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☆ you’re ★

♫•*¨*•.¸¸♪

a masterpiece painting

hanging on the halls of

louvre

critics dissect you with

every brush stroke and

colour

they point at you and

line up to buy souvenir

keychains

yet none of the aesthete

you’ve captured within

remains

you’re a lonely painting

dusty on the dark louvre

halls

another forgotten beauty

left to fade on the dimmed

walls.

♫•*¨*•.¸¸♪

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Filed under Poetry, Southern Constellations