I cared all at once- which is why I don’t care at all now.
Because I work in extremes, and they are extremely unforgiving.
Words are just the weight of the world,
And in some cases,
the weight of the case.
It’s never the good people that tell themselves they are good people.
It’s never the bad people who tell themselves they are bad people.
Find someone to love your curves, because edges are for those who want to be cut.
Sometimes we spend so much time healing other people’s wounds, that we don’t realize that we are the one who’s bleeding.
I’m not really sure why I write anymore. It’s not because I feel something. It’s not because I want to. It’s not because I long for someone. And it’s not because I need them. I suppose it’s because the emptiness that I have felt for so long, has finally been lulled to sleep by the one I always want. The one I always need. I don’t write because the reason I always have has been erased from me, I write because I have finally found it.
Black was the color of ink used to dance across the cover of the book. Black was the emotion that crept its way into the house, crawling into our hearts and shattering conversation. Black was the sound of her screams as she was craving the poison cup. Black was the color of the night sky as two warm bodies begged for her to go back inside. Black was the thoughts of the baby screaming for comfort. Black was the image of two shillouettes coming to help. Black was the taste of sweat and salty tears stinging every action. Tonight was dark. Tonight was black.
Isn't it sad that we only speak of the good things after people pass away, when in reality, saying those things could have kept them alive.
In a world where "love" is filled with forevers that turn into Nevers and smiles turn into scowls, I will hold your hand on my heart and cry because forever means nothing when you have eternity in the palm of your hands
In a world where "love" is filled with forevers that turn into Nevers and smiles that turn into scowls, "I cannot wait to spend forever with you", I say with a smile and a kiss enduced with poison.
Your eyes were the color of the ocean. The ocean when it had a little too much to drink and swollowed a piece of the sky with it, and decided to keep it there, the everlasting pit of nothing right in it's center to glorify the Atlantic tides that swirl around it. The ocean got a little too tipsy last night as the night sunk deeper into it's center and engulfed the stars that surround it. I was standing on the shore when it all began. The tides were sweeping themselves in and out as I started talking to you and soon enough the ocean broke free and the tsunami hit the atmosphere and the water broke loose around the crest of the tide and spilled out toward whatever was beyond the oceanfront. The...
The worst kinds of nights are the ones where you are no longer afraid of the monsters under your bed, because you know whatever lives under there is much more comforting than whatever is in your head.
The truth is, that we are both a little broken; like a set of broken plates that have been taped together too many times to count.
Never will we ever have the ability to live without scars on our hearts from previous falls and breaks. Never will we ever see the world without the cracks in the sidewalks. Having to face the fact that we will never be brand new or perfect again.
But imperfect is all I need. Imperfect is perfect for us.
He was a serpent. Filling me with mock trust and morphing me into a lifeless being as soon as I was too far in the enrapturement to escape.
I hate reminding myself of these pains but I know it is my story to tell now to all of those who are finding themselves lifeless in the grasp of a lover who never asked for anything more than a warm body to treat like a cold body in the sheets.
He is all the simple things in life.
He is early morning smiles and Saturday cartoons. He is rain pattering on the roof and living room forts. He is hopscotch on a summer day or the smell of fresh cut grass in the spring. He is "party until I can't feel my face" and "cry until you have nothing left inside". He is the "don't forget to tuck me in" and kisses goodnight. He is whispers of "I love you" and tears of "I promise I will never let go". He is all the simple things in life.
And all the simple things are in him.
"If you love me, you would cut yourself to prove you would bleed for me"...
And without hesitation I cut my arm.
"If you loved me.. you would break your leg to prove you would fall for me",
and without hesitation I broke it.
"If you loved me... You would rip your own heart out to prove you would die for me",
and without hesitation I lie on the cold ground with blood pouring out of my body to prove to a man that I would die for him...
While he sits in his luxuries to prove that he would never raise a finger for me.
Some people are so caught up in chasing the past
That they have no idea what they will do with it as soon as they have caught it.
She told him stories of how she longed for the ocean. The brisk waves, the laughter, the sun. He told her stories of how he longed for the mountains. The pines, the wind, the sunrise. They told each other stories of how they longed for a future. Children, a home, a lifetime. Which is why... every night when they lay their heads down to drift to sleep, their souls would tip toe their way out of the mind and start an adventure recreating the stories of the beaches, mountains and futures to come. Together. And she would stare out at those wonders with a glimmer in her eye because she knew, he knew, they knew that this was meant for them. And every single night his soul whispers to hers "someday...
He became more than just a craving, when I wanted something sweet. He was no longer the morning coffee that I needed as a pick-me-up, because with that morning coffee I fell deeper in love with every single sip... Drink... Gulp of his love and passion. He was now my addiction running through my veins making the world appear as him and only him, covered in his colors he wore and fregranced in his cologne. He was now my morning gas station run, coffee break, and bedtime soother. He was my addiction and with every sip... Drink... Gulp... I just keep reminding myself why I never quit.
Isn't it sad that I have been hurt so many times, that now I just expect it? No matter how many times he tells me he is going to stay, I always catch myself reminding my heart that one day he will go. One day he won't be mine. And I have learned to be okay with that.
Except this time.
My true love.
And no one can stop me from loving him.
I look at him and see those eyes. Those illuminating baby blue eyes that just wrap themselves around the pupil like an ocean wave hitting a wall. Those beautiful sunlit eyes have indulged in so many wonders, miracles, beauties, life forms and beginnings that it is kind of a wonder as to why he would still look at me with any care. He looks at me with those icy blue eyes and they hit my heart with a spell of love that I can't help but to appreciate and bask myself in as he stares. In a world of so many miraculous things, he treated me as so much more than just another coincidence. He took those summer sunbathed eyes and looked right into my earthy, hazelnut glazed stare and he and I both just ...
I closed my eyes.
The whole Earth was hurtling itself into Oblivion and I could do nothing to stop it. I feel the conception of tears behind my eyelids and at that point I knew this was it. This is my final chapter.
My eyes opened.
And as my chocolate irises dialated like stars in the sky for the last time, all I could think of was you. You were the only one that ever treated me like something other than a final hello and a captivating goodbye.
I looked at my scars and I thought that was the end of my story.
I looked at the blade and I wanted it to be the end if my story.
I looked at him and I needed it to be the end of my story.
I look at now, and I am living my happily ever after.
"I don't even know what happiness is anymore." She said with sorrow in her eyes.
"And maybe no one does", he whispered holding her face, "So then when we do feel happy for the first time... We know that it doesn't feel like anything we have felt before. We know it's real. And I only know that because I have found my happiness in you."
What if you could place your self in my mind? What would you want to do first? Taking the roads down depression are fun or possibly drawing yourself closer to the main attraction of lonilness and anxiety. We all have our inner thoughts and rooms we dare not open, but would you just want to take a peak in the room that says "do not disturb", to shake and set the creatures loose in my mind to watch me suffer and shriek with warcries of loss? Would you be the one to reset the grandfather clock in the master hall upstairs to chime on 12 every two minutes just to set an uproar from my emotions? Anxiety clawing the door, depression eating it's own heart out, and loneliness staring out shattered win...
The clock in my heart keeps a steady pendulum swing as I stare at the blank piece of paper haunting me. I sit and ponder the emptiness and the void that dwells within me... all haunted by demons and crawling with centipedes that worm their way into my heart and thought process. I often think of these things- like how everything wrong feels oh so right and everything right never seems to fit into place. I never feel certain about anything anymore, which is the right or the wrong path, who is good or who is bad, what is beneficial or what is toxic... and quite frankly I don't care anymore whether or not the toxicity gains control over my limbs and mind, resulting in a lifeless life. well... I d...
I've lost myself in a field of emotion.
Every petal of ecstasy.
Every thorn of despondency.
The radiating heat of the heart wraps the scene in warmth.
I've lost myself in a field of emotion.
Every gust of disappointment.
Every flutter of elation.
The imperfect beauty of the earth swallows the hills whole.
I've lost myself in a field of emotion.
And I don't know where I am.
Games, laughter, and smiles on Sunday.
A casket, flowers, and speeches on Monday.
A cut, a yelp
A need, for help.
A blade, a tear
Goodbye to fear.
A prayer, a cry
"Please God, I tried".
A need, all pain
Can wash, away.
A person, a blessing
A heart, progressing.
A book, a prayer
A man, who's there.
A dance, embrace
No time, nor space
This story, this friend
Refuse to end.
Well. Welcome to the unexpected future of 2018 where "death" is the most feared and also the most comforting word in the English-language. I find it funny that I can stare at a page with 1,000,000 thoughts of what death is... But none of them suit the connotation that Americans address it with. Death is the most dignified and terrifying visitor at the banquet that everyone fears but feels obligated to make friends with. We all force a smile like we have fishhooks in the corner of our mouths in order to become closer, but not too close. Friendly, not mates. Kind, but not sensitive. Around death we gain a sense for the strong aroma of comfortable uncomfortableness so we have nothing to fear whe...