Blue on You

Pain is what I feel, this pain feels so fucking real. 

It yanks the drain stopper of my heart and embarrassingly, my feelings seep out 

onto the front of your shirt, 

shades of blue that could only be described as desperation. 

Bloody, Soul & Spirit

She walked the earth at a slant much like a willow tree sways in the wind. Wandered, rather, as she never found the rope ladder that hung from the stars in the distance. 

Each night she'd set off and head toward the moon, knapsack filled with the necessities for a new life. 

A life of nonsensical adventure in a subconscious reality. 

Here she would have meaning in the colors glimmering off her back. 

Here they had more than just names they had souls. 

And here, when she cried, her tears would heal the wounds, erase the scars, and fuse shut the holes of her being. 

She never knew what it felt like to be whole and here, in this unobtainable wonderland, she felt a speck of hope in the thought that someday she may actually know. 

And then, just as quickly as she arrived the rays of sun radiate through the belly of the horizon and morning sweeps her away back to a land of burning desires and worthlessness. 

Mistakenly, she lets her cries into the sores to mask the pain but here her tears have no power to mend the past. 

Legacy Is A Fallacy

She knew so few tangible aspects of his mysterious presence. Everything about him, about these soulful déjà vu like encounters, represented ultimate insanity, but she came to terms with that inevitable fact. She could feel a rush of blood dropping from the ceilings of her heart each time she yearned to be near him yet she was not too delusional as to think her love would ever, could possibly ever, be returned.

It was easy, so sweetly simple to wrap herself up in the warm quilt with patchwork stitched together by foolish beliefs and comforting day dreams. And in those dreams she never played the character of herself. Coincidentally, none of the characters in those dreams had faces that corresponded with names or names that corresponded with faces. There was no pairing of personality to physicality. It was in those dreams she escaped to her paradise where the world had no knowledge of anything other than bliss. Because one doesn't know that happiness until they have been stripped of their labels and learn to exist just to exist. 

Legacy is fallacy and religion is a crutch for the sheep following the unpaved path to righteousness. She chose neither, but rather to live in her head, where meaning true had no purpose and purpose truly had no meaning. 

Acidic Adventure

Acid dreams, ends to meet, we live in phosphorescent times,

Echoing voices down the hall, calling to me in dark, simple rhymes.

I see you in a blur of color which logic will sickly distort,

Dominance and desperation as your last resort. 

Melting and dripping, the hues shine to shatter at our feet, they cut,

Bleeding through colors of memories with everything but. 

A piece of what remains is missing and it's not your face that I'm kissing,

In need of greed, craving too much too soon, thinking and wishing. 

That the face I'm kissing was a faceless clue,

That all that is not obtainable includes you. 

Desperate Times

I hope I remain as easy to forget when it's really time to do so. Some of us make it in life, some of us don't make much, but are still perfectly content with that, and some us will always remain in a state of wandering—searching for the sole reason it all went to shit in the first place. I am most likely categorized under the latter of the aforementioned scenarios. What this means for me can only be measured in terms of bleakness and sheer desperation cloaked by bravado. 

All Wrong

You're all wrong for me and I know it. 

  I know that you're addiction for my touch is stronger. 

More manipulating than the hallucinations you craved. 

  You depended on H but now you look to me. 

When you look at me you salivate, anticipate. 

  Your softly rough touch, grazing my cheek, then grasping at my hair you pull. 

You pull me out of your trance and back on my rag doll feet. 

  It is both the pain and pleasure that radiate around. 

It radiates around the tragic blessing. 

  The paradoxical reminder of just how wrong you are for me. 

Of how it is yet could never be. 

Lessons of soul and what it means to be free. 

Initial Chemical Reactions

He approached me one day at my makeshift work closet and struck up a conversation. Yet I didn't give in no matter how deep the aqua in his eyes glimmered or how his stunning frame towered over me. 

As I left for home that night I thought of his golden curly locks brushing over those hypnotizing eyes. Parked on the seventh floor of the ramp I was in somewhat of a dizzy trance as I circled round and down, round and down. As I eased the car to the exit on the bottom floor absent-mindedly a  tall stepped in front of me to cross the lane to enter a parking lot almost empty in lieu of the time of night. 

And perhaps it was due to the time of night that my reaction was so delayed in registering another person appearing from nowhere, or so it seemed.