my betrayal leaves me indecisive

my betrayal leaves me indesicive
once wrapped in kisses, I let you go
if I had known the taste of his lips
never would my curiosity be for yours

I now seek the comfort of happiness,
which he is willing to give,
as you no longer carry my thoughts-
and only my fault this becomes

darling, so sorry.

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even in the silence of the wilderness; thrive

unrely on ignorant accusations,

for only they color poisonous thoughts with blissful fantasies and grand delusions

[stroked with delicate precision of ink tainted with heartaches blood]

marked unfit for those thriving nakedly under the truthful sun

 

and

deception, which can feed never on the freedom,

of those sincere in seeking all which cannot fade,

will touch you if you let it

 

 

even in the silence of the wilderness; thrive

after all, what we do is fall down

i tether knots around the cosmos,

in the deepest corners, beneath the crevasses of the smallest suns,

in the vast supernovae beaming with glory

still every and each fashionable hope i tenderly laced between the threads of time

instantly disintegrates into shards of realization; sharp-the acid is

my drug

 

my fingers cannot tell the time

neither can the cosmos ponder childish hopes

fall is down what do we all after

 

“For small creatures such as we the vastness is bearable only through love.”-Carl Sagan

the foreverness of pavement

i saw a snail marching across the driest pavement

staring was all i could help but do

lost, i became, in the grace with which it left behind

a trail of iridescence

 

my presence neither feared nor hurried his march

for he knew only, not the end of the pavement

 

 

comfort, he finds in death; none but a machine finds pleasure in the foreverness of pavement.

the black velvet bow of time

i found within myself the crevices and reality

feeding swollen veins with unrequited heartache,

embracing the comfort held beneath the dull photographs [i call home]

ticking hands pounded violently between my saddened ears

branding each page of recollection with staggered syllables

tugging and prodding at the deception masked within your name

 

the memories became tangible and frail, i stood at a distance

visiting every instance of unpromise’s rapturous kiss

and watched as his hands united the black velvet bow

the crevices swallowed the loss of heartache’s scars

and plucked the crumbs of a poisoned lover’s foolish mess

 

but,

i cannot bask beneath the rays of instances and photographs

for shadows mask the quiet wings of crevices and letting go

instead, i nestle in the arms of loneliness

finding forever in a day

 

“Writing, at its best, is a lonely life. Organizations for writers palliate the writer’s loneliness, but I doubt if they improve his writing. He grows in public stature as he sheds his loneliness and often his work deteriorates. For he does his work alone and if he is a good enough writer he must face eternity, or the lack of it, each day.” -Ernest Hemingway

march holds no diary for shadows

she stepped amongst the greenest blades

sun pounding on her youthful skin, eyes closed,

finding grace in the warmth which embraces heavy hearts

love

the sun brings healing to those who seek life, expelling diamond beads of anguish

gravity softly weighs down and they tumble gently off her forehead

crashing into the grassy forest below, comforting aching bones

march holds no diary for the shadow cast to those who stand tall

Freedom found within a crowded room.

Freedom.

my lil sis

And the greatest of all fears stems from the battle we wage upon ourselves.  Exposing oneself to complete vulnerability allows us to examine the naked truths and mold vain deceptions into what defines us – allowing us to see the exquisite beauty found beneath every imperfection.  Conquering one’s self mirrors impossibility and stands as the most cunning fabrication, a lie which leads to the greatest of all torments: The prison we’ve created beneath our flesh.

All false judgment and negativity leave no stain on the soul of freedoms victories.

For a man to conquer himself is the first and nobelist of all victories.” -Plato

the necessity for madness

thistle amongst laughter mutters quiet gestures of midnight

for ignorant smiles, threaded youthfully with ruby blossoms,

delicately masked all deception and carefully charted

every weakness woven through petals previously lost within the storm

 

dizzy from each morsel of unmarked truth and bruised door,

found only in the vacant subtleties of chaotic cedar chests

is the necessity for madness which once comforted white bliss

only to discern distant mutterings of ahead convincing behind he’s too far gone

 

all that is left rests between calloused thistles and sheltered laughter

 

“I live in that solitude which is painful in youth, but delicious in the years of maturity.”

-Albert Einstein

basking in the truth of roses

concentrating on the sidewalks rushing beneath my feet

i watched as the static doused my reality with turpentine

as if the clouds suddenly burst into fragrant fumes of loss

stinging each desperate breath, i swallowed hard,

hoping that the bitterness would devour any pain

releasing all regrets of what could have been

 

anchoring myself to the depths of the forgotten abyss

ceasing all chance at happiness and hopes of ahead

 

i found the roses carved between the cracks

[oh how the crimson branded tired grey eyes]

standing in between the sidewalks

i sunk into the sea of the hardest truths

tugging for the pavement – seemingly too tall to grasp

 

[give

in or

give up]

 

i melted within the waves of the crimson sea

and each soured drop of truth blanketed my simple soul

diverting the sidewalk into freedom

 

i cannot laugh, for clocks have not yet faded

nor can i bathe in the unknown,

in fear of unmarked pages wearing thin

instead i ponder crimson roses

finding beauty in their thorns

 

basking in the truth of roses

 

“It is far better to grasp the universe as it really is than to persist in delusion, however satisfying and reassuring.” – Dr. Carl Sagan