These Faded KeysOf all the keys I clickAs we speak each day,It's the back arrowThat's faded mostThese white lettersWould surely tell you,I reply to everything -But the key reading "enter"Will be the one to explainWhy it still looks newI want you to knowJust how much I care,But I don't want to be closeOut of the fear of losing youBut please remember:I dedicate these words to you,Sharing them to the worldRather than clicking awayAt the faded key ~
Memories in SilverSilver glimmersBetween my fingers,My brain contemplatingWhat action to take...Cut my skin,Release the pain?Addicted to a loop,As endless memoriesContinue existing?Could I slice awayAll haunts of the past?Let blood pour outAs proof, I've passed?Or shall I toss the blade,Treat it like a daggerAnd find my revenge?Perhaps, remain safe?Slam the dagger in,Against the walls around?Is there maybe a chanceI could take this blade,And ruin the homeI once called "Hell"?Silver, frightening beautyTwisting in my fingers,My brain contemplatingAmounts of anger built,Forever endless pain...
Broken, Beating Heart There were rhythmic thumps at her door. It wasn't quite the sound of knocking, but she knew there must be something there. She stood and walked to the front door, glancing through the peephole. There was nothing but the gaseous elements of air existing upon the concrete stairs. Still, the sound continued - not worsening, yet promising no end. Fear began in the bit of her stomach, and so she called up her ex-boyfriend. The only person she recently felt close to that still cared enough for her to drop anything and come to her door. Her cell rang into her ear for thirty-two seconds. Voicemail. She didn't bother to listen to his words before leaving her own. If only she knew the amount of regret she'd later feel. With no other idea left but to rely on herself, they glanced one more through the door. She opened just a creak - and the sound of thumping increased immediately. There was nothing within her field of vision that revealed anything. Her mind p
The Love of WritersWe are writers,Far from love -With one drop of inkFallen to the pageAt a single time,I'll wonderIf you everDo the sameAre we writers,Who define love?Do we both writeIn the hopesIt'll make the otherSmile?But then sit backAnd watchIn anonymousSilence...?I know we are writers,But what is that -To we, to us?We are still two,Our words don't alwaysFit together,Perhaps it's me,A writerWho has temporarilyLost her wayI am a writer,Who has a singleMuse~For now,I'm a lost writerOn the searchFor a new muse -But my old muse,My first muse -Another writerWho simply can'tLeave the backgroundTo my words
I'm Sorry,I'm sorry love,That I didn't give youThe wordsYou had neededI care, I promise -I may be a poet,But I'm not goodWith all words...I love you, friend,But what kind ofFriend am IIn return?I stayed speechless,Left you with a hug,And went homeTo write a poem
Surviving Hell Oh, darling - take my hand! Welcome to the new world, our home - your new home! First though, dear, take caution and careful where you stare. It's better if your gawking eyes glare at my own, than to the flames that shall blind you from ever seeing the look that warns you now. Oh and darling, don't listen to the dares when some others as they try and convince you to look up to the stars. Especially the serpent - he began it as his test. But those stars above, they'll put you in a little trance that you may know best as "comatose". Oh no, dear- don't walk away! Trust me, just take my hand and I'll promise that if only of us makes it through - it'll be you.
She Died Happy Hands are wrapped tight around my neck. A cold blade lightly travels along my veins as if to tell me that the path to my future is slowly narrowing. My blood pumps rapidly despite my careful breathing. I savior the idea that my blood can feel free, at least giving it the illusion that it's running away. But again, my thoughts and the red liquid of my body are brought to a shocking stop as pressure begins against the pulse of my neck. I felt the edges of my lips slide up towards the crinkles of my eyes as blitz of sharp pain shot through my body. Even if those hands were away from my neck, I'd still feel breathless. Within seconds, my mind was lost - dreaming of the unscarring cuts that will be leftover on my soon-to-be lifeless body. The reaction if in some future my grave were to be dug up, and the look that would become me were to be found. How would the mortician handle my mangled body? Would he or she leave it be, and keep the smile I shall soon die with?
I Never Told You,If I could see you,If I knew where to goMiles among miles away -I'd take your hand,Pull you in close -Hug you tightUntil you believe meWhen I tell youThat it'll be all rightBut you're gone, nowAnd all I can doIs a dream a fantasyThat I can still save youAnother nightStreaming tearsWhilst I imagineYou in my hold,Your face tearlessWith a smile so rareI don't knowWhere you are now,But wherever it isRememberWhat I never told you;I love you...