Burning Walls

She watched the house burn. Walls to ashes. She sat inside it and took in a fire a she never started. This is not suicide. This is murder. She didn’t leave because she was chained to perception and respect. She didn’t leave because she was weighed down by guilt. The world stood at the window and blamed the dying girl for what you did. Their words were gasoline and this was a thirsty fire. These walls didn’t cave in, they crashed down with all their might. She lay in the rabble knowing that nobody was coming to save her. She lay in the shutters knowing her sadness would enslave her. Fire die but spirits don’t. During  the loneliest of times, a hero came to her aid. A  hand struggled through the mess to pull her out. It had a tight grip but a gentle touch. Slowly, it rescued her from her demise. She opened her eyes to see her hero. She opened her eyes as smoke and dust settled  and  saw her reflection.


The Way You Love

You remain stable man.
Unfazed and unchanged man.
Loved by a crazy girl.
You love a crazy girl.
You loved the girl like crazy.
Love made the girl crazy.
Explain why
Something so common
So plain
Can drive love insane?
Explain why
Is not plain
Nor is it sane?
It’s as complicated as the lovers.
Does that phase you man?
Does that change you man?
Change you
Like your lover
Save your lover from insanity;
You do like the change
The strange
The deranged
Change that turns lover
To strangers.
It’s the way you love.
Is that how you love?
Is that love?
It’s only as complicated as the lovers.
This love was easy.
Easy as falling.
Falling in and out of it.
It is love.
It is your mind.
It’s her heart.
It is the way you love.
This was the stable man.
The unfazed man.
The unchanged man.
The man who was uncomplicated as his lover.


It was the worst of times.
Only because they were so fleeting.

Sunshine bursts throughout the room as rains raged on the outside.

Never had we danced so gaily,
Laughed so whimsically.
Sang so freely.

Satin gowns stained with beautiful memories.
Photographed in time;
Framed in our minds.

Life has a shortage of such bliss and beauty
We didn’t know that.

We drowned in euphoria and died to ourselves.

Grace and Gratitude.
Love and Music

Empathy glowed brightest in this light

Let it shine on.
Let it shine within.

Nostalgic Melancholy

Trying to unimagine what the end of all this will be. Trying to forget what I thought this would feel like. Trying to accept the now. All that’s left inside me is melancholy. As long as I wrap it in nostalgia, it’s not so bad. Looking back is easy. You see what you want to see and it will always be true. You see what you want to see and break of parts of you. Looking back I see light. Looking back is see darkness. I focus on what makes this moment easier. I focus on what makes looking back harder. I focus on not focusing on the past. This is why I prepackage all my nostalgia in melancholy. It keeps me mindful of the bitter taste of home sweet home. Going back is too easy because I know what I’m going back to. Going back too hard because I know what I’m going back to. I could go full circle and see what the world has for me. Be it love and light; Be it sorrow and death. I could go back and let the four walls that protect me, crash me. Nostalgia presented by melancholy makes this an easy choice.

Living vs. Loving

Crystal eyes
Gaze into each other.
Looking into new universe.
They see a heart
They see hurt
They see walls
Where it’s all fallen
Where emotions lie.
Feelings never lie.
Both hearts hold this;
All hearts know this.
Imagine love without it
Consider life without love.
They were living
Not loving
Loving felt like dying
They were too weak to let go
Too weak to fall again
Love had fallen upon them
Pain didn’t let them feel it.
They saw it
Neither was brave enough
To admit it
To confess
To break walls.
They can only hold on
Long enough
To choose between
Living and Hurting
Or Loving and Crashing

How I Feel About Mondays

I’ve never really liked Mondays. Something about them was always just wrapped in lies. On Sunday I was forgiven for Saturdays sins and Fridays tribulations. Thursday was filled with nothing but pain because on Wednesday I did nothing but hurt. Tuesday had a sinking feeling that transitioned me into the weeks reality and faded me out of Mondays numbness. I must confess, I don’t really hate Mondays; I just hate the lies. They always promised me it was over but Tuesday swore it was not. You close your eyes and pray that the gods would have mercy and let you skip a few days but it’s already Wednesday morning and now I am too far in to begin seeking salivation. Days pass with a hurricane sensation. They destroy everything that once was and never leave a sign of what will be. It doesn’t matter what I feel about Mondays, because it’s already Sunday night.

Rainy Day Lovers

Rainy days and warm hearts collide to create  last night’s memories. Chills race through lovers spines freezing time enough for walls to crumble. Silence rages to the rhythm of heartbeats. That’s not how it happened, but it is how they remember it. They’ll swear that moon shone just for them in the center of a clear sky as the stars declared the true essence of their love to throughout the heavens. That’s not how it happened, but it is how they’ll always remember it. They were never the type to kiss in the rain because they found it hard to combine love and pain. The city began to flood but neither of them could feel it. This was the worst night for love but the best night for lovers. Both could see it but neither wanted to reveal it. The rains would begin to subside and the floods would flow away. They’d both open their eyes and realize they were both alone. They’d both wish they had never left. They’d both wish they’d made the other stay. As the sun rises on a new day, they’d both know it was far too late.

Poverty in Poetry

Poverty in poetry.
My poor mind. My poor heart.
Spilling bloody ink on paper.
Poems are merely songs with no music.
Imagine that;
Even after all these years
Beating and beating

The rhythm of my heart
Can’t make music.

Soulless sounds.
Solo and sound.

Poverty in poetry.
My poor prayers. My poor dreams.
I cashed them in
For peace.
Sent them away
Into the universe
So I can get some sleep.
Dreamer child awaken!
All dreams are valid.
Dreamer child wake up!

Poverty in poetry.
My poor self. My poor lover.
Imagine the beauty
After the war;
The stars
Once the clouds clear.
Smoke is settling.
At last, clarity.

Poverty in poetry.
My poor friend. Poor me.
I wrote everything I’m worth.
I write what I have.
This is all I have
A writing hand
An unwritten mind
Read it in and out of love.
Read it and remember.
Sing it and deliver.

Walls and Distance

Take a breath.
Soak in the distance.
Time runs out
Flames burn out.

Disguise the walls.
Paint them a new colour.

Bound by forgiveness.
United by history.
Bound but not together
The new taste of forever

Build the walls higher
Build them stronger.

Imagine me forgiving you.
Remember me hating you.
Let the bitterness fade.
Brighten the love.

Adore the walls
This time they won’t crash

Watch the new turn old
Old has always been gold.
But somehow,
The new always outshines the old.

Seek freedom
Leave these walls behind

Let’s untie our unity.
Break our bond
Everything can fade to nothing.
That should mean something.

Together we built the walls.
You burnt all the bridges.

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