Sundropssundropsonto skin thatshiversthe golden glowfallsinto everythingmeltsaway from the sunand the slivers of lightslide to earthas angelsto becomethe gods of love
22 Degree Halothe windowpanescold reflections of yourtoo-sharp morningsblankets, gracethrown downuntil they stare from the streetglasses, dregs dodgingyour tippy-toefeetdraw the curtains on the sunits lightleaching, reachingthroughto steal your haloat 22
Dirty Sheetsmy bed still smellsof hair andcigarettesstale-sweet alcoholand moisturizer onskinlike the smell ofheatagainst cold airwasnt enoughfor me to leave withouttakingpart of you with me
But if Shebut if shewhere there's none of her,carved paths in mindin mineremained hollowpassing, pastall but a greeting,those feelingthese unfamiliar,these underlying,communicatingfor her namemuch less, a facein memorywhere she might returnwhere I could only remainbut,if shehad made me stay
Tensionstrangerboy, youre allshouldersback pressed into the seatjaw linehardand straight anddisappears, surrounded byoneperfectlayercurves under to touchgracecovetyour throatstrangerwatch the show soI cant see yourfaceI want to know youlose this tensionon youchest tighter foreach way each strandfallsstrangerI want tocurl fingerscurlthem intoyour long redreal rednatural hair
Grandma's SandalsWith my eyes closed that little plastic circle is silver, and that nylon yellow shift, yeah. Thats gold.Theres nothing like it; youre not, that I know. Dressed up for pretend, ugly dirt-scrubbed toes curled over the end of grandmas sandals. Dead-persons clothes.Your tiaras cracked, a terrible sphincter opened were there was once a rosy pink jewel. Its there like its responsible for what youll grow to live; nothing but shit and the stench of pot. Its even there in daddys car, just a part of the fabric; its probably seeped right into your bones.The look of your hair, like maybe I hope child services will take you away. Filthy, sickening blonde, thin and lank and unclean; its how you say monsters stay, even if they bathe. As if youre posing as one of them, to prove to me they do exist, its there, I swear to you, look again. Please, just-One of your drawings is picked up by the wind and is tossed
FingersFingers lift to his mouth, cigarette caught by gentle lips and his eyes close for the seconds he wants to ignore. With the lights out, sunshine, red hot against his eyelids has left the room there anyway, the window, the table, the door. He still cant hear her breathe but feels her chest rise, her shoulders fall against his chest.Frightened, he drops his arm to the couch as if the seconds had become a moment stretched too long; he looks. Taps the crumbling ash into a glass before it falls and hurts her. Burns her.Lips pressed just slightly open by his thigh, her soft body follows. Ups and downs he lives to trace with hands, with eyes, with anything; hes caught wanting to wake her. Lifts fingers to his mouth.She shifts in her sleep; breasts no longer crushed together, her elbow slips off the cushion. Her hand hitting the carpet shocks her, and as she stretches it reaches blindly for his hair. Curls right in and pulls him to her, he abandons the cigarette in favour of thos
StrangersGive me a minute.They know itll be longer, but hes walking away, past the waxen grey expressions, the swollen black balloons. Hes silent beneath the eulogy, soft and distant words fashioned for strangers, falling on blind ears. He knows its all pretend because really, what is there to say? And even the too-light coffin, the box of mahogany and plastic, the bed of white velvet lining and the brass handles and opal inset design; even thats deception, empty and wasted. Itll rest deep below his feet soon, beside the corpse of a teenager and the yellowed bones of a disenchanted poet, unoccupied as it, too, returns to the earth.He little understands this hollow gesture, this lascivious ceremony, but knows its for the strangers. They cling to death, adore it, use it for all the human struggle it superficially adorns them with. Someones mother, lover, brother, friend. Death to them is commercial, a way to pretend to seem real. Real
Personal Reflexthe ripping formslong forgotten, longsince let goshe'sunprecedentedshe'slost all meaningjust a gaping partof past, hooklineand dormantwaits, impatientfor emergenceand becomesengulfing, meshes instinctual, itbecomes me
-In the endless tranquil forest,Hidden by the shadows beneath the leaves,I smile; at peace with the world,As your corpse smiles back at me...
A Chance?A Chance?If noone gives you a chance for a long time,then when you are finally given one,most of the times, you gonna fail.And you'll ask for a second one,but you don't deserve it,because out there there are many like youstill awaiting the first one.Do You?Don't Ask For A Chance, Demand What You Need.
The End of the WorldI didn't prepare for the end of the world.I somehow thought that we, reclusive in a hardened bubble-shell, would survive it.I didn't brace for impact, I didn't even consider it happening to us. Why would I?I didn't prepare rations, bedding or bunkers.It didn't occur to me to imagine a post-apocalyptic world in which our love wasn't enough.I didn't see it coming. It destroyed me nonetheless.The end of the world doesn't care for your readiness.
Finding HappinessShe's burning up like a suicide noteAnd upon it's legacy linesScribed in crimson inkIs all her little curios of happiness.Before misery waddled up,Knocked over her correction fluid;Erasing all her joy in a blink.There's a tape recorder by her sideSkipping a death tone melody;The silence she hides inside.Should she stop.And rewind?Wipe her days of self-pity and hateUntil she can record a new songUpbeat to a happy tune of fate.By her crumpled flat dress,Glares wild, her knife and her pills,Though the sight macabreOnly sets her heart ablaze to chills.Serrated metal to barcode inA reminder of all her undying painAnd the dark she kisses within.Numb, she knocks back medicine,Her bus stop on the highway of life.Faltering she drops lipstick blade andTo an honest mirror she turns...What ever happened toThe smiling girl?What ever happened toHer innocent future?Tears fade to a calm stareWhich unravels a soulful grin;A u-shape of acceptanceTo new challenges she mus
lines for rae armantroutFor instance, an old oak grovedisassembled.And to you, Rae, because what appearslike campfiresis always the cosmic cascading bodies,torched and tumbling,and someone screaming evacuate-meaning rebuild, re-haunt.***Reading about the experiment,it became evident-the traffic of moans,crowds of shadows standingin the peripheral,a sense of expectation and dread.This is how death comes in poems:The last campfire in the distance goes dark.
AnimusIf I couldI would vomit my soulAnd let it chain itselfTo my speech Like a parasite.I would let it Become my puppet master,And let it sway my armsIn directionsI never thoughtI would.Instead, I've kept my soulTrapped in a cageAnd watched itTry to biteIt's way to freedom.
Mia Efkeria?Μια Ευκαιρία;Αν κανείς δε σου δίνει μια ευκαιρία για πολύ καιρό,τότε όταν τελικά κάποιος σου δώσει μία,το πιο πιθανό είναι να αποτύχεις.Και θα ζητήσεις μια δεύτερη ευκαιρία,αλλά δεν την αξίζεις,
ForeverYou asked mehow far I would gofor you but you never tookinto considerationthat the earth is round soI’ll end uprepeating myself.
-the stars shineso brightlyin those brown eyes(they're terribly empty, aren't they?)and i knowthat every dayis a struggle(i'm sorry i can't help you)because youhave been sob r o k e n(and no matter what i do, nothing can fix you)but the emptinessin those eyesseems to fade(and life flickers in those brown hues)so i'll climbevery mountain topfor you(just so you can see all the stars in the universe)
Wingswe're well enoughto stand aloneholding ownpast the coldwe're alivetogether wholestitched up soulwings spreadwe're goneinto nightleaving lighthold onwe're bledrun drytime to flyangel mine