Gray Area
muted hues dance like shadows through watercolor sunshine father, father where have you gone I've abandoned my grace fallen from faith I am an angel who's forgotten her wings
SpilledInkByRJay: Box Chevy
I started in a box corolla
Then I got the new edition
It’s rhythm blues through the competition like a new edition
Not talking music
Can make that car rev up but only if you push it
Push it push it real good
Keep the whip clean but at the same time good
Most of you started with a box Chevy…
Shades of My Insanity
rescue myself
from this lethargic state
muted
I am comatose
in the lucid inflections
of hallucinations
the weight did nothing
to suppress
I’m still in flight
chasing the shadows of a child
in pink hues
It’s merely admiration
it’s solely a flow of reverence.
The way your fingertips touch my skin when your words are exposed on paper, inkling whispers and velvet caresses.
Stay awhile old sport, while I light a candle so we can breathe in hours of the moonlight sheen.
Oh, the conversations we’ll have, somewhere between absorbing interest and the heart of a romantic. A cornucopia that lives deep within our lungs on a full eloquent rhythmical night.
a junction of death and our art, dancing to tiny beats of time.
i don’t know if this is poetry or loneliness
i’ve come to the conclusion
that it’s better
for someone like me
to be alone.
so that when the nights are hard
and the razors come out,
the only one i’m hurting,
the only one i’m disappointing,
is myself.
And inside your hand entwined
with mine fluttered a baby bird
who would fly to the sun forgetting,
forgiving of fear
into the face of his own final words
if only to stop himself
from hitting the ground alone,
would go after the stars as if
they were merely scattered seeds although
he knows they all were dead long before
he ever started this journey.
His wings do not falter but beat ever faster
syncopated with our hearts as they hurtle towards
the only certainty of life; that is, the end.
So we may as well lift our feet, I think
from the gravel paths we find ourselves treading
and run to the forests and oceans and try
to jump across blazing fires and promise we will fly
holding this baby bird between our palms
the whole time.
5/19/13
the little things
glow softly
like coals
and keep
me warm.to kiss you
for no reason
other than the fact
that I love you andto cook with you,
to eat with you,
to lie down and
sleep with you—another ember
in the ashes,
these quiet things
that burn slow
but so warm in the
corners of your heart.these are the things
that keep the fire burning
through even the coldest nights.
(via sinandserotonin)
if i could
(oh if i could)
i’d swallow your sadness
to take to my grave
and rid you
of the sadness
that plagues you every
waking momentif i could
(oh i could)
i’d take all of your
pain and all of
your dreadful sorrows
and secrets that weigh
you down
to toss into the seaif i could
(oh if i could)
i’d rid you of
anything that
fails to make you
smile
so you’d never have
a day
quite like this
again
if i could
(oh if i could)
i would
05/20/13. (via anatskatic)
(via writing-at-midnight)
Source: anatskatic
Words: I’m looking at youRight as I writeAs tears drop from my eyesAll I ask...
I’m looking at you
Right as I write
As tears drop from my eyes
All I ask is for you to be alright
I know you’re not ready
To rise up in the sky
You are strong and not even scared
While I continuously sit with a worried mind
You are so strong
I wish to be as strong as you one day
So even during…
(via writing-at-midnight)
Source: stutteringwords
lines from liars: cheer up, lovely flower.
you are so kind,
generous, compassionate
and insightful.
i know it can be hard
to push through
preconceptions of yourself,
especially when they were supported
by someone you loved
so very much.
you are not lazy,
bossy, difficult
or pathetic;
you are not the way
he made you hate…
(via writing-at-midnight)
Source: writingforthesakeofit
What fire must I
walk through
for you
what violence must
I commit
to keep you
whose blood will
be on my hands
yours or
mine?
Don’t Believe
When I awakened today our house was empty
you were gone, left without a note or warning
thought about crying for but a moment or two
started drinking early and cussing the morning
No need to worry for me, I’ll be fine on my own
and I don’t even mind you never said goodbye
don’t believe for even one moment I’ll miss you
but don’t believe for an instant my heart won’t lie
(via aquietjoy)
Source: mikefrawley
She wanted That Love
She wanted that love that leaves smudges of her fingertips all over her Lover.
She demanded love that felt like the moon when it was time to walk in the dark.
That love that makes being held feel like coming home after wandering out in the cold.
She said that when she lays down next to me she needed to feel love that erases her fear of death.
She wants to feel that love that isn’t like that love that had her feeling like her body was the graveyard where thousands came to mourn their lost loves.
That love that makes you place your heart on a dusty table knowing that it will leave you powerless.
She wanted love that would carry her. Love that knew that the marks on her back are where her wings once were.
She cried out for love that would make up for that every other weekend love she knows so well.
That love that makes you cry because your head throbs with nostalgia.
She asked for that love that knew she was dangerous and frightening but never asked her to apologise for it.
She needed that love that hears her crying at night and offers to wipe the pain away with her holy tears.
That love that would sit with her in silence as she counted all the scars and wounds on her body.
She needed that love that would tell her that she should not resemble loneliness.
She wanted love that would make every kiss feel like tiny little steps to heaven.
That love that would remind her that she needs to love herself.
The men who once visited
My mother and her sisters
often have conversations
about the men who once visited.
The bloodthirsty women gather around a fire
that reminds them of these men
and inhale thick smoke
that smells like the death they carry around.
They often whisper
that the men who once visited
felt like the ghosts of all good things
that must come to an end.
One of the sisters says
that she remembers being lost
in the tall, cold shadows
of the the men who once visited.
Another sister begins screaming
as she recalls being cut open
and left to bleed out on the kitchen floor
when the men who once visited
stole everything she owned.
My mother and her sisters
only have conversations
about the men who once visited
when there is a full moon
so that they can howl as the memories
begin drowning them.
Some of the men who once visited
came only
to leave their spiritless bodies behind
to be loved by women who were taught
not to ask any questions.
The secluded sisters
allow their wounds to fester in silence
as they realise that
most of the men who once visited
are the same men they once buried.
The road isn’t always paved,
and sometimes it can be so easy
to veer from a cliff, but that
doesn’t mean that you shouldn’t
press on, it only means
that you should take a breath
before you step on the gas.
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