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Getting Back to Never NeverlandI can feel the warmth lick my skin
Little balls of sunlight caught in my eyelashes
The smell is sweet and stale as time
Leaves skitter like insects across the dry pavement;
The sun sinks ‘neath the horizon.
A beaming moon chases it west and out of sight
The old man smiles his toothless grin
And stars like his laugh echo in the blackened sky
When I sleep I can feel it all
leaving me like the sun in such demanding haste;
Now I am as old as the moon,
Toothless but not laughing as I chase the sun west.
That sun’ll hide and hide and hide.
I’ll chase the sun until I’m colder than the night,
Till I’m stone dead and the sun
is further from me than I could possibly dream.
The Creamy Dream of Sadhir AkeemThey’ve got us sailin through the clouds and America is proud
Engines roarin loud, drownin out the world o’ sound
Crowdin round the plaid couch, watch impossibilities found
This is when we found out, innovation is never bound
We’re all king and queen clowns wearin round, jeweled crowns
Plowin at the ground until the Earth’s no longer round
Take a look round the town you founded, see the dirt’s no longer brown
And we’re wearin sad frowns and wearin gowns from mad cows
Make a bout for a loud row, yellin out sour nouns
Take the flower like it’s ours and build a house for the powers
Make cowards out to be stout, oust the worms in their bowels
Neath the towel where world grew proud of its power there’s a rope unwound
Now beneath the sweat of your brow, the only word renown is a pronoun
And we’re makin cowards out to be stout, oust the worms in their bowels
The WayfareI trod broad hill littered with skyward trees
Beyond which lied the roiling, raging sea
There was naught that I could not see
For in my heart a wayfarer did sleep
Until upon the day the night did creep
Where stars had glittered in their depths so deep
And a lust for the world awoke in him
So he fared the world and sailed on its brim
Flew under the light, be that bright or dim
And I was he, and we gazed upon the stars
We saw the endless ocean high and far
In all the world our way could not be barred
That was until I woke from my slumber
Yet I knew that when I felt a shudder
Like great waves my sheets did pull me under
The Winking HeavensNever forget that which follows the sun's depart
For they follow as well your sleep and the beat of your heart
Like glistening eyes may follow you and keep you sound
They make your night living as day and ensure the earth is round
Take them with you wherever it is you may go
For they will always bring company when all lights seem low
Let them make your wishes true and real as the moon
Such a wish may bring the world to behold its salvation soon
Yet never forget what importance forever lies in day
For always may you remember that our sun is a star against dismay
A Good Night's Sleep A Good Night's Sleep
Jack finally laid the pencil down. An entire night's worth of sketching, and nothing to show for it. Dozens of lines and characters lay sprawled across the sheet of paper, dancing either impassively or violently. They all trailed off into different sheets, most of which were piled into the bin. The metal bin was full, balls of sheets bouncing off the top of its pile, and the floor littered with the rest of the trashed sketches. The desk careened to one side, near to subside. It was a wonder that it had not collapsed yet, and even though it seemed clear a new desk should be bought, Jack refused. Procrastination was his best friend, something which he depended entirely. That showed when it came to his art. As of late, very few finished pieces could be seen in his portfolio. Otherwise, works-in-progress lied about the room in constant slumber.
The Lily both Dying and LivingWhat makest thee dream?
Art thy worlds not spawned of them?
What hast been wrought of thy realms,
Whilst thou art beset?
Whilst thou rot in thy watery grave,
Hell bringest thy harrowing
Or is it not this that thou hast dreamt of?
Is it that thy heaven shinest upon thy face,
Bringest light for thy dreaming shrine?
Nay, not one be so
Aye, for both be so indeed
For thy dream makest thee bleed
Yet makest thy tourniquet
And bringest a lily both dying and living
Alas! Thy hellish realms come
And those of rapture blighted,
For thou art overcome by thy fears
Lo! Pay not heed of these
For what wroughtest these is but a sojourn
Lo! Thou may sodden these realms with heaven and awe
And thou may wake from thy slumber
Yet dismay not of what dream comest on the morrow
Out from the Gray EveningWhile morning pushed me drearily into noon, I passed the smallest window of my house several times before finally stopping to observe what lied beyond it. I had done this from time to time for weeks, perhaps too often: standing before the smallest window, staring into the same spot though the slouching tree-limbs; the very spot that caught my eye each time, the spot that had no concrete form or obvious potency. There was no reason why I would have to gaze into it, whatever it had been. I knew no other feeling it gave me but curiousness, be that good or bad. And with each day passing, my curiosity grew. It had begun to form an itch that eventually sprouted a tumor. I ached.
Yet I couldn't know what I ached for. Was it to know what it was that stared back at me? Or to know what intentions that would ensue these encounters?
Still I waited. Perhaps I could have been building up to something, an apex of my dull life, something to give the least form of livelihood for which I long yearned. D
A message to the brokenYou drown yourself
in liquid sorrows,
letting the salty mess
burn your wounds,
and the sadness
to drip in your mouth,
consuming your words
and you say
you deserve the pain,
but I want to dry your face,
and whisper in your ear
how the clouds cry too,
while they hold such beauty,
and so do you.
Stand Against SuicideI know the pain is perhaps unbearable,
But darling, please put down the blade.
Release your emotions through tears and smiles,
Rather than dreading these days.
Do it for the little girl, whose mother can’t be there,
Or for the boy whose father drank too much.
For the boy who can’t sit in elementary school,
Because the bruises from Daddy hurt to touch.
For the teenage girl lying face down in her bed,
Thinking, why can’t it all be done?
For the elderly man looking up at the stars,
Counting the days one by one.
Do it for the children who wonder, does it end?
For the ones who feel left on their own.
For the ones who think, maybe it wouldn’t be so hard
If I didn’t feel so left alone.
And finally, do it for one other person,
The person in front of these words.
Because you’ll never know how it gets better
When focusing on pain and hurt.
Live one more day, dear, for them and for you,
And I swear to you, problems will fade.
I know, for right now, it’s p
It's Okay to be ImperfectThe moon
Pretty metaphors are for pretty girlsI told you to stop
spewing pretty metaphors at me,
for with each elaborate comparison,
I feel a bit more
detached from this world
And maybe I don’t feel so strong at the moment,
but would you be
if you felt like the entire universe
was resting upon your shoulders,
and someone was just there saying:
But you’re stronger than the powerful beats
of a butterfly’s wings
And maybe I do need more confidence,
but would you exuberate it
when the part you hated most about yourself
were the freckles that have speckled your face for years,
and someone was just there muttering:
They’re not flaws,
but rather stars that form constellations
Yes, I can’t help but hate
all those unrealistic metaphors
you choose to pelt at me when I’m low,
yet the irony is,
I know that those beautiful words
are realistic in your eyes,
So I can’t hate you.
Clear WristA clear wrist, barren of scars,
as opposed to skin sauntered in marks,
tells a trickier story than it's soiled and raw,
uncaring, unkempt counter part.
Bravery, I think it holds,
the strength to bare unimaginable loads
of pain and suffering through endless times,
and withstanding the agony of sleepless nights.
Some think it is fear, the reluctance to cut,
but I believe it opposite, it show courage and guts.
To bear your pain without a nick on your wrist,
is like a solider braving his terrain while being torn limb from limb.
Agonizing as it is, to hide your pain,
you do it so well, and no attention you'll gain.
At the end of the day, it's not cry for attention,
rather a cry for the victory that's silently mentioned.
Your scars are those not self inflicted,
and despite the gnawing intention,
to harm yourself and ease your pain,
the scars you earn are rightfully gained.
In a room of those who have jumped the gun,
and left traces of blood deep in their arms,
do not be tempted to do the sam
dark circlesi haven't slept well in 14 days
my eyes droop pretty colors
'50 shades of purple and grey,
they're bags and they're designer'
making jokes is how i cope
with chapped lips and constant chap-stick
it tastes like honey and mint
i laugh and say i'm addicted.
hooded lids and sleepy smiles
during lunch at subway
my friends ask if I'm okay
I say that I'm just tired.
but really when I see him with her
my heart sinks to the tiles
she's pretty and witty and sure as hell she can sing
and i'm just a loud bone-collector.
when I see her with him,
dancing and laughing and grinning,
the ring on her finger
laughs at my singularity.
for as much as i lie and as much as i try
my loneliness still creeps in,
because no matter how much they protest,
i'm still the lowly fifth-wheel.
walking behind them on sidewalks
that are wide, but built for four
smiles and laughs when they look back
but the frown creeps evermore.
pelvis peaks through paper-thin skin
and knuckles white and pale
my ribs are empty, my bo
[transmissions of a dead girl]i am the
moon: i am
the silver pill
to weigh down
into leaden eyes--
i am the
of the dark.
the stars are
all dead in their
you'll be safe, dear,
as i am the moon,
with all of your
(i am good bye and yet,
you think only of romantic
i am the moon.
i am the crescent
and dead altogether,
i still die.
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