I knew a girl that bled bouquets,

her tears perfumated with the sweet scent of sorrow,

and I fell in love with the way she wore her pain.

My demons hide in Angel's skin
A disguise I know all too well.
Deceive me with their hopeful feathers,
Familiar claws so loving in touch.
I know it's a trap.
But I crave intimacy.
Sweet eyes that burn hellsfire
Bring me warmth in a look.
I wrap myself
In the cloak of their promises
And hide deep
In the crevices of their costume.

Am I the monster that bore the gun?
Or just the bullet
that came
out
of
it.

She was a flower growing on the dark side of the moon,
sunshine taken by greedy craters that didn't need it to grow.
Needless to say, she adapted,
turned her photosynthesis into chemosynthesis,
and grew.

I will plug
my tear ducts
with wine corks.

He was the sun,
and I was the moon,
and our relationship,
was an eclipse.

I pray for forgiveness
I know I do not deserve
but forget
that I have already been
forgiven

Freedom rings at heaven's gates;
to answer is to accept you are dead.

Sometimes
being free
means letting go
even if
you are not
ready
yet.

Deservance is a concept
made by fools
whom are plagued
with jealousy
and
overconfidence.

Will you let
your third eye
blind
you?

I'm digging into skin
I forgot I had,
reminding myself I am still alive,
with deathly tones of

"But you don't deserve it.".

Hidden in red.

The familiarity of chaos
Will always be more welcoming
Than the idea of
A stranger's happiness.

Who am I?
But a collection of sounds in colors?
Of tastes in scents?
Of misery in delight?

I am nothing but the shadow
of good times
and there
lost files.

She was so beautiful
so graceful
so filled with wonder
that the parthenon
wept at the sight
of her.

I stare at graves
and the autumn leaves
that fall,
as my envy
for decay
consumes me.

To loathe oneself
is an art,
I suppose we
are all artists
one in form or another.

And when you slip right through my fingers
and crash onto the floor,
a thousand scattered eyelashes
stare back at me.
I will stare at my hands
and blame them,
not you.

There is no love written in the stars,
simply in his eyes,
do not mistake celestial kindness,
for his loving glance,
for his,
is
far
better.

Angel's act with purity,
yet crave demonic pleasures.
They turn to heaven to be forgiven,
and rot in Hell whilst losing feathers.

She's got a baseball bat
filled with ambition,
and a sharp light to her eyes
full of survival's will.

She's that hard to love
kind of bad ***.
The kind that will muffle sobs
with liquor.

She's the kind of love
forged in the depths of Hell
and *******
rather than
fluffy romance novels.

She knows what its like to be trapped.
So she holds the shackles
above her head.

She didn't realize she broke her arm
and lost pieces of herself
getting out of it.

It was not her fault she was born in chains
But it is her fault that she broke out of them.

For better or worst now,
the cracks in her soul
were filled with attitude.

And God, did I fall for it all.
The careen of her smile,
made me stay for a while.

She's the hard to love kind of bad ***,
and she's on the run again.

From problems to police you name it.

But she will laugh like her flannel soul
hidden in the wind.

And she will drown in her liquored ambitions
once more.

She tastes like honey
and Autumn leaves,
leaving me with fuller
with each breath she gives.

I know her name
like she is the air I breathe
the stardust in my veins
the wonder in my eyes.

I have lived my life faking warmth
my soul is cold
in the best way possible.

I embrace it now.
Cold smiles refreshing,
cold hands coddling,
cold love blossoming.

All things cold
are not
all things bad.

All is fair in love and war,
so do not be surprised when the roses of my love wilt into stems,
sickled with thorns.

My mere existence
deserves apology.

Her eyes were that Heineken bottle green,
and her spirit bubbly,
a cold touch
to a warm soul
I got drunk in her love


















And I never regretted it.

She felt like
summers memories
in
late
October.

Your gaze are empty hallways,
made of marble,
elegant stone swirls like
your
eyes.

Empty like your promises, but oh so beautiful.

I refuse to heal
from wounds that still bleed.

I owe you no more
then what you have taken.

I remind myself,
that its OK to be angry...

But for how long?

An exhale stains the sky
as ash and ambiance
fall from her lips.

She is permeating the night air
with the aroma of tobacco
and a great story to tell.

People like you,
put meaning behind
the word
Beautiful.

Freedom is maddening
I would do anything
For a taste of
Choice
On my lips and
The promise of unhinged dream
Doors in the horizon.

Freedom is maddening
For with its release
Comes endless possibility.

Freedom is maddening
And is as much of a trap
As restriction.

Abandon me
in the house
so I may
learn to grow
on my
own.

Lavender kisses,
mister and misses,
their love was flowers growing on the dark side of the moon.

They sing church hymns
until they froth at the mouth
and bleed at the ear
when will they learn
that God is a state of mind
and not a person.

My mortality
I do not fear,
but yours...
I dread.

You stand,
cowardice,
under the title of professor.
I fear not the weight
of the textbooks
of your knowledge,
for they
are
empty.

There is aestheticism
buried in the depths
of this earth,
in the sun's heat
and in the moons rain.
However hidden it may
attempt to be,
I will always
pursue
it.

Am I a debt to be paid?
Do you enjoy me,
because I enjoy you?
Do you love me,
because I love you?
Do you touch me,
because I've touched you?

Do you reap
only what you sow?

Girl you know
writing down meaningless words
will not dry your cheeks
and will not cure
your ineffable
sadness.

Recently a poem of mine blew up and I wanted to say thank you all for it!!
The poem Edge was inspired by a writing prompt titled:

Write a poem using the phrase "the sky is on fire"

I came up with the poem from this line, and I wanted to say this because it feels wrong to not credit inspiration and a line to the original creator.

Melissa Jennings Twitter: @melissajenningz came up with the prompt!

So a big thank you to her for the inspo for that poem!!!

My emotions are a pallet of monotone colors,
so I paint my world in Gray's and Black's,
longing for something more,
but not knowing any other colors,
than those dull
shades
of
beige.

Angels run the chaos I've collected in my head, what's there left to see?
Their ashes pure and soft feathers, they fly high and mighty on their wings.
Angel tears are made of sugar, and your love, oh so sweet. You are the angel of my life darling,

playing this poem on repeat.

I found you in the lines between my palms,
in the way you sing that song,
in stranger's smiles,
in coffee stains.

I found you through my window blinds,
the moon shining down on us,
I found you chewing gum,
just like you always do.

I found you in jolly rancher wrappers,
in smiling seeds of watermelons.
I found you in my desire
for listening ears,
and a chest that cared.

I found you in my soul again,
picking flowers to bring back to me,
in your melodious melody,
I found you daydreaming,
I found you...
daydreaming.

I found you on the run,
from who or what I'm still unsure,
but dear,
in your run,
I will join you.

And I will find you one thousand times moreover,
just to see you
one
last
time.

She's begging to me
through rattling teeth
and broken bones
made of ash.

Her body quivers
as cold wet hair
sticks to her skin.

She is begging for mercy
Dare I deny her of it?

Who am I
to beg for mercy
when I am aware
I do not
deserve
it.

There is satisfaction
in deep chords of pain
being strummed
on
playful
hearts.

It doesn't have to make sense to the world,
just write it.

It doesn't even have to make sense to you,
just write it.

It's better to let go of a snip-it,
than hold onto the feeling
of incomplete work
in
your
mind.

Your love was like coffee,










a bitter wake up call.

You are the chardonnay
on the top shelf.
Moonshine smiles,
let me stay awhile
and drunken sways
dare not break the bottle.

I take baby sips
worrying ***** gets me too drunk
too fast
too quick.

I get a taste of prohibition
and only you I think of.

You are top notch liquor
on the bottom shelf,
lowering your standards
so I can reach you.

You burn me in the best ways.

You are a drunkards dream,
and oh am I so happy
to have found
you.