How much time is 'enough time'?
Which answer is the correct one?
Is this lie more convincing,
Or is this truth the most deceiving?

Day One

Is what you know
Really what you believe,
Or do you feed your pain
With fabricated reality?

As though you set water on fire
Like a burning desire to scream,
Scream out to the stars
Patterning your structured time.

Day Fifteen

Is what you hear
Really what you listen,
Or do you ease your soul
With altered versions?

A bubble of Denial
Safeguarding broken hope,
Protecting the One Second
That lingers until today

Day Thirty

Is what you want
Really what you need,
Or do you earn smiles
With your own idea of ecstasy?

When truth catches up
And One Second is over;
You find reality pushing you
Far beyond horizons,
Into fantasy-
A land known as Freedom.

my feet are freezing
and the smoke keeps
blowing back in my
face but that's not
going to stop me from
smoking this whole
pack of cigarettes
i'm only trying to
remove the taste of
your lips from mine
i'm only trying to
expell the poison you
breathed into my lungs
i'm only trying to
forget about you

I carved myself a hollow in your chest
Called it home.
It’s something else to be encased
By your bones, to listen to the
Absolute lullaby of your heartbeat.
Your fingers crawled into my ribs
Tattooing your fingerprints into
My bones and I am yours, entirely
Utterly yours.

I don’t want to be a delicate ******* flower
I want to be made of stone
I want to be a formidable tower
I want to be a battering ram
I don’t want to watch the world’s eyes pass over me
Like they do every ******* day
I don’t want to be the paper-hearted girl anymore
Because my heart always ends up torn and shredded
And balled up in some trash bin because
Somebody ****** up and decided to start over
But the funny thing is, you don’t get a new heart
Once it’s been broken. You left me with no other
Option but to fish my crumpled paper heart out of the
Trash, to smooth out and to erase the marks you left
But you can still see the wrinkles and the imprints
Of what was written. There’s no fresh heart for me.
There’s no replacing the petals that were lost to the
“He loves me, he loves me not” game. I may be
Made of stone, but I am just a pebble thrown
Around by the smallest body of water.
I may be a tower, but I’m a lego tower
And just the fist of a child could destroy me.
And ******* my paper heart.
Did you have to write your name in pen?

A slow eating evening
of a supine day,
obfuscating the vaulting dome
of the sky,
inviting the crickets
to take over the night.