A heart beats monotonously,
Like a leather-encased clockwork, a spring-wound toy
It ticks away the hours until the moment
When, with a silence like a stone, it stops.

The close of the week,
Like an old familiar house you have vacated
And stuffed with memories still as fresh
As burnt Monday-morning toast
That still blues the air.

you're strumming my heartstrings like how angels do with their harps & i bet that it did hurt when you fell from heaven but that doesn't hurt as much when i fell for you

where do I go from here
alone, afraid
craving your arms and not knowing why
is this feeling as real as
the sun so bright?
or is it just snow melting on my flustered cheeks
its substance dripping off skin like
the way your eyes waver from mine
but I cannot catch it on my bare palms
because while this loneliness swallows me whole
being a part of something more  
would leave me just as ruined

this love holds a knife against my throat
and cuts ribbons into my skin
with every lingering thought of you
is my love a sin?
is my sole purpose just another flaw of my being?
crimson blood upon white walls spell it out
not in my native language, of course
I guess my heart will never know
if I was just meant to be ****** in the hands of this curse

ultimately,
we would be tragic
but I cannot keep my thoughts off this temptation
even though I don’t know if this is what I want
and you could easily crush me
between your fingers
because I am as small as
a spider wafting along the breeze on a thin strand
of who knows what
practically nothing
that’s what I am
that’s what we are

Are you blind?
You're back on the conveyer belt, again.
You're fooled by that you see, again.
You seem to be getting closer but you're drifting further away.
You see hope on the horizon which turns to agony as soon as you get close enough to reach it.
You're heart is breaking at the thought of struggle
You're depending on the bottle, again.
The guzzle is burning your throat as you swallow any chance at revival.
Fingers turn to black, lips turn to black, mind turns to black.
You're crumbling with the ashes of cigarettes
There's no rebuilding broken debris anymore.
Hope is sunken beaneath you as you lay drunk on the floor.
Miles away from the conveyer belt, again.
No going back to where you're headed.
No heads or tails to change the situation.
No more gods willing to listen.
Its over.
Don't inhale.
Life wasted at the thought of making it
but giving up when you get a chance to escape your mind.
No press play, fast forward, rewind.
No more hands helping you out the gutter
You're already buried six feet too deep.
Your hands are on your mouth, again
Trying to quiet your screams.
No ones listening
No ones wondering
No ones there.
You've created this hell for yourself;
just lock the door as you leave.

Your aura
Is like the fog
underneath the blue sky
beckoning the ground
and settling peacefully, pure.
Thick and lustrous,
completing the world
with every part,
every breath of you.

I am a cocoon of sorts,
When I love, I love hard.
I work hard,
Every day,
Loving and caring, holding, nurturing.
I try my hardest to build the confidence of the one I love.
I'm there,
I'm whole,
Until one day,
The person I love,
Is so confident,
So ready,
That they leave.
And when they leave,
I crack, I break, I'm empty.
They're gone,
And I'm stuck,
Hanging there,
Alone,
Like a cocoon.