In the bleeding twilight
that dripped down like nectar
and fell like summer dews
and honey dusted petals,
before the emerald washed meadows
under the moonlit ecstacy
could caress my lungs,
murmuring sweet nothings
with warm breath caressing
rose blushed cheeks,
orange pink gazes
igniting rosy flames of love,
dearest, your warmth
that smelled of fresh lisianthus
in the baby shades of the
first sun lights of the early dawn
just disappeared as the autumn breeze
stealing my heart away with it
in the bleeding twilight
that blew past,
soaking the warmness along…

Sunlight streams in
through the cracks
in our antique door,
spilling the day's glow
amongst the hardwoods,
glazing it in caramel,
with specks of the past
twirling and dancing
in the broad rush of light.

I compare myself
to the imperfections
highlighted in the wood,
the grains that have suffered,
the ones that bore too much weight,
they now illuminate the scars
that couldn't be buffed out completely.

Thankfully for our souls,
just because we are damaged,
it does not mean we are useless.
I find a great comfort in knowing
our inner light is much more forgiving,
and that none of us are alone.

We drank cider
And filled our faces
With cheesecake that tasted
Almost as tangy as the blood
That fizzed through (and out) of my veins
As a consequence of you.
And I thought to myself,
The sunlight will always be golden
But I will never again smell cigarette smoke
And think of anyone other than you
With your stupid hyperbolic smile
And if I can't see the way eight pm
Looks beneath your lashes
Or the way the summer hours
Turn your hair into auburn fire
Then I may as well bury my eyes
In the soil that hasn't yet
Managed to kiss your feet.

I lie in wait for space.
A space of my own
where quiet ambiance roams

Jasmine and mint steep in time
growing lax on a warm sunlit spot on the floor
my book groaning at me to read it,
just a little more.

something deeper than self-care
a little something of self-healing

I wait for you.
My mysterious being,
although I doubt you exist
I feel myself losing it all in the rift
of these futile wounds
and these nights of sunlit tunes

I clung on to the feeling
You and I were molded the same way
By our foundations and roots
Nestled deep in the same place of belonging
Quiet and withdrawn, in the shadows
We grew slow, dipping our leaves into a shy beam of sun
But only I dared to branch out
Come out of the shadows and search for the light
To stand in the glory and to expand.

The sun is shining and
moonbeams glisten through the air.
Moon, not sun.
While the sun shone
and incinerated the sloshing intestines of
vengeful beasts;
the gentle and forgiving moon
projected from their eyes and
caught the ****** maw of a starving deer.
Suitcases of leather stacked behind us
filled with spruce, pine, elm, oak, cherry.
Ready for induction t
o our paperless society
which consumes the forests of
Hippolyta and Antiope mercilessly.
Burning every leaf
then forgetting to feel
because nothing mattered.
Everything never mattered.
Facts are lie, opinion is truth.
“No one is nothing”
they shriek to the heavens
striving to be limitless
and scorning morality. Embrace death
and all its glory.
Life, while full of happiness
and gorgeous splendor,
refuses to acknowledge the
magnitude of the word. The thing.
Falling and reading and lines
and circles and explosions
and whimpers and screams. Agony suffered
silently, alone; never understood
because how could it?
What could totally encompass
the raging fire that devours the veins
and burns from the inside out
kept in place by the impenetrable
flesh that glints in the forgiving moonlight.
A hostile exterior that
smiles, waves, laughs on cue to
disguise the raging storm
fighting its way through from inside.
The shell which shrinks from the moonbeam
and into the harsh sunlight
that filters beneath the floating clouds.