Words

My Stranger

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September 19th, 2009

Stranger in the alley
Venom on her lips
Painted nails
Red to the tips
It was so dark outside
But you’d have to be blind not to see
The hurt in her eyes
Shining so visibly
She was freckled in goosebumps
But warm to the touch
And deep in her eyes
She had been hurt so much
Years of pain live in her
She grew up alone
And when wanting to talk
There was nobody home
And her eyes spoke to me
They were words she’d never say
Everything she’d ever loved
Has been taken away
It’s hard to believe
All that you can tell
The look in her eyes
Showed her walk through hell
And her weak appearance
Was all too wrong
Because alone in an alley
This stranger was strong

Mirage

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August 30th, 2009

Last night you held my hand, just like a few weeks ago when we kissed, and those were all dreams, but nothing feels as real as this. I’m lost in this state of mind, and I can’t figure out who you are, and in the process of figuring myself out too, I’m not getting very far. You did this to me unintended I beg, I didn’t expect anything out of words, but here I am with you running through my mind, and you haven’t seemed to step out yet. I never expected to see you like this, and I never expected to see myself acting the way I am, but here I am looking at myself in the mirror, appearance untouched, but looking deeper shows that nothing’s what it used to be. I’m at a loss of words on the fact we’ve been at a loss for words our self, and our conversation has ended. Waiting to talk to you has been on my mind for too long now, and every time my phone goes off my smile fades because your name isn’t there anymore. If it weren’t for my curiosity I would have never had to hear you say you’re sorry, and you weren’t, but it made me smile anyway. If you’re just a mirage it’d be nice if you could let me know now, because I don’t want to get too close to someone who will only disappear in the end.

(Originally Posted Here)

DNA

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August 21st, 2009

I want to speak up, but even then I fear no one will hear me still. Even if they hear me, that doesn’t mean that they’re actually even listening. You find yourself writing about your friends, but they’re too annoyed at the fact you’re always writing new things, to even bother reading them anymore. Putting effort and affection into something you think is art, and finding the response wasn’t what you wanted sometimes hurts a lot more than you thought it would. No response, or interrogation. The people who actually care don’t read it in the way it’s supposed to be artistically, and want to know what’s behind it. Writing is personal, and sometimes it takes a lot of courage for me to post it. No one sees that; no one understands. No one gets what crossed my mind when I tried to form those phrases; when I tried to create something that replaces the need for pages and pages of smeared ink diary entries. Simple and complex, they link together, their DNA forms all I need to say that I love writing, but sometimes words are not enough to keep me breathing.

(Originally Posted Here)