MetaphorsPastel petals grace the floor beneath us,broken, torn and shredded.Two too many years have slipped on by, counting one, two, "i love you, i love you not",never loved a day out of seven hundred and thirty.I planted my flowers one by one,aster after aster, in shades of blue, like tidal waves.Patience is my virtue but the ocean can't be tamed. Waves come in and out, pullingme in to a sea salt abyss. The shells that I walked across like glass,slice my feet, blind me quick and lead me to an island where the trees have no leaves,and their roots carry no water.The waves cut loose and the hurricane fades into a sunny day, leaving room for plenty of petals, soaking up the sunshine.They say "I love you, I love you not"while they drift to the dunes, sand swallowing them whole.Patience is my virtue, and I stand above the ocean, waves pulling the cliff edge, scraping boulders into the sea's stomach, fueling tidal waves.Blue as can be, the ocean can't be tamed.I hit the sea's floor,p
Counting Months.From a great hero to another,we march on.Not for ourselves,but for everyone around us.That's what love is.-I hate what you made me; I hate that you changed me.I hate that I spent what was suppose to be the better part of my youth worrying,contemplating,constantly on the edge for guilt I shouldn't have felt.You said I needed somebody who was going to stick around,somebody who genuinely cared. You say you're the only one who ever cared about me and what I wanted.But here's where you're wrong.I've never needed anyone.Maybe I didn't know that, since all my poetry is lovesick letters to people who never read them, when under the surface it's just advice for myself, that I never took until it was (two late).Well I wasted two years of my life forcing the thought of someone else out of my head, blinding the thought of what if's from existence.Now my entire world is a giant what if.And you have the nerve to say it's my fault you've cut a whole into your heart.Two broken hearts
Small Wordsi left my heart 300 miles awayin a town i hope to see again.i hope you never leave again.
Secrets3 little secrets i never knew i had.1.the sound of people casually mentioning drinkingsends my body into rifts,and i start to physically gag.if i can't cry, which believe me, i can't,then i'm losing my edge to vomit.traits i picked up from you.2.my hands are cold 99% of the time.but the warmth given from your jacket,the only piece of you i own,is a no-go zone.i wear it over layers of clothing,but my hands never graze the pockets,for fear of remembering your hands once laid there too.3.i want to drown myself in pills,i've even taken the liberty to call up my dealer,and snatch the razor from my purse,bring it close to my skin.but my addictions don't control me. and i foundsomething stronger. you are my new drug,my new addiction,and if i fail with my old onesit means everything i stand for, and i stand for you,will come crashing down.
Addictionsback in May, when we broke up. i filled my paper with words only about waiting.every word, every lyric i wrote was motivation,striving for the wrong man,throwing myself full frontal in arms i couldn't hold.you think it stopped when the pills stopped,but today i called up my old habits,gathered my strength,remembered the high.sometimes being strong is about admitting to yourself some sins are the cure.-i wear your jacket,but i have a hidden rule.my hands, as freezing as they are,do not go in the pockets.you may have worn the coat to your skin,felt the warmth graze your flesh,pulled the hood over sunshine hair,but your hands,they're the one thing i won't strive to reach.so i keep my arms crossed,and remember that warmth is just a few miles away.-there are things that are taboo.you called me brutally honest once, and i'll carry that as the one compliment i care about,more than beauty or intelligence, all the way to the grave.well i'm struggling to be sober.i'm ad
Waitingthey say time is of the essence.but we live our whole lives just to die.
Rough Edgesyou say you love me.but why do you only notice when it's someone else begging to die?