ReflectingSo, when did we become strangers,and,when, exactly,did you forget my face?Do you know-of course you don't, but do you know-that I miss you,thatI remember the fun times,the sillystupidity of our days together,gone?I still think of youand the family;your once-dreams,and even that silly little crushyou had.When,did you forget?Or,do you hide it away like a forgottendreambecause, on the inside,you're too ashamed to admit,that,you're not who you wantedto be?
ObligationsWhat are these trinkets to me?Obligations held toyou?Obligations tied in the mireof a past quickly fading,fading,Gone.Why should I subject myselfTo your tedious obligations,To your restrictions,shrouding mein weighted shackles?So I say,What are these obligations to me,Except things to be misplaced,And gather the Dust of Bitterness?I say they're ties,and that I'm going to cut them away.Your obligations?Why should I submit myself toYour tyranny,when you rejected my Love?
Cotton candy skiesAnd you know the pain:You see itcan feel it,Written over every orifice of the world,A plague...A disease.Let it eat away at your soul as you watchYour vapidly sentientCapacity for actionEroding away with every cellThis virus infects.So you run,Turn to apathyAnd sit looking at theCotton candy cloudsA midst a burning backdrop,And you hide this pain,Like it doesn't exist--Not in younor the worldnor in the minds of peoplethat you can see living it everyDay.You run to the emptiness of pleciboedexistence--heroic movies,Living on the internet,Indulging in fantasy and pretend,Living as ifstill a child in Wonderland,Forgetting you need to breathe air.Yes you sit before a burningBackdrop, a prelude to the endof cotton candy skies,And repress the existenceof this reality in-leu ofArtificiallySynthetic replicasof the semblance ofliving.
Can I [part 1]Can I love you?Can we take it backTo innocence-mouth-covered gigglesin the dead of night-To the way you'dEffervesce on-almost-anythingcomical.Can we take it back-back to the iridescence that shownin our eyes as welay back in the dark,whispering secrets?Can I love you?Can I listen again,To that mellifluous toneThat escapes your lips when you speak?Can we rewind to whenI meant something to you-when you weren't just pretending,when I wasn'tjust there for your personalconvenience.Can I love the way you used me--how the morning light was likethe lock to a treasure chest,and the treasure it containedwas-Like just one more instrumentTo be finley played-the smiles we had glancedacross the table at dinner,speaking our language,our hushed tones ignitingquirked eyebrows from the othersand our own hard-silenced snickers.Can I love you,in this dark feeling,lying here drowning in the quick-sandwhile I try to fall asleep,Can I love you,when the scorched sun br
EquilibriumCryBut, soft,This autogenous iniquity-the cacophony of sinand theacromonies inside-It bites andTearsBut, soft.Hush.Your antiquated conductshall find no placeIn this world,No rest inside these bounds.Go on then,Cry your heart to pieces-hush-and lacerate your soul.Cry,But soft.Soft, to the degree ofBitterness,Incising upon that inner you,Soft.That softness with whichYour mortal soul now burns,Twisted.Diseased.Infected,Dirtied with that softness,TheTender-hearted pain of empathy,Of guilt,of ineptitude.soft and hushAs it reverberates through yoursoul,As you feel your failingseach claiming a piece of youwith more rapidity thanthe last.Soft.Let the tears come-so soft so soft-and burn an antiquated brand,deep into your soul.Soft,As the empathetic scarsBreed lace into your heart.Soft,For whatever has been done-is done-no man controls the past so let itlie-Now let it lie,Be it burning with theAcrimonious
Assignment TwoA suitable grad-gift.Wrapped in expected 'congrats!' tissuepaper, extended in love from the hands of a friend.But, it isn't just a picture frame-Special, because the hand-spun-silk, woven-cotton-softIn brilliant crimson holds the picturesOf us.You, and me, your smile so ambiguous,Like the Cheshire's grin.
assignment oneLove is a hurricane,Swirling behind-inside your irises.An acrid storm,Exploding within your eyes.Except,Love is softSupple,even. Malliable when ina sculptor's hands,Such as your own.The malliability,So like the shifting water:Frozen to solid,Melted to liquid,Or released as vapor.Love is an idea,ATransparency that transgressesForm.
The BeachThe beach is cold and stingsAs dainty little feet walk across the sands,That time has been unable to mar.The sun is just a glow over theHorizon.Mist hangs in the air, footprints are left in the sand.And yet,Nothing has changed.The world could be thrown into darkness,Buildings could crumble, people could die,Or a job could be lost,Or a house need repainting. It could beA family argument, and tension among friends.It could be the shadow in the doorway, a knife in it's hand,Haunting your dreams again.But the sands on the beach would still be unmarred by theCruel hands of time.His love in you would be a butterfly of hope,As the world was ending. His embraceWould be a comfort in the midst of the dead.The lost job will roll off his shoulders,As he cracks a joke to make you laugh, because,He lives for your laugh.And he'd make a game, of the trivial task of houseWork, so that even though you both hated it,It would be time you'd be together.The family argument he would
The Adjustment BeauroI doubt you'll ever understand,Just how worthless,You make me feel.The emptinessYou leave me with,After each segment ends.Maybe it's your nature,Maybe the 'AdjustmentBeauro' just decidedWe shouldn't be a we,Anymore.But you'll never understandOne way or another.So I guessI'll let you rip me apart.BecauseI'm not good for anything else.
DownfallAnd in this dark harvest of seasonMy life has completely lost reason,For which or against to decide.All lost in a savage and endless, bleak tideIn sadness and in kindnessIn light and in darkness.In a boat made of hopeI shall sail to tomorrow,In a winding hurricaneMade of treachery and sorrow.There's a spear, endless, and colossal spear...Piercing, slashing though my head.Starting somewhere in heaven,Ending somewhere in hell.Fighting, burning, crying, crashing.Are the armies within.In my head they are all thrashing.On the heaven's and hell's whim.To be light or to be darkness.A perpetual array.It's not merely my choice,But the choice of the way.It's an option of the voice,It's a thin line of gray.Is it a choice forced by fate,Is it a pre-set time and date?Or a choice to which I myself sway?But here's our story anyway
."Nothing that I do will matter.As all things will merely shatter!"All my hopes thus darkness scatter,As it shoves me a decree.As it si
Is It Love?If I hugged you,would you never let go?If I kissed you,would you cherish that moment?If I reached for your hand,would you take mine gently?If I needed a shoulder,would you let me cry on yours?If I needed to talk,would you really listen?If I needed to scream,would you do it with me?If I needed to go,would you come with me?If I fell for you,would you catch me?or just let me hit the pavement?
Word on the StreetBe careful in believing the word on the street.Compelling evidence,falsified intelligence,fact and fiction can ring a like tone;striking similarity yet so discrete.It’s unwise to trust all folks you meet.Word on the street saysa killer’s on the loose.But I think they want attentionand are making an excuse.There’s no name to the facenor an age, height, or race.No one ‘round here was shotor suspended in a noose.I ask the word on the streetfrom what street came the word;1 Pleasant Avenue,13 Broken Boulevard,29 Delusional Drive?Is it the unknown roadwith rumors riding the whispering winds?Was it the dark, torn alleywaywith its scripture of spray tags?When the word on the streetsays that the end is near.I think the source seeks an audiencethrough instillation of fear.It’s just nonspecific nonsensemade to invade our conscience,and those who take the baithave their minds thrown out of gear.Word on the street is madeto order blind e
7. heaveni find myself blindedby the smallestof things –plastic rice bowls &a negligible soft-drink addiction –smudged glasses lenses& too many mandarinsthere are things thatact in the place ofthe ideal,quick fixes that worklonger than they wereever supposed to.my ceiling light isbroken – i use twodimmer desk lamps instead.the roof over my roomleaks during storms –i lay old showercurtains on the carpet.and when 1am is theonly time i do not feelsilenced to a voidof words,i pick up a pen, exhausted,and tell myself ( this is how it is meant to be. )
Cartharsisthe journey is cathartic, we swallow mountainsand spit outflowers, no longer alivefor the end, we curse the skyand follow our bliss,we hold our chainsclose to heart,we throw awayour tears in bottlesfor another day, drowed in battleships. we're finally free.
Reasons We Love Homestuck“Reasons we love H O M E S T U C K.”[Free-style poem]Why do this love this web comic, you ask?Maybe it’s just the way the fandom rolls,or how mean Andrew Hussie trolls.It could possibly be Eridan’s accent (WWyeh?)or even Feferi’s keyboard trident. (---E)Some people say it’s Equius’ broken bows and arrows, ( D →)but what about Nepeta’s meows and roleplays? (:33 <)We really do love Sollux’s lisp,and also when Karkat’s pissed. (FUCKASS!)Including Kanaya's fabulous lipstick,it's also Rose's amazing magic.How about when Dave starts rappingand Jade Harley begins napping?We love Vriska’s eight-pupiled eye,and how John is such an adorable guy.Or maybe it’s with all the spritesor how prospit glows bright.Can’t forget about Derse’s darknessor Gamzee and all his soberness. (WHOOPS.)There’s also this thing with Tav and stairswhich he t
I Was Always Taught To Be On TimeI always try to set my clock backat midnight and as I was turning hands tonight I realizedhow easy it is to manipulate time andthat makes me wonder why I can't turn the clock back to a time when I thought you loved me.
A Guide to LifeI've never known how to limit myself.I love with all of my heartor hate with a burning passion;sleep too muchor hardly sleep at all;talk until my teeth crackor stay silent for so long my voice grows rusty;work until my bones are showingor sit around until my legs are stiff;eat so much I fear my stomach may burstor eat just enough to keep the dizzy spells away.It's one extremityor the otherand I never knowwhich end of the scale to expect.But I do know one thing:whatever it is I am doing,I put all of the willpower in itand nothing in this worldwill jade my ambition.
I think of youAs suns set afar and mountains flameAnd eagles, turning, turn to fireAsh cold, alone I lieAnd think of you.
Time HealsAnd maybe in time,Even I'll believe the lie.So let's sweep it asideAnd lock it deep inside,And, let them belie-Ve the pretended 'alright.'