for youif i wrote you a sonnet, full offor you
words and
clichés that lose all meaning, you still would not understand. if i sang you a melody, ripe with
soft notes plucked from the throat of sagacity and nothing else; would you still not understand? if i told you, and dripped my heart across the knuckles of your obstinacy i know; you would not understand.
i'll just pull the moon from the sky and carve a soft, luna glow from the focus of your nighttime. i'll hang it in my heart and feel the pulse as
whispers of innocence [sweet fidelity of
i'm not saying any more.my mouth spews clichés after admissions,i'm not saying any more.
biting through the unforgiving mist - we coil, dark against your pale skin,
around your throat, love beating broken time around my scarring kiss.
pureness of the paper seems unending,
as i write my legacy on soft, snow skin - you might forget, but god knows i won't be moving forward - you won't play, but you never let me win.
if i could talk, my tongue tied in knots and heavy in non consenting mouth of lead i'd tell you i don't know what
love is, now - but words are frail and too many have been s
you could still make it right.i,you could still make it right.
will try not to speak, now, and fail to preach the inadequacies of too many spilled words.
will not start every sentence staring, too many 'i's
in this world already for our own good. make promises that will be broken, for the sake of making it better. [sweet touches, in the gasping air -
how can it be so wrong?]
understand; everything must link. interlocking claws, frozen
in shame. don't flutter your fingers away, love,
i won't be here tomorrow, it's too late.
untitled4i. our limbs entangle; spindly green stems jumbled together in the morning fog. you and me, darling, we canuntitled4
tempt the sun down from the clouds and run hand in hand along the boughs of broken bones.
ii. we wither. side by side, year by month by starlit days, we droop together, our fingers stiff and hooked around unresisting human shells. i hear the sea, you see the years go by.
| i write when i'm sad, and when i'm happy, i can't make words bend to say how i feel... mainly because i don't want them to bend, since i'm happy with how things are. i'm not old enough to be able to say anything particularly meaningful, but as long as i keep on trying to let people know how i feel, i'll just keep on letting words out of my mind to scatter across the paper. i believe in dreams and i put my faith in the impossible, since i know when i fall i'll have my wishes to cascade me back into the open sky... and even if they let me down, what else is new? |
okay
Wow!
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Come to the edge, he said,
They said: We are afraid
Come to the edge, he said.
They came,
He pushed them,
...and they flew.
Guillaume Apollinaire
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Zelda has left the building...
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[link]
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we are the kids who feel like dead ends...
~ProjectImprove
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♥ Blackbird singing in the dead of night, take these broken wings and learn to fly ♥
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"we're not unreasonable, I mean, no-one's going to eat your eyes"
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