#wordsunsaid

In here the sun shall not rise

The eternal night breathes

Of grief and rage

In this chaos there is no rest

No sleep no release

These thoughts are not mine

to control or resist

Yet these thoughts are mine

To possess and breathe in.

Our explosion of turmoil was inevitable I guess. We loved too hard and too fast. We always called ourselves soft and sleepy creatures; maybe we should have loved softly too. Screw gentle though. Give me hard and fast; I am so tired of soft. I miss the feeling of bruising fingertips and crushing emotions. I need to feel the weight of your chest against mine. Don’t tell me to slow down; I don’t want to slow down. I want this fast paced and eager. Give me a flaming ball of butcher knives, give me trigger happy psycho, give me the unbearable weight of the world against me. All I’ve ever known is soft and quiet and pretty. All I’ve ever been is soft, pretty girl. Quite, sweet lover. Give me the mess of a first experience again. Give me thorn pricked fingers. I want sloppy and stupid and courageous. My entire life has been church pews; peaceful, still, a perfect identical row. I miss the danger of my first kiss. The stupidity from my first time. The sloppiness of my entire life. I want to feel the fire in my belly of when you first looked at me. I miss feeling wanted. I miss being chased. I’ve been so worried about being taken advantage of more than I already have, that I locked myself away. Forgotten that it’s okay to be the rabbit as much as the fox. But this rabbit is still rabid, don’t forget that I still have teeth. So forget this quiet life. I want a furious love, a stupid romance, a gentle life. Give me a contradicting love, an original cliché of an existence. This life was inevitable.

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a haven it was once

now a mourning ground.

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For you this year

wildflowers I leave

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The sky under which I walk 

the memories you left with me

all bear down on me

inside and out.

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I can hear you laughing.

the sound carries

through the cold air.

Serene and sure.

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Leaves crunch under my bare feet.

I can feel them.

They keep me here

Even when all other reason fails

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I cannot walk into your tomb.

My feet refuse to move 

an inch beyond that pretty wood.

So I stand at our door listening

to that soul trapped inside.

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A warm voice crooning 

some long forgotten song

a myriad of sounds and images

buried behind that door

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The sky under which I walk 

the memories you left with me

all bear down on me