The Girl Behind The Red Door...

I will keep your eyes in my mind.
Seas don’t compare and stars cannot shine quite as bright
But the remnants of your smile will stay with me
Until they’re tossing sunflowers on my fairly earned grave
And I will yearn for the company of your cheek being cradled against my palm
And I will help you remember what the meaning of this shattered world is
And I will hold your hand the whole way.
This
Is
A
Promise.

Peering
So long
Between keyholes and
Failed attempts at being a dreamer
Who never had wings,
I cannot tell
Anymore
Whether you are
Strangling me
Or setting me free.

I cannot speak anymore
It’s almost as if
My past has become a blur of who I used to be and a struggle for who I’m trying to become.
Maybe one day I’ll understand why the grass being greener on the other side is something I need so badly,
Maybe I’ll appreciate the smell of roses instead of burning the petals until they smile their way to the ground,
Maybe I’ll figure out why you loved me so much,
But I sure as hell won’t do a thing about it.

I have heard death’s twisted shards of laughter too often,
I hope hell is
A few degrees cooler
When I get there.

You look at me through screens
No one else has managed to tear holes though
But with the swift flick of your finger nail
Can you give me your heart
In pieces and
In ruins?
Can you give me your hand?
I have to place mine in it
Gently
And freely.
I am yours
But
Don’t
you
show
it.

I am not magnificent
Like the morning fog lifting
Breathing precious life into the grass like the dew in the morning
And all I want is to climb to the top of the mountain and look around me
So I know
That I’ve lived at least once in my lifetime.

You will wake me up
Respire words into my ears
Paint pictures of granting me a better life
Writing postcards from foreign lands and catching my desperate tears with your mouth
You love me
And I can’t figure out why I cannot grab onto
My dreams
But I know
You’re keeping them
Safe
In your heart.

My seams are coming undone
And
I
Can’t bother
To stitch them back up.

It must have been that yesterday was the day I clipped my wings upon realizing the desire to fly away,
To leave at the thirty and call you seconds after just to hear you scream
“It’s all your fault,
It’s all your fault,”
But I’ll buy my time and remember your lies and forgive myself for succumbing to the no
No
No
And
I will still be here while you break me in two
Stronger
And screaming
No
No
No
I will be.
Though you’ve tried to kill me
I will be.
I will be alive.

Why are our hearts so fragile in the craze of strength
And of stability
We’re cracked and broken
But our pieces are solid
Cutting the feet of the ones who walk over us
Raining fire on the ones who tread under us
But we’re all so sad
In the land of utopia
What
The
Hell
Are
We
Doing?

I’m holding my skin together

With inked on safety pins

And holding my dreams together

With the rest of what I have.

I’m holding it all in the palms of my hands

And it’s going to

Save my life.

(Source: sunafterthestorm)

What?

Did you think

That you were in my songs

That I strummed your features

Into my heart

And etched your voice into my lungs

You think I

Breathe?

You think I feel with the tips of my fingers and the pad of my tongue?

Don’t you know who I am?

Don’t you know

That history is a sham

And I am a sinner

Too?

(Source: sunafterthestorm)

These visions are illusions

And I can only think

When I’m barely breathing and thumbing the sound of my heartbeat on strings from the back of my throat

It goes on

And beats

And beats

And it just

Won’t

Stop

Until I paint it red and rid myself of the sand between my toes and the mirrors in my room and the fog above the sand at 5 a.m.

These cities are my voice

And I’m throwing up

My silence.

(Source: sunafterthestorm)

I want to fall down rabbit holes

and smile at the illumination of graffiti on the city walls when the sun peeks through the morning,

wake up when the smell of coffee and elation hit me and

 grasp the daisys with my fingers covered in earth,

 begging for salvation from their roots

But I am dizzy from today and

far too anxious for tomorrow

Can I just

Slow

d

 o

w

   n

and

hold on

until these dreams

(cradle) me to sleep?

(Source: sunafterthestorm)

“It’s funny, really.”
When she said that he stared at her. She was so used to him speaking up and gripping her tighter, either by the throat or by the heart. He reeled her in, she was caught in amongst the sea of lovers and quarrels and she wanted to get away. But she was the poor deer in the headlights, and those goddamned brights were going to collide into her body until she was unrecognizable.
No more.
“I imagined you with a ring on your finger. For a good few months. I mean Christ, all I wanted was certainty and there you were, solid as a brick and as matter of fact as all the profanity I use. Fuck. Fuck, why is it different now?”
She wanted to cry, to squeeze one pitiful tear out of the duct that was clogged with regret and self harm but now she couldn’t see past the red in his eyes; they used to be oceans. Now they’re threats.
She shook her head.
He cried.
“This is funny to you?”
She shook her head.
He cried.
She imagined his hand on her throat.
Tighter.
She shook her head

and walked away.

(Source: sunafterthestorm)