Thursday, June 30, 2011

.high on cough syrup. phase two.

.the streak of color.

.he left scarlet blossoms for the bruised statue
this winter has waited too long to touch you
she'll vent hypocrisy, see how much you
let the summer burn her sorrow

a whirlwind of fate-set-in-motion stored inside a jar
and if we blur lust and emotion, that's just who we are
the darkness of a street engulfing two shadows in a car
I don't learn from mistakes, my love, mislead me and I'll follow

chain reactions are with the aftermath, I should've let you see
must it always be persistence against volatility
I am not the child I want you to perceive
an incomplete truth doesn't mean it's all for show.

that star looks lonely, coiled up in clouds, let's go for a swim
self-destructive tendencies aren't just another whim
yes, it's all planned, but I wonder which way captivates him
I'll spend a lifetime making it up to you. are. you. listening?

and I know this could be the one that destroys me
my heart throbs with anticipation, bittersweet sorrow
there's only so much of your color I can borrow
I'm dissolving
.are you waking up?

Thursday, June 9, 2011

.high on cough syrup. phase one.

.i know this could be the one that destroys me.

.shadows sift in moonlit darkness with no air
curtains billow above, in a day, they'll be threadbare
I'll go out, but suffocation will follow me everywhere
and he, of all the facades for this heart, will seem hollow

a something that remains elusive and its place is empty
know it's missing. but it was yours. and know it always will be
everything begins and ends with your voice saying pretty
every pair of syllables deepens that I'm shallow

awakened in a cold sweat, burning a nonexistent fever away
no recollection of either reality, 'cause time is at fray
artificial lights on stone turned un-stone. everything's gray
but one shocking streak of life painted across a nothing

scrape myself off the floor and think about ending this non-life for the hundredth time, once more
I need to exist, if only in this one moment for you. not afterward and not before
warmth snapping at its heels is no more than porcelain should endure
a streak of red against a gray-scale spiral, and I'm falling.