What is the weight of my hands; Or the circumference of my thoughts; A price tag on the hinterlands of my heart? What value holds What translates here, What world tongue Or currency can spare A single soul, seeking to dare To spring from Purge Oratory
The soul craves to bathe in light, But sometimes it wishes only to drift far, far away. The soul burns deliriously putting up the good fight. Those that lose themselves to the night, They grapple, crawl, bellow, and pray. The soul craves to bathe in light. But once clouds finally depart, through the
It was a welcomed mess A necessary byproduct of the insistence of seeking beauty Tired hands stained with paint Color the picture with no worries Finding comfort in its morphed depiction Willing to bear the pain of its creation A path paved by neediness is doomed to fail But I walked down that road And
I really love the outdoors, yes I very truly do With reaching bright green trees and birds that sparkle blue And expansive fields of flowers, all brand spanking new And all these things are great, they’re really truly grand But there are also creepy crawlers that can bite or lick unplanned And rain and sleet
I watch you as you wash your hands with fear, Red that represented my DNA The scenes that play over in my head form tears As that same soul dies and cripples away I wonder if it was all in my head You would make me laugh the same way she did “Sweet, I
You grasp this glimmer of sunshine For a minute you feel that you are on top But then the wind kicks beneath you And u fall in some sort of trap U ache yourself to escape it Seeing everyone you love from above U try your best to climb each rough Thinking you’d never be
I feel as if there is something inside me. Not in a parasitic or demonic way, but something needs to come out. I have been feeling a multitude of spontaneous desires that feel deeply urgent. These include but are not limited to: singing, dancing, talking to strangers, reading, writing, painting my nails, walking, running, driving
I once had a therapist tell me that I didn’t know you at all. That I was too young to really know you when you died. Maybe he’s right. I know you loved art, though. Not the kind that’s hung up in museums, but creativity. Making art boxes covered in stickers, laughing on the floor
Preface We have an obsession with monsters. We’re raised with fairy tales, forced to keep our night lights on in fear of the goblins, dragons, and monsters under our beds. Modern monsters, though, aren’t as visually distinguishable. Shrek, an ugly ogre, wins the heart of a princess with his genuine personality; best friends Mike
This entire view is stunning, to say the very least. The reds and greens, flashing periodically, and the cars that followed their cardinal rhythm, passing by. Going by, heading towards their destination. Snap! A touch of my fingers on cold glass, scraping myself on the sides of the broken shards, a repeated motion, and
