Living a Lie.Living a Lie.You say things you don't mean when you're angry.You call me a waste of space and that you can't stand me.When the dust settles you say you don't mean it.You say I should know better than to believe it.As usual I foolishly upkeep your illusive hold on me.I allow you to mute my thoughts and take control of me.You promise and reassure me that it will never happen again.That this is the last time and you will put it all to an end.But I know promises only comfort fools,Who readily allow others to pull the woolOver our eyes because it is easier to swallow the lies.Can it be a mistake if it happens more than twice?Despite my preaching I can never take my own advice.I've realised that this aggression is a part of youAnd because I can never dare to part from you.I have to believe the love you have for me is true.Sometimes you have to take a lie not for what it isBut for the truth and reality it suspends.Withdraw your vengeful tongue and revert it into a kiss.So
Confront Your StormsIf only you knew.I've said those words infinite times,Repetition streaming like raindrops,Pounding, pounding, poundingIn a torrent.The more I think them,The greater the storm.If only you knew.Some days I step outside to a trickle,Other days a surly drizzleThat merely inconveniences.I duck my head,Pop out my umbrella,And continue on to class.If only you knew.Other days a flash flood of tearsAnd half-rational thoughtsDrown my feet in whirling combinationsOf regretAngerSadnessAnd a thousand other emotionsToo complex to state by name.Words turn to mud,Mud to mires.Then the only clear words within me are,"If only you knew."If only you knew.Somewhere else on the planet you reside,A massive urban landscapeWhere you rarely step outside,Or even hear the pitter-patter of rainTapping on your windows,Asking to be let in.You ignore the raindrops,Don't want to know the weather.But if only you knew.Once I descended down from the storms I wreakAnd knocked o
Nonexistent PerfectionShe dreams of perfectionThe perfect guy, sitting next to herHis perfect smile, shining down at herHis perfect arms, wrapped around herHis perfect voice, soothing as he speaksHis perfect everything, perfectly with herHis words gentle, loving, genuineHe would never lie to her.He would never cheat on her.He would never hurt her.He would never stop talking to her.He's perfect, remember?She sits aloneHurt, indecisive, and unknowingOf why this dream can't be real.She waits by herself for something to happen.Nothing.Nothing ever does.She has been hurt.Hurt by her own imagination.As usual.
EnzymaticIn my tears I drowned for youwhen my cries could not grow fingers to r e a c h ;you were apathy wrapped in silent smiles,which touched and made to feel.I felt youdiscovered you,like children sent scavenging forhidden notes and clues;you were a jagged jigsaw puzzlelovingly pieced together
Done in silence,through studied observationsand tentative smiles aimed at shoulder blades;you would never grant me accessif you knew my subtle intimacy
left one-sided and aching likegoodbyes rolled into single nights of warmth.You were my radiance, illuminating internal corners until I believed that I, too, could shine as bright; it appears only some are meant to be the sun.
A Scholarly MasqueradeSometimes I like to pretend,I'm like the Mariana Trench with my words.That my fingers construct such eloquence,as abyssal and profound as the Grand Canyon.Yet the truth of the matter is that,my heart has not been pulverized into dust.I am about as succint and poignant,as a rusted bucket.