Stray hearts°

You look at me with kind eyes that stretch into the horizon, and whisper words made from the melody of your heartbeats. You look at me with feelings that flow, pouring flowers from your lips and onto mine. You stay. And I push. And you stay. And I can’t breathe. Because I look at you with the sorrow of the words you’ll never mean. I look at you with blame for all the pain you will impose on my survival. I see you on my sheets, staining them with your scent that will curl up under my spine and unearth my lungs.

I look like a fresh Lilly with dew on my petals, waking up on a Sunday morning, with life sprouting in my veins. I seem like a drowsy drizzle on the edge of your window, pulling you from your soft slumber to come play under the willow tree.

But fundamentally and down to the core, I am a drenched log, expanding from all the humidity that has caused my heart to weigh me down. I am a leap of faith that has seized to comprehend distance and dimensions. I am a sentence of jumbled up words allocating letters to the sounds they don’t belong to.

Love, I trust your eyes, your lashes clutching to them like they’re what make you thrive.

Love, I believe in the air that blows through your ribs, bringing you closer together.

I just don’t trust the time that it took for you to fall, the same time it will take you to put on your coat and walk away.

When everything dies.

The palm of your hand trembles on my back as we sway in an empty field. Darling, we’re forever lost in silent woods. Barefoot we walk side by side. Why do you fear me?

You hold me closer, tighter… and twirl me around as daisies fall at my feet, withering as they surrender… You spin me around in unbound arms stretched out to the sky. You say that I’m a drug of contemplation, a high without the fall, a quick fix. You grab me by the neck and tell me that my skin radiates escapism and my eyes glow to keep away the darkness in your mind. You press your hand on my heart and scream into the void, that the only things that satiates your famine is my curled up thoughts…

And as I spin, twigs get caught in my toes, shred my blue satin dress.

And as I twirl, my breath gets heavier, my head lighter. My heart clenches. I need to stop.

But I spin, and I twirl until my feet fail me and I drop to my knees.

You’re still here.

You hold me tight, and in your broken embrace you whisper in my ear “we’re all addicted to whatever takes the pain away”

The smiling dream… memories from a past I had forgotten

Let me tell you a little story… of a heart that is torn apart by fear, by desire.

On one side there is the beautiful dream…

The dream that is not tangible, that i will never get a hold of. The dream that fears me. That fears his desires. The dream that is fading… I try no to hold on so tightly to it so I don’t scare it. Dreams are made to be followed. and I’m following mine. I don’t know how much longer I get to enjoy it. But now that I have it I’m going to cherish it, cradle it, cuddle it… and do my best to understand it.

I will not have regrets.

I will love my dream, as long as i get to have it…

On the other side of my heart, I have a smile. A smile that enlightens my soul. A smile that I so long for. That I suffer when I see but can not touch. The smile I reach to grasp, and as soon as I feel it warm my heart, it tarnishes and hides in your sweet sweet face. Smiles are made to be enjoyed, to provoke, to desire… smiles make us smile… smiles are not supposed to fall in our traps and be hidden with our hands… so I enjoy this smile…

I will love this smile, as long as it keeps painting on my heart and soul… and so I sit here now, painting my feelings away. I sit here now, holding my brush thinking about the dream and the smile… and i wonder, will i ever get to get closer… will I be confided in…. will the candle enlighten my heart so it could erase all my confusion?!

The mere fact.

How funny is it, that the little things in life scare us  the most…

We’re afraid of getting out of bed in the morning and facing  all of the mistakes we made the day before.

We’re afraid of walking down the street and stumbling into the people who hurt us the most and still act polite and stupidly strong.

We’re afraid we’d fail at a job we want to excel and stand out at.

We’re afraid of voicing out our feelings and admitting being head over heals in love with the last person that would reciprocate.

We’re afraid of not being able to break out of this vicious cycle of boredom, ambiguity and the shadows in between.

And most most of all we’re afraid of the eyes that will look right through us and see how scared and broken we truly are.

Mirror mirror on the wall

I stare at my reflection in the mirror. Drown into those girl’s eyes; a shadow of someone I used to know. She used to be so confident and fearless, a doer. And now she just waits.

She waits for someone to pick her up and shake her off.

You see this girl once used to roam the streets a queen…now she looks left and right every time she needs to cross them.

At your sight her knees quiver and her heart breaks. She can feel her stomach drop so low it smashes and shatters against the floor.

I do not like this person. She disgusts me.

I still remember this lie from the eye of the careless one.  A broken glass of wine that bled on the carpet. She had guts and pride. She had a soul and spine.

I’ll teach this shadow how to be, how to grow. I’ll show her what it means to move on and walk away.

And it shall never be again.

The light that leads into the dark.

As the air that swifts beneath the sand to lift it up and touch the sky, and the sea collapses embracing the shore, the sun glides into the horizon, hiding its face in masquerade and shame.

People wear off and slide under their sheets. Giving in, surrendering to the comfort and the warmth of their sanctuaries. Or is cowardice letting its face show after the struggle of a day?

Other lost souls wander off into the night, guided by the moonlight, torn apart by desire and ambition leading them into one road, whilst values and morals tread the other way.

People lost on the streets, smoking their cigarettes, drunken, broken, stolen and often cryin’

“Excuse me sir, may I borrow your soul for the night, for I can’t sleep when I dream, and when I’m awake I am flawed” begs and pleads the old man.

He spent his entire life trying like a gentleman, and his wife died of hunger and pain. Heartbroken, he was, when he swallowed his pride and overlooked his beliefs… he never under-looked ever since.

And the young woman laughs at him, spreading her legs, showing her thighs, hiding her tear, masking her scars. She is still 6 in her heart, but which man cares about such trivia and useless core values?

And fear in itself drives all the creatures of the night. Fear twists their arms and they fall on their knees unknowing. In the shadow of the moon, they all show their true nature, unveil their true passions and sell their souls for the self satisfaction of an addiction.

Who can honestly claim freedom from addiction? I know no such man.

And all men ask the same questions.
Questions they know how to answer.
Questions they know how to eliminate.

Then on, stupidity drags mediocrity; poverty drags failure; and money, oh the most powerful of all weapons, drags subordination.

Recommended playlist:
Bad things – Jett Everett
If everyone cared – Nickelback
Lost – Coldplay