rocketbound

writing wasn’t something i was good at but for you i did it, and wrote my soul into the paper giving you a whole lot of it things were once important, but those people in some way threw them into the burning dumpster eager to lose all again instead of wanting too much spiders crawl around in my stomach and pour out of my mouth, had we met in another cosmos where our souls hadn’t murdered, been murdered so often, could we have swallowed the sweet soup of days shared buttery, slippery kisses even though we didn’t know what exactly they meant we could have to let desire have its day and be safe with each other now what&rs

“I forgot what the outside world looks like,” he blurted. She blinked. Once, twice. A few more times in rapid succession. He could hear it. “It...” And she realised that she had always taken it for granted. “It’s really blue.” “What’s blue?” “Have you never seen blue?” He heard her gasp in suprise. “I’ve seen artificial blue. What’s real blue like?” “It...it’s really beautiful. It’s one of my favourite colours. It’s soft, like the tender skin of your lover or of a baby.” She gestured for him to come closer. &ldqu

maybe i love talking too much the way fantasy words like "fantasmagasic" and "fucktard" roll around and tumble down from my tongue it's just such a savoury experience, don't you know? my wet, wandering lips hunger for the taste of "pulchritudinous" and "blandiloquence" and occasionally i'll whisper "antidisestablishmentarianism" just because i can i talk for no reason, and fill the silences with empty sayings i doll up the words i say and pretend i know a thing or two i speak as if words will carry me to my dream castle in the sky maybe if i say enough stuff, i'll get somewhere eventually.

The winter chill against my naked skin accompanies the icy bonds of false arrangements. I owe it all to both of you. Yet delusion enlightens a haunted mind. In sheets and chains, I forget who we left behind. Bliss branded into my skin, increasingly twisted. Through my pledges of devotion and inner scars you exorcise your demons to my shriveling soul. Again. Again. Begging, bleeding, broken. Again. Again. I try to shut the light out, return to midnight solitude, forget your cries of future ties and a brutality-stained, shamed life in each other's arms. My own deception to control the controller until at last your sanity crumbles at my

Two little months are all we shared, yet such time led to such a warped state of mind. Distortion of priority, of attention taught me to hate all you despised to only live beneath your eyes so piercing of virginal skin that left you so rigid and livid. That was love to me. Comfort and care were merely privileges of which I could never be worthy. Kept in your cupboards until further use under alley lamp light where your feral nature could thrive and throw me to the cobble stones after such a travesty of intimacy. That was love to me. Of course when I was saved from seductive, saccharine, sadism, you never mourned your loss. Always apathetic

Already penned in countless, infantile verses exist the feelings I kept for you. My dear almost-savior almost-lover. Captured in our clinging embraces and rushing tears, I could have sworn on more. Unsent letters still hide about holding all which state lines could kill. I was there, always there. At least, almost. You gave me such euphoric hope, a face to imagine in dark, dismal, dreams. A hand to hold through each pathetic disappointment coloring my life. To contrast so clearly with your hyperbolic failures, clouds of fog so easily, hastily brushed away in insurmountable affection from the masses. I could never compete, my sweet competit

As an absent-minded passerby, one would only see the silent scream plastered onto his face, the reason not quite known. However, step through to this other world to the night when the sky was blood, and you’ll hear it: the soul-crushing scream as it purges through nature, simply the reflection of the sadness in his heart.

Every day I see a new post or hear girls talking about how perfect their relationship is. How wonderful their person is. How they never fight. 2 days later their posting or talking about how they had it good and how they broke up after a fight. I know now, that love doesn't work like that. You're going to fight, you're going to feel miserable. And after it's all said and done you got two choices; You can choose to walk out and leave or you can stay and let the fighting make you stronger. Love is far from perfect only for the fact that there's no such thing as a perfect person. But if you find someone who understands you better than you do so

I always wear the colour black As it reflects my inner mood Black is the absence of colour Now I feel the absence of you Black is my inert, withered heart Immobilised since you’ve been gone A vacuous hole of nothing Lifeless, vapid and monochrome Black is the frayed material Of the grim reaper’s deathly cloak So in the darkest evening sky You would never see his approach Black is the colour and the shade Of the star speckled, moonlit sky And the shadow which you once cast In the early morning sunshine Black is my weeping mascara As down my face the tears will stream From the little puddles of ink My pupils nowhere to be seen