Xyron7777777

There's a funeral today. I'm still undecided If I should use present or past tense. The eulogy is full of lies. What place could be better for you than here with me? How do we know that the streets in the city of gold aren't paved in pyrite? I'm not supposed to look back, but it feels like I no longer have anything to look forward to. You only meant to hurt yourself. But I guess you couldn't predict how badly this paper would cut.

You called me malicious, and vicious, pernicious, incredibly twistical. But I’ll still be carefree while you’re looking at me; call me egotistical. I “deserved castration,” or "defenestration," "salt in the abscess." My alleviation? This verbal menstruation. (My poem’s a bloody mess.) To ignore all you spout I’ve just been spacing out; astral dissociation. I don’t hear your onslaughts while alone with my thoughts, like mental masturbation. Your threats gave me chills; I’m cured by what kills, like I’m addicted to intervention. Now you insist I need therapy, despite how protecting me was ever my primary intention.

There will come a time when thunder will peal hard enough to make the very firmament feel impermanent. A time when the storms will overpower the sun and send survivors fleeing for their meager shelters. Cinders will dance upon the gathering winds like flickering fireflies seeking solace in each other, combining into a bonfire that consumes all it touches. There will come a time where the seas will begin to boil, scalding spears of steam erupting from the earth to flood the fields with salt and heat and hatred. The final dregs of humanity will cling desperately to their beleaguered hopes and makeshift rafts, as their towering monuments to decadence come crashing down around them. Shards of glass will rain upon their heads; twinkling carefree like falling stars that happily ignore every wish aimed their way. And every cataclysm, each catastrophe, the entire calamity destroying - devastating - desolating - you and anything you cared about will be deserved. After all... If I couldn't

I ran an experiment inside my skin by threading vines under my nails to see if they could live within or die in my blood's trails. cause it seems nothing can be kept alive when held close to my heart - inside. my ambition, my hope, my desire, my drive, even the warmth of your love has died. I'm told to ignore them; their hate, the stares (I can't fight how they erode me away) I'll gift my soul to anyone who cares (I won't see tomorrow if I'm gone today) Just leave my body to the vines - this plant whenever I'm returned to the earth so that from my being it may decant and prove that even I possess worth.

I doubt I can take this much longer. Guess it's time to learn which is stronger; My desire for a place all my own Or this fear that I'll die all alone. Cause the Jury is out, but executioner’s in And he's happy to blame you for every sin There is no defense, your evidence is fake The witch hunt will end as you burn at the mistake. I can't find happy, let alone ever after When plagued by the sound of your incessant laughter. Your accusations pale with each new offense Made just to impress her at my expense. So here lies our friendship, Aged 29, With her claws in your back And your knives in mine.

The dream drifts away, relinquished to the chill morning air and carried aloft by the gentle smells of breakfast. The final fleeting images fall from my eyes like scales, leaving only the vague impressions of kind words, and the slightest smile (which I find myself wearing as my feet touch the floor). Soon there will be nothing left of my ephemera except the ache in my chest and the three words I offer to the universe; I miss you.

I'm not here. No longer in the present. Where her words like wasps surround me. My mind whirs back to a past effervescent where her laughter was enough to blind me. I fell hopelessly in love with the flower girl as she laced lilies into my clothes. She scattered asters with every twirl and tinted my glasses in rose. I'm not there. I'm dreaming of what's ahead. A future, but yet a prototype. My mind paints us in a shared home, a shared bed where our dreams look strangely like pipes. I fell dangerously out of grace with my love, hitting every edge on my way down. Happy to see you watch me from above, Cause at least it meant you were around. I'm nowhere. Just glorified detritus floating to time's effluent whim. My mind escapes to the waters of the Cocytus Where my heart has begun to swim.

eyes are still open at the crack of dawn dont know how much longer i can go on why is this happening make it make sense what did i do wrong please name my offense each sleepless nights like a compounding bruise i feel i cant win i know I can't lose I have to keep going, practice what I preach... how else can I expect my words to have reach? I know I'm no icon, hero, ideal, but I still have one truth I can reveal. 'Cause even my failures come with a warning: Despite the long night there still comes a morning.

Through verdant crests and foggy air I returned on the winding road. Past copse and grove beyond compare, to return to my youth's abode. An arsenal of blades of grass each borne atop the terrene slope. Behind, a creek's curling crevasse, hem the fields in defining scope. The honeysuckle's cloying scent drifts with bumblebees on the wind. Loose gravel marks the path's ascent to the door that I now attend. Beyond, atop a pile of books, a cat yawns awake in protest, relinquishing its sunlit nook to headbutt it's nuzzling request. Under silvered brow, hazel eyes alight to me from opened tome. He grins at my welcome surprise; A son, ecstatic to be home.