Never Dance Upon His Grave, It's Not Polite

Mr. Grave Digger walk me slowly, let your lantern burn bright. How am I suppose to trust you though, Mr. Grave Digger? Today you kept his secret. The car in the parking lot should have been bathed in rain, because you aren't allowed to steal her tears. The white lines were the only division of direction between her and my haunted past; her stolen tears should have washed them clean. Perhaps if the raindrops chose to dance, their illusion would have been enough to divert her attention from the left. I suppose we'll never know, it's too late now. Wrong turn after wrong turn, why does fate have such a cold touch, Mr. Grave Digger? There was no rain. There was nothing cascading upon the smooth glass protecting her from the real world, from the same seemingly unknown surroundings of her past. There was nothing letting the glass bleed, letting the glass clot, letting the glass heal. The cold-blooded fate would never spill her tears to protect innocence; self-sacrifice is its only desired quality.

You always intended for innocence to be broken, Mr. Grave Digger. He was just borderline a silhouette, a silhouette corrupt. His skeleton was constructed with such detail, with paint so angrily thrown upon him, she was forced to remember. It seems as though she isn't allowed to forget. I remember him well. I remember what it felt like when the truth finally seeped through the barrier which blinded me from his reality, so many wasted months just a blur. I let his ink bleed and I let his ink fade, but the ink can only bleed until the paper heals. The ink can only fade until the paper attempts to reconstruct. She is attempting to reconstruct with the pieces of past destruction, and her little soul is unaware this paper will always read the same. I remember everything; he has made a home within my cobwebbed memory of ancient business. If I can remember everything so well, why can't I remember to forget? I'll be alright.

I've come to realize, one skeleton can have only so many graves.

Infected Retrospect

I rest peacefully among strangers, just as the black rests so peacefully among the ivory. Strangers don't know, and with them I create a distance melodic hum; it's the soundtrack to the unknown which makes its existence so beautiful. Dancing silhouettes trapped within mirrors die behind my eyes, but they'll never know and this thought puts my mind at ease. It's a twisted comfort one can't really explain and can only understand through experience. This whole idea creates and environment so serene, yet so dangerous because just as they don't know, I know nothing of them. Love danced upon my fingertips; among those strangers I was unaware and so was he. Who know I would be the one to fall in love with fiction, a mere dressed up image of fantasy?

We are the insatiable. We, the children of god, show no mercy. Within the unknown lurks a mysterious desire to become aware, but we never really are truly aware, are we? Our lies cover truth and our secrets cover lies. At first glance, we take in what we see and believe what we subconsciously wish was the truth. Automatic judgment is a sickening creation of desire. We then trap those wishes in empty bottles, bottles that will be smashed and broken before our eyes once we become aware. They will spill our dreams, our secret wishes upon the concrete that have become a part of our corrupt human nature - a daily ritual we all mindlessly follow. Hush now, don't scream. The burn of passion is merely a disguise which masks the burn of pain - only after the fire does the ruthless wind bring the ashes to sting our eyes. What we as individuals believe to be reality blinds us, it only allows us to see the exterior being put up and never look deeper to see the truth. The pages of our story, our past, are now stained with everything we hate. The lights of our city crawl from the sky, one by one into the unknown darkness of hatred and fear. These lights are the bottled wishes, wishes with which we painted our sold out futures among the streets of silent romance. In the end, we're alone. We're always alone, and the unknown darkness is our future.

Love is absolute self-destruction.

The Smiling Moon Never Knew

Summer - it's the indefinable. It's love and hate, it's pain and comfort. It's the nights when the stars paint her weeping widow bright and the days she wastes away in a utopia of bliss. She was always shy; she would let her feelings linger in waiting for the vacancy of his heart. He was a beautiful lie, she was his beautiful disaster. It's a strong drug, a drug unmistakable to the summer girl's soul. A drug so dangerously intoxicating that as it fades away with it's season she can feel the sting on every inch of her fragile porcelain skin. A summer fling screams romance is dead, but she would give everything to feel it again.

It was late, the road glistening from the rain. All she could hear were his footsteps echoing though her mind. They'd lay beneath the stars, watching them stain the night sky with beauty. Space's own night lights and satellites created a glimmer off rain drops astray throughout the field - it would cascade upon their young teenage souls. He would tell her everything she needed to hear, but she'd heard it all before. His empty conversation is detectable by a mind of great wisdom and blinded by the poison of love.

Her eyes wondered, catching glimpse of a plane. The stars mapped out the sky; where were they going? She wished she was aboard that midnight flight to the unknown, the unknown sounded enchanting. Escape is her fairytale. Flashback: romantic oblivion, this ink set her fate. She was curious, wondered if the silhouette strangers that were faintly outlined within the windows had lived her story. Dimly lit airplanes against the backdrop of the night sky had always been intentinally created for the runaway. You could see Hollywood in her eyes, but airports are for dreamers. The maze of terminals was never meant to go on forever in this illusioned reality. It's not time to dream, the comfort of compazine is just a fantasy. Welcome to your first mistake, child.

Hello outer space, sometimes we all need a holiday.

Mixtape

It's 3am: her pillow is stained with saline mixed with traces of black mascara and fallen eyelashes. She isn't the type of girl who would normally mask her face with makeup, but she needs it now to feel beautiful; he never told her she was. While fighting back tears she writes herself a note. It's everything she feels, but can never find the strength to say: "it's time to say goodbye, you'll always have a piece of me."

I'm sorry.

Ghosts of Ivory

Together we entered a long hallway full of strangers.
The space we each took up became more and more insignificant with every passing second.
The movement made you sick,
and the passing images flickering before my eyes made me reflect upon change.

Everything was being drowned out by her voice.
The faces of these strangers washed memories up upon the shore of our minds,
within them we saw the boys we'll always love.

These resurfaced memories only reminded us those boys are never far away.
We soon would see them,
their pristine faces creating a rush of emotion expressed through a smile.

The amount of strangers faced within that hallway was completely insignificant,
compared to the thousands we would face within moments of exit.
Within friends we found comfort,
and within strangers we found friends.

It was exhilarating.
During this unforgettable moment in time he would mean nothing.
He was someone who used to mean everything to me.

The night sky was illuminated by stage lights.
Our lungs filled with the smoke tainted air,
as our minds left hemisphere collapsed.

My eyes acted as though they were the masters of trickery,
the darkness would play with us such convoluted mind games.
He was his dressed up mannequin with the mischievous grin;
I blissfully attended a masquerade ball with fiction.

Within this stranger,
a boy whom I had never seen before in my life I saw him.
Why before was I so scared of romance?

I fell for him over a year before.
His butterflies now have broken wings,
but they are in repair.

Goodbye stranger,
hello friend.

Sugar Bride

It's all over now, everything is gone. I had been beating myself up over all the mistakes you've made, when I've made none. If I ever did anything wrong that lead us to this, I would without question take my share of the blame, but this was all you. I've come to realize I shouldn't fight for you, because you've never fought for me. I honestly wish I could look back at these past two months and tell myself it was all worthwhile, but I'd be lying. With you happiness was something rare; you took so much from me.

I used to lie to myself, everyday. I would trick my mind, say the way this is going is okay and that I just need to stand strong and hold up. Every time I asked you if there was someone else you would lie, you would promise me I was the only one. How many mistakes I made with you, if only I could take them all back - all my wasted time with you, all the pain you've caused me. Sex will never justify love and it's a shame I almost made that mistake with you - key word: almost. I personally find it hard to believe how you could ever be happy after what you've done, although I know I'm not the first. I hope those five weeks make you life, because after your time with your cold-blooded whore runs out you'll be left alone.

They say the end is where we begin, and I agree - the only difference: I'm not carrying you through to the next chapter in my life. You deserve everything you have coming your way for what you've done, but you can't borrow my strength this time. You've cheated and you've lied, so go ahead and tell people your version of what happened - you're good at that type of thing. In the end, we both know the truth. You were never a friend to me. I know you saying you care is just another lie bleeding from your heartless mind and gracing your dangerous tongue for the most selfish of reasons. I also know how the idea of someone disliking you eats away at your heart and mind, so there's one last thing you should know: I dislike you.

Go ahead and choke on your own misery, I'm done choking on it for you.

Escapist

Summer
It's never the movie depiction
But it's the time we feel alive
The time our heart runs wild

The sky was a perfect shade of blue
A blue I haven't seen for quite some time now
And I saw his face
For if only a momentary glimpse into the future

My tainted mind forgotten
As I wondered the path of vivid memory
The sun smiled
And I let go of myself

Escaped what we call reality
If only for a brief second
I numbed my brain
And created a wonderland forever missed