You gave me back the stars
that were doomed in my memory.
The constellations which had
left an acrid taste in mouth
now taste sweet.
The bitterness of their
sacred names swiftly dissipating
from my sullen tongue.
Tag: Poetry
Snake
My anxiety is a snake slowly constricting the conflicted parts of my brain, increasing the tension on my subconscious worries and pains. It invites in my insecurities to intrusively choke me with doubts, but instead of expelling air it's belligerencies escaping from my mouth.
Agony
My agony feels like a red-hot and ragged blade stabbing into my sternum. It twists and digs its' way deeper into the pit of my stomach as my breaths become sharp and uneven. My lungs struggle, burning with each painful gasp. Making me fight for the air I don't even want to breathe...
Reminders
A hotel notepad and a beer bottle cap, three loose quarters and a constellation map. A missing black sock and a half melted shoe, are just some old objects still reminding me of you.
Thirty
I didn't think it would happen so soon, I swear I was just still using a Zune. I look back and see all the trauma and flaws, But also the triumphs that deserve an applause. There's memories I love and some that I hate, Yet all of them now I know were my fate. The years have gone fast but still seemingly slow, To end that rough chapter I needed to outgrow. So now here I am the day is arriving, To be thirty, still flirty, and continually thriving.
Quiet
When the quiet invites all the bad thoughts in... Screaming sounds better than havingto listen...
Your
Your voice is in my head but it's such an awful shame, that I can't see your mouth moving when you say my name. Your fingers tend to wander and play those little games, that heighten all my senses and implode all of my veins. Even with my eyes closed your face is in my brain, affixed into my memory while still shadowed by flame.
Burn
Choose your side and stand on the end, for there's nothing left here we can mend. This bridge needs to burn so let's take it down, I've laid both our fuses for us on the ground. Now strike your match and I'll strike mine too, so our flames can engulf what I've wanted to undo.
Precipice
The ledge I walk is a thin precipice, Of mental regressions and pure recklessness. One misstep and I fall into the direction, Of extreme mania or a sinking depression.
Prettier
My pain has always been prettier on paper... The way my tears land and make the ink bleed through the faded blue lines... The way my frustration smears the page into blurs of illegible letters and marbled designs... The way my notebook's corners are curled during the hours of countless sighs... And the way my fingers twist my misery... So that it's prettier than what's inside.
AO Poetry 
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