when have I ever wronged you?
I don’t know how they do it.
I don’t know how I do it.
when you are in a heated battle
behind your eyes,
and you can still pull up
the corners of your lips
into a beautiful piece of art.
I don’t know how.
How does your cheeks become
How do you even get out of bed in the morning,
if you don’t want to wake up at all.
practice makes perfect, I guess.
what don’t you understand? people change.
running until your face is red
like the changing colors on the trees
and your breaths are white clouds.
practicing until your fingers are numb
and your nose is colder than the snow
on its way in a few months.
marching until your toes feel like they
arent in your shoes anymore.
the seasons almost over
only a few more competitions to go.
and even if we’ve lost our first show since
november of 2011,
im still proud of how far we’ve come
and how much we sacrificed to march
through all people bringing
our band down because
they dont understand how much
we put into 9 minutes of a show.
I am proud of my marching band.
I still dream about loving you.
of writing about how
your eyes turn into
boundless galaxies I want to paint
with my antique watercolors.
about how your words
linger in the air,
dancing around the room.
how your voice,
an alluring lullaby
and I never want to stop playing.
but it does.
I’m never close enough
to paint your eyes with their distinct blush,
your lullaby is more like a harmony,
but I’ll never have enough
to compose the melody.
smirking down upon mine.
the smiles pulling on the one thread
that’s keeping me together.
eating up my sadness like
a cake they cant get enough of.
the florescent lights
drowning out the dull sparkle
I have left in my eyes.
overpowering the voice I have.
why can’t they see
that what they’re trying to
do to help me,
is hurting me instead?
laying in a dark room,
with your eyes wide open
to obsorb the darkness.
it is tired expressions
and desperatly hoping someone
depression is not
someone should find attracticve.
no one should sip the word through a straw
like it is a sweet meloncholy milkshake.
depression is a serious medical condition.
not a fashion statement,
and definitely not a turn on.
Originally posted on Abandons:
Leave me to melt
into the smoke that is residing in my lungs, this last
cigarette has your name on it and I’m killing myself
with the warm inhale of your breath.
Let the sky
be the only thing that tells me the truth of my lost pasts,
the constellations wrote my life in a straight line that will
Drink me away
until my body is numb and I won’t feel the palms of your
callused hand spill over my thighs. Wait for my mind to be
as toxic as your lips.
Give me another drink
to remind me of the night the tequila stole me away before
any man could, and kiss me to search for the taste buds on
my tongue – not all are sweet.
Feel my ribs
that are inside a body that feels like a jail cell with my number
being the amount…
View original 47 more words
your lips are sweet as wine,
and I want to get drunk.
I’d even drink poison
if it tasted like you.
if you drink enough vodka
it will taste like love.
like kisses trailing down the
lining of your throat.
like warm hugs
and drying tears.