Inking Wings

Dip your pen in this inkwell of my blood
Carefully draw out my life's moments
Press the silver edge of your pen deeper
Try to soak up my well, so wasteful.
Ink out my grievances carefully
Mix them with rain born of sorrow
Given birth from eyes lined in anguish
The pain, more then I can bear, is as deep as marrow
I'm dying without death
As we form the letters of my heartache.
I'm outlined in crimson ink,
Flowing through the depths of me
Mapping out my history
All the battles and victories, conquests and defeats
Every minute aspect etched indelibly into every atom of my existence.
I'm inking out the wings of an angel
Through every fragile layer of skin,
into the bone and all the way down
To the core of my soul.

Are we bound?

Scars build up on paper thin skin
Paper cuts that sting like hell
Bruises that have to explanation
Maybe you can see the reason for me to be this way
All I want is an end.
Better or worse.
Richer or poorer.
The love-vows only work if you're bound.
Maybe there is a reason.
Explain to me where I'm broken
What part is missing?
How did I survive with out?
I want your hands out to catch me
I need to feel your strength at my back
I feel the cold doubt seeping through my veins
Don't let words mean more then my body seeking yours.
Don't push me away.
Was I your worst mistake?
I don't make any sense to myself.
While you're out I'll pack my bags.
Slowly I'll run away and hide
How long will it take you to see
All that was, could have been, but will never be?
Out the door I do, don't wanna hurt us anymore
Am I gonna be another name on the list?
Another set of regrets?
Will you be another tear tracking down my cheek?
Another scar that mars my skin?
Do we mark each other after all?
Branded....but are we bound?

Failure is my middle name.

The horrible and the heavenly
Perfection in pleasure and pain
The ultimate destiny.
Endure and survive.
This life is shared by all,
The end is the beginning undone
Perhaps be fight a battle indefinitely un-won
This is the blackness
The joy of the dark
This is our reason
Our gods come to our hearts and mind
Wearing black, it's death, the bed unlaid.
Failure is our middle name
We lay in graves unmade, unmade.
Do you wonder how I stand on the edge
And fight the urge to jump?
Have you any idea how the thought haunts me?
I stand here, alone, at the edge of the world
Trying to see the sky, but seeing only nothingness.
Where is my starlit sky?
Moonless, stars too far away for the light to filter down
Nothing to show me my way home
No North Star to guide my skip
Just endless black.
My vices, my sins, the weakness
That hangs over my head
And I stand in fear
of it all falling down around me
I'm not dead, just falling into the grave marked for me
Maybe you can't see my end at the edge
of your presence
But you may decide my fate.

Quietly, quietly.

Defective soul-beats to the sound of tinkling as the heart breaks.

Questing for a salve to the terrors that rock your world, chilling the marrow of your bones.

The only magic I have is the magic in my blood, the sound of my heart and the flow of my love.

Loyalty to the agony that rattles the core as you close your eyes against the tears.

Sorrow that flows like a river to the ocean of your bottomless past.

Childlike wonder gives way to hate as the world slaughters your desire to dance.

So I do not dance anymore, and the lights go out. I see that smile fade and so do I.

Interconnected, delicately wound into the fabric of your existence, I burn out as you pale.

A nightmare turned reality. Will I never be allowed to wake up?

A writing.

I break my own heart, by allowing myself to hope. To believe in the goodness I want to exist within the core of each person I encounter.



I want you to be a good person, and because I want it to be true, I allow myself to be hurt. And I know, shame on me. For I should protect myself from you and your charm and your cruelty that hides beneath the surface. But I want to believe. I want so very much to believe.



I want to be a good, strong person. But sometimes my idea of what it means to be good can hurt people. Or hurt myself.



It's so painful.



I want to make sure I am always honest with you, about how I feel, who I am, and what I want. But sometimes honesty hurts, because it isn't what you want to hear. I understand that. But I don't want to be the liar that I could be. I don't want to lie the way I've been lied to. And I'm sorry that my truth isn't want you want to hear.



I hurt myself, in the process of trying to help others, because I want to heal the world in the way I have never been healed.



I know you think you're so badly off, that the world is out to get you, and that your life sucks so much. And I'm so sorry that you cannot see how blessed you are. Blessed in ways I have never been. I am so sorry that you are so lost in your desire to be pitied that you lose your chance to thrive in the joy of life. But I cannot keep draining myself to pick up your slack. Because I am so broken inside and you will never understand because you cannot live my life or experience my mind.



I give out all the light I have in my soul to brighten the paths of those I love, that I keep nothing for myself. And I am so exhausted, so lost in darkness and shadows.



I wish you could see yourself through my eyes, I wish you could feel the things you have done to me. I wish you could know the world the way I do. I wish you could feel the beat of my heart in your veins, I wish you could feel the thrum of my breath in your lungs. I wish you could feel the pulse of my life, my emotions, my loss and pain and sorrow down in the marrow of your bones. Because I know that if you could feel the depth of my life, the extent of my sorrow, and the keen edge of my loss then you wouldn't doubt my desire to be good. To be honest. To believe. Because if I do not fight for even ounce of sunlight in my life, I will be swallowed by my past.