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Literature Text
no matter what they say, i'm not beautiful.
i'm an elizabethan portrait with too much artistic licence; a glossy magazine print with a trigger-happy airbrusher. my heart's a spluttering engine with bruised gears and second-hand shock absorbers; with each move my dull heart's pinball is breaking inside. each morning soft heart pumps are coaxed mercilessly as i'm kicked into gear and jump-started because that's the only way i can bypass my mind and just breathe. my vision is caught between inverted traffic signals as red mist engulfs my sight, corroding beauty into a tarnished car boot antique. my green-tinted eyes scar with envy rather than with numbing peace; gouging lust into translucent porcelain skin. i'm past being rescued. i've fallen past limbo into total submission; deploying ignorance as my only protection because i can't take it when i realise how happy you are now.
we're all average, until seen through the kaleidoscope eyes of a love-drunk fool.
i'm an elizabethan portrait with too much artistic licence; a glossy magazine print with a trigger-happy airbrusher. my heart's a spluttering engine with bruised gears and second-hand shock absorbers; with each move my dull heart's pinball is breaking inside. each morning soft heart pumps are coaxed mercilessly as i'm kicked into gear and jump-started because that's the only way i can bypass my mind and just breathe. my vision is caught between inverted traffic signals as red mist engulfs my sight, corroding beauty into a tarnished car boot antique. my green-tinted eyes scar with envy rather than with numbing peace; gouging lust into translucent porcelain skin. i'm past being rescued. i've fallen past limbo into total submission; deploying ignorance as my only protection because i can't take it when i realise how happy you are now.
we're all average, until seen through the kaleidoscope eyes of a love-drunk fool.
Literature
Ambers Waves, Blue Eyes
Fingers like a willow, bending at his whim
Run through amber waves of grain.
(blue eyes and somber cups of tea defined evenings and testimonies of simpler things)
He will hold her in his eyes –the blues ones— and tell her secrets of the world
Like pixie dreams and broken seams and tired, creaky balance beams;
Intertwining fingers and clasped hearts.
Finally.
Literature
atrophy of the mind
I've got two brain cells left;
one's standing still
and the other is chasing it.
a train
tied
to its tracks;
a plane crash
replacing
it.
a hemisphere
cut in half -
distance
in fractions
reviewed.
My mind is running down my face
and I can't find a cup
to catch it in.
life's
something that
keeps happening.
and, while
conscious (of this fact),
you think
(nothing)
of the moments
it's happening
to you.
My ears fell off a while ago,
if you are still talking
Literature
Floodgate Eyes
Please promise me something better,
even if it is a lie-- sometimes believing
is enough. (sometimes knowing is too
much. tomorrow I will wake up
and travel a little farther down the road
to my own self-destruction. You are
my crutch.)
I won't look back, I'm already wrapped up
in my fears of the moment. An intricate
web of justifications and anxiety is
tethering me to these uncertain feelings.
Would you finally cut me free
if I caved into you? Because
I think I'm getting close.
And I think I read the world all wrong,
but I can still play along.
because selling yourself short never did
anyone harm, and besides, I
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full title: kaleidoscope eyes.
'ever been so consumed with one person that you realise their tragic flaws, yet you still crave their attention.
we're just lonely, hopelessly seeking acceptance.'
'ever been so consumed with one person that you realise their tragic flaws, yet you still crave their attention.
we're just lonely, hopelessly seeking acceptance.'
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