little soft cacoon

This little soft cocoon
is where I'd like to stay
It's the only thing that keeps me living life today
This little soft cacoon
is calmness all around
the lack of air the like of love the lack of senseless sound
And if I stray out like before
What and who's to blame?
Is there a force
that loves me more
A force that's not ashamed
To see me as am and not a figure black and white
I am the very colors of the very darkest night.
And maybe while you whisper to the softness of my skin
I'll whisper back, my hand will out, and I will gesture in.
But you are not the trusted one.
You are not the light.
The air I wanted just to breath,
to make me feel alright.
Still this softest bubble,
keeps away the pain.
I'll push you out I'll pat you down
I'll make sure you can't feign.
Your love,
the lack thereof;
Your light,
the smell of night;
Your skin,
can't let you in;
This sound,
shall make me drown.
And if,
it comes to more,
the things,
I once adored,
I can't
believe this place.
I can't deny your fate.
Little softest bubble of my blank protected me
I am,
the smallest pebble,
smaller than the sea

JERK

Death and hesitation.
Blood burning.
Hand shaking.
You FUCKING moron.
JERK
I've never been so hurt.
You make me cry.
You make me bleed.
I'm fucking sick of all I see.
It's getting blurry,
NOT ALRIGHT.
You fucking make me hate my life.

metal on glass

Ice Cream
Hot Chocolate
Death Cab Blaring Rhythmically
And a Sukkah
Perfection in its most simple form
To its innermost parts
The novelty of everything, so
Beautiful
Hotness stretching gently and loosely down my
Throat
And my mind a mattress, soft
As the bubble of this night
That so soon will come
Into me
Green mug, cheaply made, a brown drop
Falling and green,
The coldness hits my tongue
Blaringly
Belittles me
Brown, like circles of contented harsh
Love
The chips and their
Dark mates
Sprinkled here and
About
And as my cup drains
I cringe
My spoon falls,
Metal on glass
Green on brown
Silver on
Nothingness

where the angels would walk

Here lies the grave of the little girl Grace
her little blond curls were the fruit of her race
the contour of grave meeting flowers and grass
is the line where the little feet walk slowly past
Their baby-smooth heels making less than a sound
as they trace with their toes all along the sharp ground
and water the grass with their salty pure tears
of careful contented and regretful fears
Did you know I think of dying today?
then everything else would just go away
the people who don't see me silently cry
would maybe, at last, finally come by
And point at the girl who once knew the world
who saw it for everything, great and absurd,
saw what a place is the one where we mock,
the place where the silent
finally talk
She saw it for all of its light-slanted trees
the spaces between them, the sky and the breeze
would push, just aside, for a moment or two
the leaves and their branches, where the birds flew
but there is not robin,
no blue jay,
no light.
There is just solemness, sadness, and flight.
I still cannot find where the light meets the dark
the line on the map where the angels would walk
The place where the grass meets the grave meets the sky
the place where I whisper,
the place where I die.

where the angels would walk (take 2)

Here lies the grave of the little girl Grace
her little blond curls were the fruit of her race
the contour of grave meeting flowers and grass
is the line where the little feet walk slowly past
Their baby-smooth heels making less than a sound
as they trace with their toes all along the sharp ground
and water the grass with their salty pure tears
of careful contented and regretful fears
Could it be she thought of dying today?
than everything else would just go away
the people who don't see her silently cry
would maybe, at last finally come by
And point at the girl who once knew the world
who saw it for everything, great and absurd,
saw what a place is the one where we mock,
the place where the silent
finally talk
She saw it for all of its light-slanted trees
the spaces between them, the sky and the breeze
would push, just aside, for a moment or two
the leaves and their branches, where the birds flew
but there is not robin,
no blue jay,
no light.
There is just solemness, sadness, and flight
I still cannot find where the light meets the dark
the line on the map where the angels would walk
The place where the grass meets the grave meets the sky
the place where she whispers,
the place where she dies.