It's sort of undefinable,
this little thing called
L
O
V
E
and I mean, we want so badly
to cram it all into stanzas,
shoving in our rainy days
and the sunshine.
Forgetting.
We don't want to-
remembering.
We try so hard to-
What are we doing anyway?
Our crayon sky melted under the summer's arms,
suppressed dove wings.
-Hope-
it always flies away.
At least when the clock strikes midnight
and the evening stars
are bleeding out.
And all you can really think to scream is
L
O
V
E
....They keep saying rescue is possible...
Who are they anyway
and how dare they
attempt to
define
me?
F* ck them all,
you're screaming it, at the tops of your lungs.
You want the birds to hear you,
the ones that orbit the earth,
tracing their wing tips through the cloudy clusters of stars.
You want to fly, don't you dear?
Way up there,
be one with
jupiter.
But then you just
C.R.A.S.H.
down into the arms of your red velvet lover,
the one who brings you pretty things...
you paint roses up your arms for him.
Smile pretty when all assembled look.
Black tears when they are gone.
The sky is grey.
Grey. Grey. Grey.
And you feel as though you are on parade.
Parade. Parade. Parade.
For a death,
is just a death,
but only
upon
dying.
Where are the ones who are supposed to be screaming your
L
O
V
E
The parlour tricks of magicians never impressed you.
Straight forward and dry-cut.
No pun intended.
The telephone rings through your darkness,
dragging you out of this semi-comatose state of mind..
All you wanted to do was fly
with the birds
in the clouds
with the
stars.
All you needed, was a break.
No more red ribbon surprises.
But nobody ever said it would be easy..
and you collapse into your lover's arms,
but once more,
dragging with you, your pretty red wings.
A death is but a death
upon collapse of a soul...
Finally, you've become embraced by the stars.
Do you ever miss us?
Didn't you hear us when we called out,
sounding like a siren...
we always tried to scream for you.
L
O
V
E
**TWLOHA...To write love on her arms. 11/13/08. There's hope.**
