Welcome to Gaia! ::

Damn...I dont have anything I like. Man... I am sooo going to work on something the moment I get home from work.

Paper Castles
He wants to fill the air with empty words,
Stifling in their sincerity,
Staggering in their number.
She wants to sit and dream of paper castles,
Of quiet touches,
Of lives lived in single moments.
His words splatter the surface,
Raindrops on the cracked glass of her imagination,
Bleeding down, bleeding through.
The paper castles crumbled,
The weight of the words to great for flimsy walls.
He filled her world with words and tore down the paper walls.
She loved in every moment and forgot about her dreams.
But now he is gone--
The air is filled with nothing,
Her castle lays in crumbles.
behind him is only silence.

Note: Causatum is latin for “consequence or effect”

Trust Is An Eraser, Dwindling Per Infraction:
My heart is foolish-pink
propagated pencil shavings, paltry
against papyrus flesh.

I wore it on the sleeve of my birthday-
suit me, said your fingers, subsumed
by their past

erasure:

the prescribed causatum
between two poets who love sharing
opposing ends of the same pencil.

ugh, okay, something shorter.
and I am totally going to have a title that's actually good some day.

we are the irony of wrought iron

I.

You were a state of mind made of contradictions and paradoxes with sorrow in your veins, but somehow positivity streamed like sunshine from your lips. When the sun fell, you always seemed to rise—to become something godly. You were the person who got shoved towards the edge and decided to fly instead of fall.

That was why I liked you.


II.

With your shoes strapped around your neck and my backpack hanging over your shoulder we took off, seeking the rhythm of skipped heartbeats and stuttering love confessions. I drank as deeply as I could from your confidence, leaving the city behind to become a runaway warrior, battling the fever that started when your skin burned my skin and—

It began that day the ivory sheets on your bed felt like a dip into cold water on a hot summer day and I couldn’t get enough of the way you breathed my name.

But there weren’t any answers down the road; there was only a gas station, my swollen feet, and the buzzing of your broken Walkman, which was kind of pathetic. We wanted to know the price of affection and the cost of our love and during the process, we exchanged scars and saliva and I think there’s still some of your blood underneath my fingernails.


III.

We drank the poison in equal measures, exchanged glass after glass until it all came back up, and I was okay with it. I was fine walking down this road next to you because I was almost happy, and I did not want to mess that up.

You were thousands of iron spirals imitating lace, and I swallowed the lies that fell from your lips only to choke on them seconds later because, to be honest, I found the fractures in our relationship right around the first corner we took.

I just didn’t care since barely breathing with you was a tiny moment of infinity. It was worth it; I thought it was. Really, I knew we would define war—I knew I couldn’t feign this bravery forever—but this had to be happiness, this heat between the two of us.


IV.

You were like a solar flare, sudden and bright, and only addiction came to mind when I thought of us, when I considered the possibilities of what breaking each other really meant because we were born imperfections, made of fire and screams, curiosity and heat and—

In the end, we were empty—not made for one another.

...meep.