Red Rose

This red rose may have its thorns

But I reach to pick it anyways

For I know that in the end

It will be more than worth it. 

I Don't Care if I Die

Hello darkness, my old friend.

It’s been a while, but I’ve come back to see you again.

I wanted to tell you: I don’t care whether I live or I die,

But I don’t want to be the direct fault of my own demise.

Can you help me with this, my long lost friend?

Just please bring this darkness to an irrefutable end.

I know a Girl

I know a girl,

with pain in her eyes

and sorrow in her soul

and regret in every fiber of her being.

I know a girl,

a very lovely girl

who hides much beneath

and no one ever notices.

I know a girl

with a shattered smile

with melancholy laughter on her lips

with scars on her soft, impressionable wrists

with doubt plastered upon her flawless brow.

I know a girl

who is “okay”

who is “fine”

who is just tired of this life.

I know a girl who is broken.

I love this girl who is falling apart. 

I know a girl I want to fix.

The Paintbrush

She reaches for her paintbrush, it’s time again to paint.

She holds it close to her canvas, not using any restraint,

All the while keeping her expression quite quaint.

This painting shall be her finest, her most magnificent vignette.

She paints in crimson red, lustfully meticulous as if outlining her silhouette.

This final piece she will fail to ever regret. 

Almost now complete, she paints her last stroke.

She saves the best for last, as her finale can all but be revoke.

But now comes a twist you won’t believe, as if it were a gruesome joke.

She painted a gorgeous picture upon a canvas, you see?

But her brush was but a blade, her canvas but the wrist of she.

The crimson paint she used was but her liquid life she wished to free.

But now her lovely painting fades,

For her arm holds no more blood to keep it vivid in shades.

Forevermore, she continues to fade ‘til nothing else remains.

But now, you see, there is but one more twist.

For her mind was really the razor

And her heart was but her wrist.

Can I try?

Each slow, shallow breath I take

Sends me closer towards my fate.

My mind races with my heart, and fails to refrain

From creating a never ending cycle of lustful pain.

I clench this knife with an ambivalent grasp,

Letting it carve into my flesh as I let out a silent gasp.

Desperate for comfort, the silence feigns screams

As the blade reassures me this in not a dream.

I give into each corrupt desire,

I give into my every failure.

Am I dead or alive?

Am I reality deprived?

Can I feel? Can I cry?

Can I simply try?

Never Fall That Far Again

A whispering gust of verses encircle my ears as your lips somberly dance to the rhythm.  I watch as the darkness drips from your mouth, just as blood leaks from a closing wound. Your eyes wander hastily to catch a glimmer of sunlight, only to halt as it is kisses the lifeless concrete that lie beneath your feet.

Your mouth begins to dance again, “This ground I see,

This ground supports my flesh,

        my burdens,

      my faith.

It keeps me afloat in my sea of woe.

Thru it, I can never fall that far again.”

A Requiem

You bleed waning passion.

We watch it escape every crevasse,

Every pour,

Every crack in your flesh.

You grow hope in your garden of denial.

We watch them bloom into their demise,

As you have no water to sanctify them.

You sleep with cozening shadows.

We watch your every breathe;

With every inhale you let in your demons,

With every exhale you sink deeper in your quietus.

You smile with fear beneath your teeth.

We watch you force every grin,

As you lean to kiss your fear instead of me.

You shuffle off this mortal coil.

We watch you flee with a bullet,

As you give up the ghost and set your soul to eternal rest.

You lay on the lamenting floor.

We stare in dismay at your lifeless body,

I mutter your requiem,

As it shares a melody with the silence.