Neji-roo42

he dreams of fairy-lights, brilliant underneath the sky of foreign cities and pinned across the walls of his mind are all the places he's going to go to someday, somehow - he'll take New York to Nairobi or anywhere in-between. there's a hungry soul beneath a bulletproof skin; a heart of a wolf who never saw the open sky. (but he is caged within a prison of his own design and all these dreams are just in his mind.)

In this empty room We stand together In silence In the darkness Our shattered hearts Bleeding together as one While the blood runs Through our cold skin This is what love is like Two broken people Sharing their pain Merging their empty souls We forget about the world Because we live in a world of our own United as one In an illusion of happiness

I dreamt I was an architect, a handful of doubts and corrosive intellect. The clock tower has the most lonely view of the industrial sunrise, rising like the old Indian song inside. From where I sit, sunlight drips like honey fresh from the earth over concrete elegance. Sometimes autumn feels like winter. Once a classy hotel and now an urban puzzle, consumed by kudzu creeping all along the broken windows, choking the windchimes. How do cities understand what soul sings behind their windows? There’s so many different suns desperate to connect; the light through a dirty windshield; the sun in an empty room; something ordinary

She held an aquamarine crayon in between her chubby little fingers Her small hand swallowed it A glow enveloped her cyan eyes, like firecrackers on the Fourth of July She scribbled wildly, with no direction She held a marigold pencil in between her slim fingers- no longer chubby, but she thought they were Her collarbones smiled through her skin, even though she did not But she still doodled, eating her mistakes She held a ballpoint pen in between her brittle bones- they were supposed to be fingers Her ribcage protruded like shelves at the market, however held no food: only pain But she still drew, and devoured the ink She was a starving a

Through our lives We get hurt We get stepped on We get broken All the time We feel empty We feel numb We cry out for happiness All the time Some of us give up And end their lives Some endure all of it And live in pain Some stand up tall And break the cycle of suffering What will you do?

A burning sunrise The eyes catch fire Wash my face in the pond

I am the bird, trapped in your cage. I cower inside, terrified by your rage. Please let me out. I need to take flight. The wind in my feathers, smiling in the light, but you won't let me out. You laugh at my cry, if you will not free me, please let me die. I cannot go on this way, drowning in fear, day after day, year after year, but you don't have the mercy, don't have the grace. You laugh as I scream, a smile on your face. Fine, be that way, cruel and cold, but I'm sick of playing, your games gotten old. I scratch at your hand. Free! I fly straight ahead. A window unopen, thump! Your bird is dead. You cry out, but you can't hurt me.

I am freezing & I am hungry for fever’s lips- her inky fingers purging a dry stomach. My body is an ocean, my limbs, but oars. My tongue & teeth, a life raft keeping this madness from sinking into blue. Offering up 102 degrees of skin; You would think I had something to say.

so hand over that defected scalpel in your bloodless hands and watch carefully as I peel away this tainted skin to make way for my blackened and corrupted insides. And everyone can finally see the grotesque monster that lies deep within this soiled excuse they seem to enjoy calling a heart. If beauty is in the eye of the beholder, then why is it that I can't stand gazing upon my reflection every time I pass by a mirror?