Love: What we can never name

A look into the mind of a person who has lost touch with herself. Jaded and torn from her experiences in life, she looks to others guidance for  answers, a concern or even to blame.


When did the art of words lose their deeper meanings?
When did I learn to read for popularity rather than content?
The stars always tell the truth of the stories we try to vanish,
The ones that have the been told many times before,
Those tales that carry lessons, those refused to be learned.

But…when did the stars lose all their beauty and awe?
What happened to the magic I used to see in them?
When I gazed up with wider eyes and a cleaner conscious,
I thought I could change the fates aligned,
But I shot for the moon and landed ungracefully in the blackness,
Surrounded by the very same stars I once admired.

So here’s to the dreams and wishful thoughts that never made it to the surface,
And to those wanders and cloud dancers that fell through the cracks,
Because those are the people we need to find among the lost songs,
Cast aside in favor for bright stars,
But know that I see you, up there in the blackness and smoke,
Waiting for your chance to eclipse and make your presence known.


Oh sweetie, it must be nice to feel so deeply,
And not worry of their consequences
To speak so clearly and openly, I wouldn’t know,
For I speak in riddles and tongues foreign to even my chaotic mind,
I’d be lying, saying your attention was enough to change my ways,
But these habits are as hard to break as the stone surrounding my heart,
The fire and defenses that spit from my mouth, as natural as the breath in my lungs,
And I do love your attention,
But it will never be enough to keep my wondering eyes, or my indifferent heart.
So lie to me, and maybe you’ll catch a grain of truth,
But know that I am constructed of guards with false integrity
And born from promises built on the very lies they’ve shunned.

Oh, darling, it must be nice to be so innocent in all the ways that count,
Yet you continue to play these childish games of envy,
My heart cannot be confined in the four walls you mean to keep me in.
But I find myself in love with people and everything they are,
So in love that I can’t be kept from the strangers I find in my bed, in my mind,
Nor can I be kept from the lovers that make their way back,
Wanting more and more of what I pretended to give them.

I know you think you know me, my quirks, my soul, my very being,
But you know the me I let the rest of the world see,
The one that can make it in the crowd of serpents and saints,
You have yet to meet the girl behind this closed door,
Or the girl that writes these simple words onto the pages,
It’s not your fault; few have actually seen her,
For she is as lovely and fragile as the ghosts that haunted timeless tales,
But you will never meet her, she only shows herself to the trusted
Who have seduced the guards and destroyed the stone surrounding her walls,

Oh, my would be lover, you have picked a hard game to beat,
But know you have lasted longer than many who came before,
And know that if I had been a simpler, better woman
I could have loved you in the way both of us might have wanted.
But for now, our story reminds me of a Grimm fairytale,
Beautiful and fatale in their lessons
Of feeling too deeply and wanting more than a heart is allowed.


My skin is made of ink and bone,
Covered in ivory, laced in a poison of steel and grace,
Ready to feel and yell, to know what it means to be alive.
Let me tell my story, as I bleed it onto the pages,
Scattered and torn but still legible to the right pair of eyes.
Let me know that it’s okay to feel things like rage and sorrow and pity,
Let my skin be torn and sown, ripped apart and mended all at the touch of another.

After everything, emotions drawn and torn from me in a silent cry
Let me rest easy in the darkness I’ve created.
No smothering, no chaos, just the thoughts I’ve tried to run from, and me.
Let me face them head on,
Give me the strength to change them and the voices that scream at me from inside.
Only then will I split and change, forming a new version better than I am now,
Buried in the ashes of the fallen monsters and shrapnel
Pray you find me among the rubble.

My skin is made of ink and bone,
Sharp and permanent, forever haunting,
Mixed with the chaos of beauty and the saving grace of Lucifer.
Let me show you what it means to be alive,
For I have felt it all within my emotions and the pages I’ve bled into.
Powerful words stolen from a hollow prayer,
Your lips lingering, kissing the scars you’ve left deep in my skin.
Know that you created a beautiful tragedy,
And she will forever be in your debt,
My skin is made of ink and bone,
Covered in ivory, laced in a poison of steel and grace,
She has been through hell and back with me, clinging to all the damage and magnificence life has already offered.


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