Fabricated

Am I human where there ceased to be a memory? Where the edges of crisp reality don't recede at hopeful gazes? Will our hands crinkle where children's tired eyes once gazed? Our roads are made, powered with rubble and scarred with hope. Sacredly we'll stand, make sense of the strength drowned in sober fields of dying realization And I will never quit catching your poisoned adaptations and the tears falling from your veins. My hand will warm your frozen heart and my memory will save this last glimpse of life. We're broken people. Living once inside the edges of a song played way too many times. Our hearts once loved but the mention was forgotten. Because this music just became too quiet. And to you it's just way too loud. Drown out my weekend fright in one more pillow encased nightmare. Every piano wavers silently out of tune. Mocking my off key voice and warped sense of happiness. I just know that trying won't save even the most lost. I keep admitting. Over and over. I'm broken. A human not utterly lost but partially broken. Maybe just to pieces. This skin welcomes darkness. As the light was getting too hot. Utterly frightened by the parachuting life. Hurtling towards my black hole eyes. I didn't think anything could reach me like you did. May our trashed paper trails meet again amongst the light of day tomorrow. Heroes to a scarlett sky. And demons to bloodied cobblestone. The blood finds my heart harlequined. Because I'm not ok. The depth in words unfounded. For now breath isn't worth fighting. Filling words of furrowed minds. Sucking the life. Droning on and on. Desperately forgetting. Scrubbing away the existenceless inked countertops. Words mean nothing. Especially these. Unknown as to what this twisted heart should pen. Humanity slips around my soul. Spinning and ripping. Greed slaps the torn white walls. Chasing away these tapered skin pieces. Naive and tireless. Spawning inside these unfiltered openings. Some goodness I've searched in a world so lost. Filling the cases with unfed moments. Grass openings of led for the first time in such a long time. My letters feed on crime splashed powers capable of losing sincerity. Ask me a question. One of invariables. I'm half asleep but so alive. More times we couldn't try. Words are weak these days. Blocked out by the strangling. Silenced inside this throat. Squeezed and stripped. One last spur of the moment scream. And now the room exists so silently. Sound as loud as treeless winds. Nothing. Feeding softly on a boiling. Jumping and pouncing against this slippery core. January is so slow. The months inbetween utter the crimes inside these overused veins. Begging can't bring me the times. And crying helps nothing but pain. Sheltered and unordinary. These finers won't move fast enough and your eyes scribble so quickly. Kept track with nothing so long. Kept track with the scorching loveless days. They stabbed. They stole. And left. Bleeding. Screaming. Begging. Nobody won. Especially not me. It's gone. It's done. And I still can't breathe. After the onslaught was the loss. Loss of me, of them, of us. It all died and drowned in one final swoop. I'm all that's left. And then even I can't see. So I'll falter and skim the bottom. And piece this crooked trap around another unwholesome stab. Deflect, dive, fight, LIVE. Again.

Reviews

[Reaper]

"Living once inside the edges of a song played way too many times"
GOD, that is a stunning and perfect line. I read that i was like, dang it, that is so deep. I think we all live in a song of our own creation. And i used to live it the song, SAVE ME, it was just what summed up exactly what my world was like and what i lived in. Then when i met you and you were in turmoil, i lived in the song, HAVE FAITH IN ME, purely because I just wanted you to take a chance with me. You did. Now i live in a song of our own creation. I really do, nothing can sum up the love i have for you.

BTW this poem was amazing. I know i went on that tangent, but this poem made me think a lot. You have that effect in your poems, they make me think all new type of thoughts, on such a deep level.

I love you.

[No Longer in use]

Long, but worth it. A lovely story of heartbreak. Some people aren't going to want to read a paragraph such as this, because when they think of a poem they think of stanzas and concise sentences...
Those people are simply missing out!
~The Wilted Rose