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What we had was real

What we had could not be denied

Well, what I felt

Its too bad you didn't realize

That this was until I lost faith

For months I kept this flame

Until you burnt me

By not realizing my love

And the moment you do

I had let it die within me

And had started another relationship

It was only about a week old

But I didn’t want to allow

This one to get away

Just because you said 'jump'

Yes, there were many things that

I could have done differently

But there were many, many

Things you could have done too

No, I am not like you

Yes, I am similar, but not the same

So, this is the last poem

I'm wasting on you

Because after this, you are

Out of my head

~Chrystal

Written on

May 23, 2014

Once.

I've never known life like this.

I've never known love like this.

I've never enjoyed each passing day such as this.

Then.

Wretch at the ruins left behind

By the vilest creatures there are.

May that suffer and die

and Rot where they're left.

Still.

I never knew life like that.

I never knew love like that.

And am greatful.

And hope to know such,

Life and Love.

Again.

.

“how beautiful is the silence of growing things
in a place full of even deader things?
the soft roots of innocent herbs
poke through the rotten flesh
and curl around the dirty bones
of forgotten ancestors
that deserved better than this.” And
all of this underneath the rubber soles
of a young girl’s Sunday shoes,
scuffed white surrounding curled baby toes.
Her world watches as she jumps from rock to rock,
lining the winding road as it leads out.
And she laughs at herself,
dark curls bouncing with her. Again she wonders,
“how blind are the sunken eyes
of those who stopped looking? the flies buzz
and run their tiny feet all over
the stiff, unfeeling organs
of ancient lovers from a different land, different time.
if they could see now, they’d just see rotting wood,
the unsightly view we condemn all our expired kind to-
maybe that’s why they stopped looking, closed their eyes.”
She smiles, and the old breeze
chills her crooked teeth, stirs her Sunday dress,
black and white against her bony knees.
And she tells herself-
“It is just his body that lingers,
falling victim to natural defamation;
his soul floats on to a truer place,
full of grander memories.”
For she cannot afford to think in any other way.

Let me lie

Let me freeze again

Till death do we part

And we are on a fast road there

Let me die

Let me live

For death is only the beginning

And I will rise again

I am Atlas

Cursed to uphold you all

Show me the universe

The world in my hands

The sun at my back

Clouds and nebulas are my clothing

Ill carry your world

Time and I converse

As you are born and grow

Earth and I speak

I call out your name

Don’t feel so low

I’ll carry your world

Show me your strength

The fire in your eyes

The desire in your fight

Sometimes I feel so low

About to explode

I’ll carry your world

The world in your eyes

Adventure in your smile

Love in your life

Strength in your touch

Laughter in your youth

Ill carry your world

I call out your name

The world on my shoulders

You hear the thunder from my voice

The lightening in my eyes

The load is not too heavy

I call out your name

I’ll carry your world

For I am ATLAS

Cursed to uphold you

I'd drop the world to catch your tears

I’ll carry your world

He was born in a rodent-infested hut, amid the broken screams of an abused woman and the furious shouts of a drunken man; those sounds never faded.

He had been there all his life.

He watched the generations pass by; he lived his life in each stage, under the watchful eyes of the same spirits that have always lurked there.

He is unwelcome-he interferes in the dull monotony of their lives

But he doesn’t, really-he never ventures into their existence-

Never shatters their perfect routine,

He merely peeps in from a distance, like a tourist at a zoo.

As the house burned, bright orange and red flames licking the night sky,

A boy of eight watched, a gash running down the side of his head.

That is a scar he will forever have to bear.

Holding that candle to the drapes and then quietly walking out, he wouldn’t regret

He was a murderer.

He walked out of what they called the kids’ dungeon, his gash now a pink scar,

Jagged and crooked, adorning the side of his face.

As other boys threw insults at him, he stole a brown hat with a large brim.

His painfully ordinary hat hides his cold eyes, as they observe and calculate

He is tall, but he slouches; his trusty cane always clenched tight between his white knuckles;

Some people make us instantly warm up to them, some make us shiver uncomfortably.

He is the latter.

He watched with pained eyes as his wife walked away.

The little boy on her shoulder reached back for him, crying too much to be coherent.

The people glared at him cruelly, telling him he was his own father.

He learned to shut his eyes and ears.

He is there, seemingly everywhere at once, as soon as the smiling sun makes his way up the sky;

He watches carefully as the village crawls to life,

The small shacks opening their worn down, unpolished doors, as curious, wary heads peek out at him,

Each of them turning away as he turns in their direction.

He watched in the mirror as his once youthful face grew old, like creases on thin paper;

He looked out of his window. An old lady smiled at him with sympathy.

She was the only one who had done that in a long time.

They talk about him-the women gossip during knitting sessions,

And the men make crude jokes about him as they labour in the fields.

Happy new parents warn their children fearfully, to steer clear of his mysterious figure.

That is why they scuttle away when he watches them-the same way he does everyone else.

He stared at the official document.

The old lady had died.

She left him her life’s savings.

They do not know how he survives-how he makes his living,

How he gets his food and drink,

Or is he some strange entity that does not require any mortal means of survival?

They do not know, yet, or maybe “thus”, he is the story young boys tell around the campfire,

As they shine torchlight in their faces, making sound effects to ensure their friends will wake up screaming in the still, quiet dead of night.

He signed at the bottom of the page;

He hoped someone would find it.

He gave his house and property to his son.

When his spirit fades away like morning stars, in the middle of December, his bed as cold as his eyes once were,

No one knows.

His body rots, as the family of rats, who call his house their home, 

Eagerly feast on the pale carcass.

Things come full circle.

I want to say I love you

But you’ve heard it all before

In different ways

Different places

New schemes on how to say it

How do I make it special?

How do I get across

Just how much I want you

How much I need you

How much that I love you

That I’d give my life away

If I could make you smile once

And I would say it’s worth it

Because I’ll spend my whole life

To make you happy

I’ll give my last breath

To make you feel safe

And needed

And loved

Outside of you, nothing about me makes sense.

You created the stars with your breath, the sun with your voice.

Great is The Lord, my God, the great leader of hosts!

Who can tell of your greatness, your mercy, your love?

Who can begin to mention who you are; what you do?

Who among men can understand your place?

Men fall to their knees before you and children run into your arms.

Who is like you oh Lord God?

Who is like our daddy in heaven, who is everywhere at once;

Rejoicing next to the reunited lovers, and the hand on the shoulder of mourners?

I've been feeling quite empty these past few nights

Finding myself just laying in bed watching the clock take my time

In life, shouldn't there be more?

Is there something out there I should be looking for?

I've begun to develop imaginary friends 

Talking to my crimson walls, and these shadows don't pretend 

I find that if I close my eyes 

I can see the beauty they describe 

But when I open them, I see

All the hate, the lies, the greed

So, for now, I think I'm done trying to cope

For now, I've waved the white flag, given up hope

And don't tell me I don't know shit or I'm insane

You can't understand how I feel, until you've lived inside my brain

It's intolerable, it's fucking pain

A mess I've made, constant re-arranging 

I fucking hate letting go 

But there's no more hands reaching for me to hold

I've never been a quitter, but life shows me no reason to stay

I've been destroyed, inside and out, nothing ever goes my way

So tonight, as I've been writing these words

I've realized life is only going to get  worse

And I find myself closer to this basket of knives 

So I bid farewell to whoever reads this, tonight I take my life