mila-lf

we reconstruct the man from shards of paper and pottery (a shrike in ink a small wooden bodhisattva a practical treatise on swordplay) he said his only teacher was Nature which is a fine thing to say when you're good at everything they say he slew Ganryū with a length of oar he'd whittled on impulse into a sword so much for the soul of the samurai: not metal, flashing and hard priceless and irreplaceable only a discarded wooden spar emerging from refuse to refuse returning and perhaps his poems were the same nourished by earth and water whispering an answer to wind burbling off towards the long sea and this is how hi

The darkness of your romance Fades to gray before my eyes You know I hate your truths As much as I adore your lies You left me in the autumn, Like Persephone in fall And I never will accept the fact That you're just a mortal after all.

1. tomorrow is not worth waiting for. sure, there will be sunshine (with a slight chance of rain) and sure, some kid will be smiling, and yes, life is still moving on, but it's not like anyone cares. 2. you just want someone to love you, misery and tears and all. maybe you could spend saturdays curled up under the covers, memorizing the patterns of breathing. maybe you could count the seconds but the problem is that there would never be enough, the problem is that there's nothing there to love. 3. no one is listening. 4. i'd write you a letter, but you'd never read it. i'm stuck screaming into my own heart, wonderin

once i asked you your favourite colour, and you said, "the brown of your eyes," so i put in one green contact and told everyone that i came out of the womb as a factory defect, half-priced, damaged goods. - sometimes i am from canada and sometimes i am from england and sometimes i am from spain. i've carefully tempered my accents and plotted out my stories with yellow and purple coloured pencils on index cards. my origin changes like the seasons. "why do you lie to everyone?" you ask. "why not?" i reply. - i wear nametags that read "alicia" and "liana" and "samantha," because i want to know how it feels to be someon

They say the most sensitive parts of the body are the lips and fingertips; But I believe, I believe, they are the heart and eyes. Sensations felt within the heart, overwhelming with feelings unimaginable, and eyes; Eyes shows the beauty, of the World which we have consumed. Lips and fingertips, hearts and eyes, all but a disagreement; A thought for the Soul, and a Life, unseen by human standard.

November 12, 2008 I’ve been knocking on your door, but only death is home I saw you sitting huddled in the corner all alone You took a drag and smiled, but the face was not your own Is this day imaginary, just a draft inside my bones? Here I go inside this shack, splintered edge in hand I’ve been knocking on your door, but only death is home Escaping from confusion, succumbing before my throne They asked if I felt better and I answered them with lies You took a drag and smiled, but the face was not your own There’s open roads that come rarely, and rarely lead to home Handfuls of simplistic freedom were ground into yo