Rainbow Tears

red
orange
yellow
green
blue
purple
she was the product
of curious stares

and three
half drunken
cups of coffee.

The representation
of a
rainbow.

She didn't always smile enough,
but when she did,
it was real.

Real
like thousand year old trees
and thunderstorms.

She was beautiful.

But prejudice cuts deeper
then my smiles could manage to heal,
And the metal bars around their minds
have always been too tight.

So we tried to coat our fears with our future
and finally learned
to keep our mouths shut.

It was August when they killed her.

Hung by her own hands,
in a room that not quite big enough
on days we had nothing to hide
but our hearts.

Skin
has never been
a strong enough shell
to keep out razor tipped words.

The Perfect Canvas

Sitting alone in her room she was an artist. Carefully tracing star clusters into perfected constellations. She smirked as they painted themselves the color of strawberry splashes in an exploding sun. Once again, completely amazed by the beauty created with merely a freckle coated canvas and a makeshift blade.

Sharp Edges and Brused Whispers

Confusion
is the conflict
between understanding
and complete rejection.

So thank you
for worrying
about my words,
but they do not want
to belong in a straight jacket.

I remember
the night
you punctured my lungs
with the edges of your smile,
and with our first breath
we woke
to a war zone.

I can't count
how many times
you've tried to teach me
the tears
of soldiers,

but sometimes
I worry more
about the ones
they leave behind.

So we howled
memories of
"Please don't leave me"
to the moon,
cause I know
it must be lonely
to be the guardian of the sky.

Trust me,
I've planted
far too many
bullet holes
within my mind
to believe
in beauty.

So lets drink
to insanity,
just to remind ourselves
that life
is only a lost cause
if we let it be.

I pray
that you finally
learn to love,
so that I
may drown
in the sound
of your heartbeat.

Forever's Reality

She's been known
to make love
to memories.
Her eyes
permanently
glazed over
With the promise
of your smile.

And each night
She bleeds
your name,
Her shaky hands
not quite strong enough
to keep up
this death clutch
to reality.

She wants
to finally stop lusting
for your lies,
as she breathes
in those silver wisps
of eternity
she painted
the day you
pretended
the word love
could apply
to people
like her.

And she hopes
That if she lines her lips
with ink
she could finally
leave a stain
of dark blue
in place of
forever.

So don't lie
and say his lust
wasn't beautifully
destructive.
He has left nothing behind
But time.

Five Ways To View Eyes

Flickering -
his reflection
is only a ghost
of eternity.

Smeared with
silver nitrate
and splashes of
golden brown -

They are plagued
with visions of
"Is this what you call freedom?"

Radiating,
they cross
the floor
in pairs

We trace
our hopes
into the outsides
of our tears
I hate to
lose
so many.

The Art of Anxiety

Anxiety breaths
in fear
and exhales
doubt.
He is married
to the art of
apprehension.

His mind
is a chaotic
disaster
of colliding
ideas,
crossing through
screams that could
drown out
the yelling
of time.

He hides
his eyes
behind his hair
(the kind of hair
that is the product
of the quick clipping
of shaky hands
and kitchen scissors)
and nervously
runs his paintbrush
through the mass
of not so timid colors.

His stress
stains the canvas,
leaving behind
restless splattered
words.

"I wish I could paint the world in beauty."
he whispers,
but his insides
are already speckled
with the dark colors
of suspense
and lost time.

Human Minds

We mutate our memories
and mix them
with moments
of the moon's grin.

Is there really
such thing as growth
when it only regenerates
the distruction
of our disappointments?

We capture moments
only to sever them
from the minds
of our children-

As this
broken-down globe
collects dust
in the corner
forgotten
amongst
our lust for life
and the collection
of lies
we continue
to count.