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Jaded. Fragmented. Fallen.
Always Rising.
Sunday, March 19, 2006
02:04 p.m.
Found Burnt
punching at the bus stops's glass
he falls into himself
and a drunken stupor
that has cradled him this far-
beyond well meaning,
she leans forward falling into love and colors,
not knowing the magnitude of glass
and just how quickly the fallen smash
the wreck
more than all the consequences of her crash & burns,
she's found burnt by shards
that once swore to hold her close-
well meaning in sight
she understands he'll never grow.
-alysia-
Sunday, March 19, 2006
02:03 p.m.
A Wake up call & a revolving door
silently staring at the corners
hung upon the wall-
caffeine pumping through her veins-
whores lining up the stairs
nothing more left but lies and lingering sweetness-
youth plastered and painted like lipstick
falsely coated upon the sheep of society.
only a long gash placed upon her left index finger
staying behind lon enough
to get her up the next day.
there's really nothing more left to her soul-
a wake up call
and a revolving door.
-alysia-
Sunday, March 19, 2006
02:01 p.m.
Go Home
go home-
gap-tooth whore,
not yet awake
to your meaning
go home
lost wanderer
awake in mourning
go home
goblin left forgotten,
lost in a closet
go home.
go home.
rid yourself of me and my depths
you hold no meaning
in your pettiness and understanding.
go home
and leave me empty.
-alysia-
Sunday, March 19, 2006
01:59 p.m.
For a life she'll never truly live
he demanded three hearts
instead of two-
needed to feel more
than my sense would allow.
and always with that sly smile on his face
like this icing
and empty shell of a body
had always been for his liking-
cover up
and bad writing
nestled into a diary
for a life she'll never truly live.
-alysia-
Sunday, March 19, 2006
01:56 p.m.
Within this
a love like this
has grown within me-
me- without knowing it.
it covers me like skin,
shaping my form
and allowing my blood to bleed.
how does it happen?
how does it all happen-
me growing and changing,
the same love adapting
and building strong-
even without ever knowing you.
distance and worlds
fall pale to this growth within me-
i feel it breathing
as my own heart beats-
something that i've always dreamt about
but never known
like knowledge would be the one thing
to save all of this-
to create this- this
that i've never known.
-alysia-
Sunday, March 19, 2006
01:49 p.m.
Who am i?
who am i when you introduce yourself to new friends?
the fly on your back,
whispering to your heart.
the tiny bell within your ear,
hearing all that you hear.
who am i when you tell stories about that one spring
when winter had finally fallen.
who am i to you whn you remember that job you did
and finished as soon as you could?
how do you speak of me?
am i that krazy ex of yours that won't give up
or do you even mention our relationship?
upon societal
and worldly levels i guess it was minimal
and could easily be waved away and erased
with a sweep of your hand.
but your consciousness wouldn't allow it-
your heart couldn't think it-
because i am there
inside it.
tucked within the left ventricle-
i am there within your skin. the way you move,
the wind that flows over you.
do you mention that?
mention the time we took Suzy for a walk
and the way you held my hand-
how it felt like you were holding my soul?
when you told her who i was
and why it was that i was dreaming of you
did you just kinda laugh it off
and say that i was a friend from kamloops?
such a faraway place,
much farther outo f your mind.
did you think to mention to her
how you were the only strength within my body
when i found out about the abuse-
how it was you that held me from
so many miles away
like they were only a whisper needed to be whisked away.
the earth's terrain couldn't even rain upon us.
never washed us away to nothingness-
never faded anything
but stood to prove just what we were
and who we are together.
did any of this even cross your mind?
the night we listened to from autumn to ashes
on repeat
not noticing
because we were so entranced with each other's own music.
or did it stay as silent as your own breath,
you not even knowing the difference
because it is i in you and you in i
and there's never a hell beyond that?
-alysia-
Sunday, March 19, 2006
01:46 p.m.
Still
i don't know where you get off-
which way you're going to turn-
and i'm not staring back at you
to find out.
i know it's me here in this room
spun with paint
littered with gray.
i know that it's always going to hurt-
these scars upon my wrists
the nurse's clucking as she wrapped me-
like my blood was more than a gift for someone else's christmas.
the stains still haven't gone away
and the therapist suggests moving.
like moving would save me from the memory
of what's still going on inside my head.
-alysia-
Sunday, March 19, 2006
01:44 p.m.
To you. For you.
me. what can i say about me---
my house is an art project.
the floor, decorated with papers.
the walls covered in different sheets of color-
scrawled upon whenever the inspiration hits.
laundry in the basket celebrating its week old birthday-
both the tv and the stereo playing music in different tunes.
paint and canvases encasing the rooms.
and posted everywhere---post-its with lil things that keep me moving.
me. my home. my unmade bed. my imagination.
that's what i bring to the table littered with sketches and scrapbooks.
me. that's what i bring to you.
-alysia-
Sunday, March 19, 2006
01:39 p.m.
Already Stained
with the taste of chocolate
and red wine,
she raises her smile
to her mind.
raises the bar
of her standards,
and steps back into the shadows.
the sweet november rain
delicately lingering in her hair,
as the reminder of his smile
reaches her soul.
there was a sense
of calm
and new planets
as the lights were dimmed between them.
a sense
of understanding
that reached levels
of what was never possible.
and in the quiet-
in the shadows of victoria street,
she began.
she began
as the chocolate reached her
and didn't offer the fake sugar coating
of normal ideals
and visions of love.
it reached her,
stepped up in front of her
and demanded to know her morals,
her standards
and her levels of society.
it didn't matter
if she played her cards right-
the wine made sure it wasn't a game-
just a glass
upon which she etched
and fingered
over lingering conversation
and a good mood
only elevated by truth
and no paint except for what was already stained.
-alysia-
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