Dreams Dressed In White


There are daydreams stuffed in my pockets, sparkling city lights under ashen pale skies and poetry painted along the street-lines. Continue reading

Infatuation, Empty| A Poem


You make the sky blush
Irises erupting In shades of burning brown
Misery, in multitudes
Dripping from the cracks in your soul.

Unsettling truths that seem to shine through
Curtains of all your stories
Stitched in silk.

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I heard about a boy, had too many fears but learned to bury his tears beneath leather jackets and blunts that sparked his nights like fireflies under the reminiscent, glistening moonlight.
I heard about a boy who knew poetry just as well as he did the runaway pill that hid in the back pocket of his jeans. Had cotton candy dreams and radiant distant eyes of chocolate brown and diamond white.
I heard about a boy, had cloud soft skin, fingertips that burned with the touch of a pen. Memories were like spades to his spine as thoughts of tomorrow were apprehensive like he wasn’t sure when or how he’d fade. Release was just another summer day dripping with kindling light away.-H



You’re somewhere far away, cornered in the very corner of a room. Stranded against a wall. The paint chipping off as memories start to fade. The drink does what it does when it enters your veins, the inside of your brain. Rotting away setting fire to what we build. Our sand castle falling to the ground in one swift motion as your hands grip her hips. Moving, from side to side. Moving, everything’s moving too fast, how are you holding on? Or did you let go, was that long ago?

Because you were the epitome of beauty, the definition of catastrophe. An unexpected flow of events that hit me in the head, a tail twisted to its very core. So much so that it looses all meaning, therefore becoming a meaningless verse of fourteen lines on a page. Us. A paragraph, an essay, a form of literature epicaly written. A shame no one dared to read. Not to the ending anyways.

The ending, did we even bother to write one? Or did we just leave it upon fate to decide the crashing of our spaceship, not a landing, never a landing. Because when two forces so strong as us come together, they are bound to burst. To blow up, just drop the bomb already. Heave the heavy matter that lays upon your chest into my bare hands, watch me carry it the way home. And then when I look back, I expect you to do the unexpected.


The Space Between Everything and Nothing.


The space between everything and nothing. That’s where we’re stuck. Because we are the thudding of our hearts, the colors in our eyes, the languages we speak.
We are the seasons and how they change, drifting from one to another. We are everything from dark to light skin from short to knee-length hair. We are the memories we make. We are beauty and trust. We are everything.

But we are also deeply rooted with nothingness to our cores, because we are questions unanswered. We are the emptiness in the air, the sobs we bare. We are nothing, and I mean it. Because we are lost, confused and we are hurting. We are ants in a farm, machines at work. We are not just one but billions dating back into history. We are not immortal, but we die and fade and disappear and we are certainly not remembered, not the way we want ourselves to be.

We are hanging between everything and nothing. I have no idea who I am. I tend to feel more like nothing though. Is that bad?-H