Poetry 365

scene 1,
we’re sharing gentle smiles,
genuine echoes trailing
our words. faint whispers
turn into distant screams
as time lunges at us
with our personal hell.

but we trail tulips
amongst a field of
lonely little petunias,
so why doubt? love
will keep us alive.

day by day, i’d walk
you home and saying goodbye
was never enough for me.
we’d stand on your
broken porch and become
lost in words, floating
through the abyss
of what we try
to conceal in the shadows
that follow us.

scene 2,
the back door
is splattered in red, and
I always knew your lows
were low, and now you
remain lifeless with the devil.
we talked about this, we
poured secrets and
insignificant thoughts
that are now so clear.

i knew you’d feel blue,
i was the sun that was
supposed to come back up
from darkness, but light
never crossed your path.

hands painted red, and
I could’ve stopped this.
I don’t want to die,
your eyes are etched in
a wall of pictures that
crumbles in my mind.
you didn’t see my eyes
in the back of your mind,
for I sit here, waiting
to be swallowed entirely
by the demons that followed you.

I’m scared of dying, will
we able to share apologies?

scene 3, and it’s been
a few months. i’ve fallen
in a pool of gold liquid
that continues to choke me
as my veins collapse. my
heart beat struggles,
and hallow wings
match such dead eyes.

mirrors that crack
don’t necessarily
mean bad luck, but
instead, a different
perspective.

but I dance through webs
because ever since you left,
stars can’t shine and
the flowers stopped sprouting,
though the downpour of
despair that feeds the
salty stream that roils into
a river of mourning that forever
flows. I don’t know

if death can come sooner.

I don’t know

who you may be,

but my name is

Conforto &

I’d like to fix

such a broken

pair of wings.

I have seen it all –

days where the scent of love

was filled in city streets,

until snow flakes would

fall from dark clouds

to freeze the feeling

of heart break.

Fog roils in and

you can’t stop what

fate has in store for you.



So try to smile through

the wire that is stitched

to your lips. If your lucky,

the blood will taste sweet.



And my eyes opened –
but was I dreaming,
or did this actually
happen?



scene 4, a haze
of blurred cracks,
waves of the sun
and soft words.

I’ve met an angel
not too long ago,
and I can’t tell you how
or why this presence has
decided to attempt
breaking down the walls
of drug use and death,
and try to climb through
the days where black is
overwhelming. Most days
I transition from grey, to blue,
back to grey, until I need
splotches of gold and brown
to flush out anything else.



for fog has
roiled in and
lingers around
my mind. Clouds of
death and chemicals
can be found in
the corners & cracks
of my little box
of emotions. But
I have lost the key
in the trance of insanity.

I just wish to see black.

I see

you, and you

think I cannot. Your

sleepy golden eyes see

a tainted angel, but I am

just a bluebird coming back

home to the branch that has always

been so familiar. The land of make believe

sitting on the edge of a lake of sorrow

that meets with a river of love,

tainted with plastic hearts

torn into pieces, trying

to find the missing

piece to be

whole.



I fly back to a deserted home

because the feeling of

loss & unhappiness

needs light from

solace, and

that is what I’m

trying to give you.

You don’t have to know

me for I am just a bird with



a healed heart that will never really heal.



You must trust me when I say this, but

I care for you. And I don’t want you

to be dead the next time my wings

carry me here. The sun still shines

through grey clouds, no matter

how thick or how grey your

skies may look. Trust me

when I tell you that

fantasy lands and

lakes of dreams

can only bring

so much comfort

until you need light

to come back from the

deepest grave you dug

yourself safely into.

Hello? Where is
This voice coming
from? At first I thought
my eyes were talking to me,
but your voice is clearer after
every nod my medicine takes me.

Conforto? Your name
sounds familiar. I swear
your voice sounds like the
tainted angel that lurks in my
closet, because your voice isn’t
as raspy and torn as the demons that
scream under my bed.

Why do you say this? A
lost soul is a lost fate, and
this is the road where happiness
doesn’t really exist. The place
where you don’t believe in actually
dying, for that gets you down, and
you don’t think about the rain
for that reminds you of
days with him. And you
don’t believe in love
because you know
who you shared
that with. And
it will never
feel that way
again.

So tell me, why do you go back
into the world, when all it does
is bring you back here?

and the bluebird flapped
his wings and left without
a single feather to fall
off his fragile wings.

scene 6, and I’ve plunged again.
I don’t know if I can keep
holding onto this. I now
sit in sweat while the lady
whispers seductive screams
inside my head.



My heart continues to beat,
but it’s never been the same
since you’ve left, and the day
where blotches of red were outlining
lonely shadows that I created
continues to haunt me, as if
angry ghosts are trying
to find the redemption
that keeps hidden from
invisible eyes.

I miss you, & I apologize
for trying to kill myself,
but all I want to do is see you again,
whether that be on cloud 9
or underneath the earth’s soil –
is your coffin big enough for two?

Too much thinking, and I’m
about to nod – imaginary
friends are real and we all
dance with our hands and
speak with our feet. Sinking
into this dark narcotic space
to call mine, and I wish for
my bluebird to come talk to me.

Why do I wish that?

I hear you, when you think

I’m far, so I’m here, wishing

that you can hear me.

Hello? Is this my
tainted angel?

Tainted angel with

wings of a blue bird –

Conforto.

I like to pretend that
you’re the love who died
in the arms of passion.

But you see, why welcome

a tainted angel when you wish

it was someone else?

It’s not that I wish
you were somebody else,
I just hope you can
tell me secrets and hopes -
reassure me that
death isn’t worth seeing
another’s face.

Sleepy words and golden eyes

with narcotic thoughts, and I think

you should know that suicide isn’t

the right way. Maybe your love

is etched in my soul, and that is why

I come to visit you. For such a sad soul,

I see beauty. And I’ll take you under my wing

when your ready to be saved, and for now

I bid you adieu.

I have no control when
you come and go, and I can’t tell
whether you’re a creation of fiction
or if I can actually hold you in the palm
of my hands?

I’ll keep on wishing.

I’ll keep on coming back.

Scene 7 and I’ve run out of
supplements to keep me away from
insanity, and now I lie
on this wooden floor and wait
for the bugs in my skin to
rip out of my arms and the
butterflies in my stomach to stop
puking and to fly out of my throat.

Chills over take me
as I huddle in the corner
of sweat and death , found wishing
for my bluebird to come. But
I only see him after three nods
and when the dragon dances smoothly
in my lungs. But it’s been two days,
two long days of sickness and
42 hours of choking on venom, and
2880 minutes that included
frantic laughter and bloody tears –
which leads to 172800 seconds
of ignoring the knife’s soothing whisper
that wishes to place this permanent scar
on such lifeless skin. And now
I come to a breaking point.

I’ve always invested my happiness
in the form of love, and now
such a thing doesn’t exist
in my life. An unloved zombie
left to rot with the wooden floor
that smells like latex. Fake.
This entire thing has been fake.
Empty like the galaxy,
when you’ve finally reached the tip
of the loneliest star.

One more spin in the dance
of the lady, and I don’t think
I can survive anymore.

Scene 8, and it’s been a numerous
amounts of days since poison
has flooded my system – skeletal
fish and naked birds are all that’s left
in this solace to have been (also known
as solitude). I wait for the last day where
amber liquid dries in my lungs, to
be left choking on things that
I imagined to reality. A bluebird
must have had his wings stolen
because I couldn’t tell you the
last time I saw him.

I’ve realized that you
should never allow
your happiness to be based
around one person in your life.
we should be happy without
living in turmoil,
yet I’m still here
drowning in
regret for this

tiny cabin of mine
has been flooded with

a downpour of sadness.

Simply, I choke
as this baggie
of black solace
can be felt
by a single pinch
of a needle.

I promise it’s the last time
I plunge into my narcotic comfort
of imagination and fog.

I’ve never allowed myself
to try and trace the pulsing beat
that reminds me I’m alive, instead
I would chase dragons and
never reach the feeling

of comfort that was once
found in smoke and mirrors.

So I dive in, head first
inside my silver spoon
of hell and plunge
the rush of
insanity
inside

my veins.

Whoosh. Rush. Wind
rises in my mind, my eyes,

as I close my mind. Spin.
Spin. The wind rises the
hair in my skin and my head

falls off my shoulders. Woah.
Woah. The wind picks up and
scenery is blown away off the canvas
that sits in my imagination and cows are
shredded into pieces and the sky is falling.
I fall to the carpet that sits underneath

my weak legs and I lay here, trying
to catch the breathe through heavy
ropes that ties my tongue, my
lungs down. My. Heart. Beat.
Slows. Peacfully now.
I am falling.

The stinking carpet smells like
putrid waste and lies. I still
smell your blood, as you
can smell the stench of
death roil inside of me.

Where have you gone bluebird?

I can’t breathe. And

now this hell is
over. Let

me love
you

with angels sighing.

Bluebird, conforto,
the angel of despair –
I know you were
just a figment of
my imagination, as
is love, so I know
nobody will miss me;

I close my eyes in peace.

Last scene, and

I’ve come back to

the hills of winter only

to notice your not here.

I’ve disappeared for

I am just a bluebird

that flies the skies

to look for a new

home, but with wings

so fragile and feathers

arched like a feline

monster, how does

one find comfort

in the cautiousness

that overtakes me?



You’ve left, and I was always here.

You didn’t see me. But that’s

okay, for I have loved you

and wanted to bathe in sorrow

with you –



You will never know I miss you,

but as sad as it is for me, I

find happiness in you

because sleepy eyes never

have to open again –



pain won’t be mirrored inside

your grey eyes that shines

with the northern lights.

The light left you

blind, and I

wish I had

the chance to

try and lift you with

my wings, but I remain

perched in the branch, looking

at the lifeless body that is seen

through blood-stained windows.



Smile in the sky and

I’ll feel your warmth

when I fly.




-http://an-impenetrable-heart.tumblr.com