penpaperandalex

[penpaperandalex]

short stories are my salvation

[penpaperandalex]

You realize his name has been misspelled, for you are before the son of the Sun. There is no mistaken, there he is with a faint rose across his cheeks and his golden gaze. There he is.

[penpaperandalex]

soul, paper thin.

[penpaperandalex]

Roses are Red

roses are a deep crimson.

though incorrect, violets are called blue.

I'm not one for cliches

my poems instead imprison

the thoughts I cannot speak aloud

the thoughts about you.

[penpaperandalex]

i would do anything for Love.

[penpaperandalex]

I can do anything, even leave you.

[penpaperandalex]

someone so beautiful could not coexist with my nicotine infected exhales.

[penpaperandalex]

I like to think Alexis Beaufort does justice to his name. His broad shoulders and toned body would make it hard to believe how delicate he was mere minutes ago. How delicate he always is, how softly I enter estasy. His emerald eyes make green your favorite color. Alexis, protector. Beaufort, beautiful. At least that’s the illusion I created of him in my mind when we first met. Because when you stare for too long, you realize that perhaps he doesn’t protect as his name claims, he’s the one you should be protected from. His exterior may be captivating, but what lies within is so deceitful, you almost hate him. Almost. Alexis Beaufort is but another poison. Perhaps worse than the nicotine he so desperately despises, perhaps more addictive.  

[penpaperandalex]

my father wrote love letters to death.

[penpaperandalex]

inhale once, inhale twice

feel

the grey smoke dancing

inside

both of my lungs.

exhale.

witness curved lines

swaying

[penpaperandalex]

I wish to bleed some words

in hopes the wind is on our side.

but alas I sit here caressing empty pages

empty-hearted, empty-minded,

empty. empty. empty.

I sit here without a voice

or a lover, or much soul.

I sit here & look pretty while I wait.

and wait. and wait. some more

[penpaperandalex]

you mean so much more to me than I could ever whisper into my poetry.

[penpaperandalex]

I read the words of people long gone. they reach for me across the decades and beg me to understand. if only there were a single opportunity to validate. if only I could write back.

[penpaperandalex]

I am drawn like a moth to this book. I surrender to its art.

- on The Picture Of Dorian Gray

[penpaperandalex]

the truest essence of who we are

like deep night skies and burning stars

is something we simply cannot hide,

exposing our naked heart and mind.

[penpaperandalex]

plead the sky

pluck the lies.

tell me why,

tame my cry.

[penpaperandalex]

How does so much water live inside of me? Oh, how I envy it.