shitsnips

[shitsnips]

Art Gallery

I'm spending so much time with my friends.

Desperately picking pieces of their personalities up off the ground and holding them close. Listening to their laughs and replaying them in my head. Absorbing their every touch deep into my skin.

There's a hole in my chest, that you left. It's not quite pain. It's not agony, or anger. It's just longing. Homesickness for a home I don't have. Love for a boy who's living a life without me. I don't mind it, exactly. I love to love you, but one sided stories are never whole. I feel incomplete.

I am an unfinished work, art displayed in an empty gallery. I won't feel loved without you watching me.

I can't have that, though. So I settle for friends. My lovely, wonderful friends, who deserve the world and everything beyond it. Is it bad of me, to miss you when I'm with them? I think of you so fondly.

I open the doors to my mind, a museum of memory. They wander through and gaze at all my thoughts, feelings, and sentences. One, who has walked these halls so many times they're a historian. Traces of them in every image. It wouldn't be the same without them but, well.

There is an open glass door, centered in my slow beating heart.

Beyond that, your name appears a hundred times. Hidden in splatters of paint and sobs of ink.

Just a boy. Just a fleeting idea. Inspiration.

A speck of stardust pulled into the outer circle of your orbit.

Come so soon, and gone so fast.

[shitsnips]

I'm wasting words by writing letters to you

Everytime I stare at an empty page, every time I feel the press of graphite against paper, and everytime I can think of no one else, my fingers ache for you. My hands, they shake with the desire to trace the shapes of your face. To make your image appear in the blank space before me. First, the sharp cut of your jaw, then the slope of your nose, and the tilt of your eyes. I’d write line across line after line trying to carve your essence into my sketch. I’d erase every hair out of place, and remold every misplaced angle, but it still wouldn’t be enough.

I don’t have enough of you to pour out onto paper, afterall. I barely have any of you at all. How am I supposed to paint, when the tube is half empty and my brush is all but dry? I can’t. I wish I could. I’ve tried. I’ve tried many, many times. You never come out quite right. You’re too cold, too sharp, too old in my depictions of you. I’ve never been sure how to capture your warmth, your wit or your youth. It’s not mine to capture, anyways.

I’ve wasted so many pages trying to explain who you are to me. So much time I spent locked in the drawing room of my mind, tracing over every conversation we’ve ever had. Assessing, evaluating, trying to figure out what one thing I had to fix to make you look like you. Trying to figure out what makes the way I think of you so different from the way I draw you.

You just, and I know this, you’d make such great art if only I had the skill to capture how you appear to me. It hurts my pride, a little, to be incapable of this.

[shitsnips]

#4

Birds, perched on a slow lake.

Wet sand, carrying lover's weight.

Their grins and their hands.

Hearts together, never to end.

Dig into muddy shore,

Find a treasure,

Oh so pure.

Birds, taking gentle flight

and lovers who watch, in fading light.

[shitsnips]

#3

Brilliant Blue Beaches

Swallow me like leeches

Cold Clammy Currents

Scream for my torments

Ore Owned Oceans

Sink in my skins

Deep Dark Depths

Guide me in my death

[shitsnips]

#2

Stand in front

Look behind

Fall through dust

Climb inside

Light the way

Pace the path

Drink the blood

Eat the flesh

[shitsnips]

#1

The wind blows

Soft and cold

Floating through

His window

The night grows

Hot and harsh

Chasing down

His old widow

Against the ground

Pounds her sole

Cracking Concrete

Lifts the sound

Over the mound

Abounds her soul

Shaking leaves

Her heart astounds