Cliche-Monster

I can't stand to sleep, Alone. I can't stand to know, That your scent is fading, From my shirt that you wore. And from the shirt you gave to me. I still find your hair on the pillow you used. You've littered bottles of gatorade around my room, One is nearly full. One is only an eighth full. One is a little less than half. One is almost empty. The other one I finished off the day after you left. I've got ice-water in my veins, And you know how much I can't stand cold water. Bring yourself back, Push me to boiling point. I can't stand to feel, As if I will forever feel nothing.

     I put off sleep because I would prefer to hear your breathing all night long, In sync with your heartbeat it goes on.         I close my eyes and though it is a lullaby you're making I dare not sleep.      I dare not miss a single note in your symphony.    Your eyes flutter behind your eyelids, And if it would not wake you I would kiss them softly.                        I love sleeping with you.   Your hair is mine to play with, And I can hum a soft purr for you when I'm happy.   I keep sharp eyes open in the dark to protect you from monsters, Though I am one myself I doubt I could ever hurt you.         Your chest rises and

Can you not hear the open silence that can't fathom the questions? There is something underneath this white. Something buried under the colorless skin. Even tearing away the veil shows you nothing. It's clean, No hidden black marks. Even the smoke from those cigarette butts faded away within a day. How can nothing be wrong? Is this what Heaven feels like? It can't be perfect. Or can it? Soft light shows not even a crack, Not a single error. As if the demon living here never came out from its room. Feathers dot the floor, Giving away the angel treading through the halls now. Maybe it's a different kind of Heaven.

So exhausted I can't breathe. I can't dream of anything, But in this daze I wonder if that's all I'm doing. Sometimes it feels like a nightmare, And it contains the same feelings and plot as one of mine. Losing you They're all about losing you. Whether it's being dragged back into my own hell, Or you into yours, Or even you being lost to something. Stolen away by some dark creature of sorts, Laughing and mocking at my inability to save you. I strain and pull at all of these hands grabbing for my skin to keep me from running to you. They're black and oily, Their claws bite into my flesh and grab hold of my bones and my vision is so clouded it'

I think I'll rent a shotgun. I left a note to the owner saying that I'll pay for having it every month I do. So every month I leave a wad of paper covered in blood on his doorstep, And every month I find that paper shredded up on my bedsheets. I keep it by my bed under a floorboard, And sometimes in the bathroom, Hidden under that one loose floor tile. It's there, The murder weapon of my damnedest fears. Lately it's gathered dust and shakes under the floors, It laughs and screams, Creaking and giving that instinctive shiver as it cocks itself and echos a snarl through cold rooms inside my chest. Simply, With cold feet I step onto that floorbo

The black looms over and swallows up the fleeting thoughts that never end, Going from one to the next and the next until eventually they're drowned by that black. There's cleaning solution in the cabinets used to wash away those nasty black scorch marks left on silver spoons that you had in your mouth since you were born. That thing you keep in a cage within your ribs wrapped up within your insides just wants to tear its way out again and rip up your skin. There's a memory print of a blood stain splattered all over the tile walls as if you sat in the bathtub and shot yourself in the head with a bullet made of your lies and flaws. You can't dr

Chain smoking in secret with his back to his lover, Hiding the hidden tick as best he can with subtle hints. No lies are spoken, No truths are told. She may suspect but he doesn't know for sure. Cliff diving and clearing his head for a minor second. Resisting an old friends comfort for fear of falling back into bad habits. Fighting off a demon half while giving in to the anger to fight behind enemy lines. Weapons here are forbidden to use, For fear of injuring innocent bystanders, Like his lover sitting back to back with him. He cleans away the cigarette smoke and hides the battle wounds inside his chest, Although they bleed through the banda

My love for things is simple. The taste of coffee as the sun rises to caress the cobblestones, kissed asleep by the chilling air the night before, Birdsong echoing from one sparrow to another in a chain of “good mornings”, The brush of crisp bed sheets moving across the sleeping form of a lover, sunlight dancing across bare skin and shimmering hair. My love for things is simple, and the things themselves simpler still. The tired, almost aching, groan from another as they’re being awoken by a soft kiss on the cheek, Eyes shimmering with the remnants of a dream, the depth and light only lasting for split seconds before f

You're so beautiful and yet you hide your delicate features in black, oily tar. There's grace in your step and feathers in your hair, but now you've trimmed your nails until they've bled. You've been lying to yourself my dear, you've been paining yourself for months. There's no errors in your skin and not a single hair out of place. Your mind is dying for some kind of drug, to take away that empty bit behind your soft and pale chest. Your ribs they're sharp like knives as you carve out your perfectly beating heart. There's nothing wrong with it my love, nothing bad about it at all, but you've tattooed it with black marks and told the world yo