I Can Taste The Tears From The Way You Write And I Can Hear Your Heart Cracking Each Time You Speak

i "plant your lips on my body like a flower and let them wither ii “and i’ll paint the color of your eyes anew iii “the midnight moonlight slips through my brittle bones iv “and i fall on my knees; i can’t pretend; i’m falling, and falling v “you are my favorite time of day, my favorite night of sad vii “the warmest the end of my handmade fairytale viii “lay me down on an open road; put me on the end of the rope ix “falling in love is dangerous, but falling for you is chaos x “you are an echo from a dark cave i shouldn't enter xi “you are a hole on my parachute, a fire ready to conquer xii “tie me with your breathless kiss and let me shiver all the pain xiii “the dawn will paint our skies orange but i’ll only love your glinted eyes xiv “and you’re the only one i’ll let to love me to death, to kill me further xv “you are, you are, you are my favorite sin of all” — listening to “trouble i’m in” by twinbed (eusie.)

i exist

you ask me if i’m fine. i say i’m fine. you look at me with one eyebrow raised, but you didn’t do anything after that. all these nights when you feel like shit, i swear i can feel your soul tearing apart with just one look at you. and you give your heart out as if you’re making love to me. but i know it’s only your sadness flowing out. and it’s not about the fact that you’re actually falling for me, or that you actually like talking to me. i ask myself what did i ever do wrong to be treated and feel this way. i ask myself what would i give for you to at least show that you care even for a damn minute, or a damn second. i just want you to know, i really need you to know... i exist; this heart inside of mine is beating. and it used to scream your name, but now it only stutters out each letter with so much pain as if with every one, one of my heartstrings break. i exist; the love i feel for you is real and it’s not made up. i exist; yes, you acknowledge that. but not entirely, only when you need someone when the one you actually need doesn’t want you. and yeah, i only exist during those times. am i fine? no, i’m not. but you wouldn’t know, because you wouldn’t care. i exist; i am human, and i have feelings. don’t break these pieces of my heart and shutter them more than they already are. i exist; can’t you see? (eusie.)

Here's to someone, pt. 2

Forward. You are a once again a shade of blue, but with a little bit of green. This time I came close in hue. Now I know how your depths go, so maybe drowning with you isn’t scary.

Rewind. But I still look away when you try to hold me.

Stop. But I really hope this is the last time. But maybe not.

(eusie.)

Unexpectedly

too many poems too many unrequited love too many broken hearts and too many bruises and unwanted scars

too many persons oblivious to what they did

to gain existence in another world

a world called poetry

(eusie.)

“Sometimes I wonder / if I’m really the best / person for this body.”

— — John Elizabeth Stintzi, from “Salutations From the Storm,” Junebat

I can’t believe...

Half smiles broken wings I am out of feathers When will I ever be whole?

Deafening silence sunken eyes It is not comforting It is not pleasant Shaking voices heavy sighs Should I just let go? Should I just stop breathing? Oh, let me scream let me cry I wonder Why am I still alive?

(eusie.)

so here it is

a.k.a. and i told you, and i told you, so please listen

i told you at ten past three in the morning, we don’t have winter but when i press the end call each time you say good night, i feel a little chill as if your voice is meant to be a camp fire on cold night but instead, it’s a landslide — a hurricane — a snowstorm — and i told you at twelve past three in the morning, i should feel guilty and i should feel bad, but i don’t, and nothing ever comes pouring out of my lips, even the word ‘sorry’ each time you cry and say that it’s your fault, when really, it’s mine, and i told you at thirteen past three in the morning, i don’t feel you slipping away, but i feel myself running away, and i don’t even see myself muttering a goodbye, but i said to you, i will, oh i definitely will, and i told you at fifteen past three in the morning, i do remember when we asked each other to never let go, i do, i do, i do, and i told you at sixteen past three in the morning, i really i hope i won’t let go just like you won’t, and i wish it’s true, and i told you at eighteen past three in the morning, i’m not going to cry, but my heart is aching, and i hear myself sniffling, and i find myself looking at the mirror, with stars on my cheeks where your kisses used to sleep, and i know, i just know, that it’s been a long time since i told you i’m in love with you, and i cry again a little bit, and you’re crying too, and you’re saying sorry again, muttering it’s your fault, but it’s not, and i told you at twenty-one past three in morning, i just miss you, i long to kiss you, and i want to bury myself in your arms, and if you choose to leave me because of how these pieces of mine that are on the floor are way too shattered, your fingers will bleed, so you’ll end up giving up from saving me, i said i would be okay, because i’m a mess, and i told you at twenty-three past three in the morning, i love you, and i told you at twenty-eight past three in morning, i’m in love with you, when i finally stopped crying, when i finally calmed myself, i told it again, and you ended the call, and i told you at thirty past three in the morning, ‘it’s okay’ when you call and say sorry, and then i say it’s my fault, and then i say ‘good night’ without another ‘i love you’, and i still feel alright

(eusie.)

being

silence is comforting. but sometimes, it’s like a gun to the head, or a start button for overthinking to creep over. (eusie.)

an interview with my neighbor

part 1: mr jameson coles

frozen cookies are his favorite snacks; he said he likes his heart cold. he even likes to fill the path to his house with burned out roses. “because no one likes a love dwindled to nothing,” he replied when i asked why. sad love, sad love, sad love, i heard his eyes whisper. my heart ached. he always met sunrises with cold coffee which he made every night before. and he didn’t care if his shower won’t work anymore. “where do you take baths then?” he answered that his soul keeps wandering around anywhere but here. he likes the smell of nails. and he said he knows what everyone thought of him. the paintings in his living room always sing to him in a melody that resembled a voice in his past. he didn’t tell me a name. but he said his past liked every time it snows. “do you like it when it snows?” he then asked me. then there was a story behind his eyes that echoed out memories. sad love, sad love, sad love, i heard myself whisper. he secludes himself; he said it’s because he’s waiting. for a future he planned long ago with someone who’s not here anymore. the room surrounded us with an atmosphere that felt like i was traveling backwards. a howling wind screamed pain throughout as he looked outside the windows. then slowly, but tearfully, he murmured, “a sad love, isn’t it?”

(eusie.)

ˌdedəˈkāSH(ə)n/

There are tears buried in between these sheets, ones that kept us awake with deep cut hearts. There are tinges, hidden from plain sight, ones that came from our blood stained fingertips. There are marks and tiny scrapes across these papers, ones that were caused by the scars of our skin.

But there are giggles running around through each space. There are whispers of hopefulness in each page. There is love felt by each letter dripped in nightly ink.

This is a collection of shards from our war souls. This is a recollection of the strands of what we fought for.

There is a piece of us in this. This is us. This is for us.

— “Cheers to ourselves”, The Researchers

(eusie.)