a childish manifestation of longing

Vylene, 18. writing and photography, or general inspiration action is art

[vylene8teen]

[vylene8teen]

montréal in early november

[vylene8teen]

untitled

you were a warmth

i’d never felt

with no form

you made me melt

i cut my nose

to spite my face

for this drug i chose

case by case

and i keep coming back

to illusions shaped like you

the mockeries an attack

on someone i thought i knew

pull back the pieces

to see nothing there

broken wires and circuitry

empty words lacking flare

[vylene8teen]

The Presence of a Conversation Rarely Fills the Sense of Loneliness

Like eating candy on a cavity.

It may taste good but

What remains is an ache

For getting high to escape gravity

Use drugs as my crutch

Though the sleep still feels fake

To be stuck avoiding reality

To stop hurting so much

I cannot avoid fate

In me there is so much duality

I’m cold to the touch

And doomed to hesitate

[vylene8teen]

did you mean to break her?

your fake affections a blur

hell hath no fury like a woman scorned

and yet you see her rage as a meager report

turning a woman to damaged goods

from your lack of care and lack of cures

and when she finally bursts

pray only your past, her waves hurt

[vylene8teen]

across the border

[vylene8teen]

i stifled myself to keep you burning

the smoke you spewed stained my lungs black

and you choked me until i couldn't breathe

but if i had only a match and gasoline

i would light you up all over again

[vylene8teen]

[vylene8teen]

[vylene8teen]

To you, red will only be a colour

you will not think of the thickness of blood as it stains fingertips and embeds itself under fingernails

you will not think of the pure passion that comes in waves, unable to be tamed or silenced

you will not think of the blinding anger that pulses and screams, demanding to be heard and understood

you will not think of love so deep that it consumes the mind, slowly seeping into every crevice of your brain

you will not think of compassion that yearns to understand another's story

you will not think of the warmth that only companionship with another person can bring

to you, red is just a colour

[vylene8teen]

[vylene8teen]

[vylene8teen]

a poem

i have left parts of me in places i can only dream of returning

Paris

New York

Cuba

i tell myself that one day,

i will return to these places

and build myself back up

but i continue to drop remnants of me like breadcrumbs

destined to follow a trail of pieces of my former self

i will never be complete

and that is okay

i would rather be scattered across the globe

than be whole in my room