Cut My Hair Meme

Get a load of this train wreck. 

She keeps floating around, 

Drifting between person to person.

Thrown around like a cheap plastic doll than a human. 

She’s cut her hair. 

I guess that’s how she transforms… 

Evolving from a girl who dreamt of love

Into someone who is okay with not having it.

She hides to avoid the pain of falling out of it. 

Everyone she’s touch wilted and burned in her hands, 

Driving them insane before her eyes.

She’s a disease. 

A scourge…

A virus.

Get a load of this monster.

I’m haunted by the wraiths of my past. 

Watching them swirl around me, 

My lungs filling with water as I drown. 

Being held under the water for my crimes. 

Everyone I love I burn. 

My existence to them is a scourge. 

It drains them into someone they never thought they wanted to be.

Obsession. 

I drive people to obsession. 

I drive them away into monsters of their own…

And then I let them go.

“Some thoughts are better left unsaid.” 

“Some people are better left unloved.”

Everyone I’ve touched burns in my hands.

I’m the snake in the garden of Eden. 

I’m the black plague. 

I’m the monster in the rose garden.

I deserve to be alone. 

I should stay that way.

It’s as if god is punishing me. 

Everyone I touch go someone I can’t reach, 

And now it’s time for them to heal

Because I stepped in.

I’ll cut my hair. 

I’ll abandon who I was before.

Sometimes I wish I can go back to the days, 

When it was just me and you in the garden. 

When it was us against the world…

I wish I can rewind time;

and I chose you over the world.

Hey quick update, I'm out of house for a few days so posting will be on halt until I return. I don't want to downgrade the quality by just writing whatever I can scrounge to make sure that there is new content every day. So new postings will resume on Sunday.

Have a great week- Lysa

Requiem for a Demon

Inspired by the lyrics of “Requiem” from the musical: Dear Evan Hansen

“Why should I go and fall apart for you?” 

Every breath I take goes to you…

Every heartbeat belongs to you.

In your head you are my world…

“Why should I have a heavy heart?” 

You were supposed to always be there for me.

You were supposed to catch me when I fall…

But you never did.

Don’t you dare tell me we are black and white, 

Don’t you dare tell me how I should feel. 

Don’t question me for my lack of tears…

I’ve sung too many requiems for you…

I’ve given you too many breaths…

Too many heartbeats have been thrown away by you.

I tried…

to let you be everything for me. 

I tried…

to be the goddess you wanted. 

I tried…

to be the angel you needed. 

I tried…

I cried once for you. 

Seeing into your eyes, 

watching the memories disintegrate into wisps of smoke.

That was the one time I cried, 

The moment I felt my heart truly beat for you. 

Since then I never felt the same heartbeat…

Even when we were one I was two. 

You struggled to accept my duality 

But begged that I accept yours.

“Why should I go and fall apart for you…

“Why should I say I’ll keep you with me?”

I will sing no more requiems…

You’ve died too many times for me to give you my tears. 

If I cried it wouldn’t be genuine anymore…

It’ll be as fake as your “I Love You”

It will be as tainted as your reality…

It will be as fake…

“Why should I have a heavy heart?

“Why should I go and fall apart for you?”

I have given you too much. 

I have given you…

I tried to be human for you. 

Don’t you dare tell me that it was real. 

Don’t you dare question my lack of tears, 

If I broke down and cried right now 

It’ll be as fake as you.

You were supposed to stay. 

You were supposed to be my pillar.

Why did I end up being only yours? 

Why did our love become a contest of pretending?

Was there even enough love to start the game?

I will sing no more requiems…

tonight.

Insomniac poetry vol 1

Poets will always be tortured souls.

We enjoy the misery behind every syllable.
We relish in the words,
bathing in the putrid sorrow of pure humanistic melancholy.

It's disgusting.
It's revolting.
It's so painstakingly beautiful that one can't tear their eyes away.

Poet introductions always seem like interventions.
"Yes I am a poet."
"Yes I am a poor tortured soul."
"Yes I have been abused by the world and by god."
"Maybe I like it this way."

God has punished the creative;
he has given those with the eyes that truly see
a blackened dark labyrinth and a candle,
told us to take the walk of faith
and see the world on the other side.

We stumble, feeling the crumbling walls along our fingertips,
guided by the ghostly hope that there is in fact
something on the other side.

"Will I ever see it?"
"Will I ever feel the sunlight on my paper skin?"
"Will my inky blood finally cease?"

Poets are tortured, lamenting souls.
If we were to finally reach the end of the labyrinth we have found peace,
we fear for that day.
If we step into the sunlight, then we cease to suffer.

And if we stop suffering then our art is finished.

Personality Disorder

Can a being only exist to one person?

A persona only allowed to some but not all
One for each facet I allow the world to see;
each holding it's own validity,
it's own will to breathe and thrive.

She is the persona seen only by family.
They are the form only known to those caught in inter-webs.

While she is the mask seen by her friends.

He only sees her in the dark, when the moonlight can't escape the curtains,
and his pupils can't see anything past the tip of his nose.

The matriarch keeps them all locked away;
safely secure within their own solitary prisons.
Lost in the threads that keep them tied to this world.

When one outlives her use she is executed...
her remains scattered among the survivors.

She lives, but she is never intact.

It's a game.
"How many lives can I live before someone realizes I'm not real?"

I'm a fantasy,
a beautiful disgusting dream.
An enigma left only to those who dare to dig for her.

She who is left, chained away by all the masks.

The sorting system of masks are in shambled.
It is a disorganized mess of masks and false smiles.
The matriarch weeps every time she wears the wrong one.

The disorder is all she knows...
all she wants to know.

Nothing else matters but her disorder of personalities.
And sometimes among the chaos,
the real her swims to the surface.

Only for a moment...
Only for a glimpse,
before being dragged back to the bottom.
Back into the abyss.

Daffodil

Symbolism: Sympathy, inner reflection, rebirth, new beginnings.

I was given a daffodil;

a single sunlit bulb made of velvet.

Holding the stem between my fingers I felt as though

I was holding the world.

Desperately wanting the flower to thrive.

For its petals to reach up high,

and bask in the wind and the light.

Humming songs as I kneed the soil around the stem,

the music feeding the roots.

Kneading the root of the stem into the dirt,

I felt as though I was caring for the world.

Despite the sunlight, the water, the tender love and care

It does not grow.

Instead the stem sags,

The petals wither and curl.

It’s vibrant golden face, bruised and brown,

As if each teardrop was spilt into an open flame.

This was my daffodil.

The only one of its kind.

Its bruised petals,

A thread for a stem,

Its curled and insect infested leaves,

This was still my daffodil.

It was precious to me,

Not for its looks or potential,

But for the time I spent trying to nurture it.

Yet with all my love and care,

It had been smothered and suffocated.

Gasping rather than breathing.

But it was still alive.

Against all odds the roots were healthy,

The leaves still received enough to keep going.

Against all odds it still wanted me.

I was given a daffodil;

A single golden bulb filled with so much promise and hope,

Yet despite being trampled

somehow it thrived.

But not with me.