I told you

we started climbing a mountain and stopped in the middle and told ourselves to forget we ever meant to climb it

Foolish Light

my foolish light, blindsided by your sigh. breathe of electricity you brought to my lifeless lie. Ignorance really is bliss; floating,fleeting. I could write a book on what I thought was real; I'm feeling sick to think of my heart, so ethereal If I could put you in my box of mirrors, then you'd have much to say. This foolish light has stolen any i'd have left of this day. I hear your words in my head, because I fill it with them, I chose to hear you without any lack of any interpretation.

“If I knew words enough, I could write the longest love letter in the world and never get tired” ― F. Scott Fitzgerald

A Pool of Blue

By Caress Genelle

My mind a bicycle, my heart a cobblestone
My body is a bird, yet have you ever known?

You worry so of me while I worry of you
and I hate depending, but what else is there to do?

I thought I knew where I was going,
what I was doing and who I might trust
The truth is at this moment I feel as lost as I ever was.

We speak of our travels and how love could take us away
but, all I see are the freckles that brighten up your face.
The good ones are a dying breed
So I'd like to sit upon a dock, whilst among the ducks we'll feed.

It's really within a mind; lover's lost, or a paradise.
Wishing you as mine seems like a bit of a crime
How many times can we forgive ourselves in such a short amount of time?

In a pool of blue, I see you.
I feel much, cry too little,
and long for much more than I can express to you.

Kaleidoscope, I beg you

By Caress Genelle

you asked me to stay, told me to wait,and walked right on away.
promises. promises;I'd like to shatter you.
Everyday If a thought protrudes,I stab myself to the confusion of you;I have wounds.

I'd drown myself to the sorrowful tub of your heart

still, I am sick.But,there was beauty in trying.
Hazy smog of a man,a floating lingering gray;I can't think straight to replay.
Too many lies are entangled with too much truth. Though, morbidly, I wish to the roots that I died like the leaves in the winter.
Your pale ice covers me and steals the color from my flesh
your breathe,a dead ice, freezing my inner being.
because, it's everything to me. forgive me.

Denial is the soil in which you root your chasm of any existence.
you could have left, but I'd had beg a god to kill me at the sight of you and I making sense.

I'd burn you with the way I feel to your touch
I am dieing, yes.
The cause supplied by the beauty I felt in your kaleidoscope

I wish you never had let go while your hands diminish the breathe from my throat. I felt you.
Patches of plum on my flesh signal the marks that is you.
It is a dreadful misery to have hope.
I'm almost certain that you wanted the confusion to contain me
the thoughts, the lies, they do not distinguish any different than any truth.
But from the yellow bit of life which lies inside your eyes, I see you.
when I watched the passion leak in form of words, I begged you.
what contradictions of life;I don't believe you.

spinning on empty responses, I am becoming just as empty.
natural evil in the soil;I'd prefer to keep the fire.
I felt unfrozen though empty beds were screaming of what was stolen.

Something Poetic it Seems

"Something Poetic it Seems" By Caress Genelle

In the mind that once was clean
now consists of confused impurities
mangled and pale;the pink from her flesh is dead and walking
Thoughts are circles. Minds sink. The color that makes you blind and the eyes that steal your mind;there is something like a shattered sheet of glass or a broken ocean of dreams like the tears shed when no one is listening.
how do we beg for what we think is our lives; In a sense, all Romantics die. They'll look and see no color in the eyes of others and beg the color to redeem. But,nothing seems poetic and what is real is actually a dream.

Anyhow, I'm a damn fool

By Caress Genelle

your idea of a heart makes me sick, anyhow. I'd like to have you right beside me, but haven't we all said the same?
How do we ever feel that way again after the pages have been ripped and the fog has covered the window pane?
Oh, I'm sick and I'm pretend, anyhow.
I'm real and afraid; I want, and I run.
but, apparently not soon enough.
And, I blame myself repeatedly for not running from the look in that eye.
the look that burns deeper than the tip of your cigarette.
Anyhow, you never answered when I asked.
You never tried when I longed for it.
but anyhow, I was honest and you still ran.
Ironic, isnt it dear?
What about the way you kissed me?
or, at least the way you said you did?
Anyhow, you made me a fool.
I tried to say the least.
I just wanted you too badly, too strongly, too passionately.
Anyhow, I'm a fool, a damn fool.

G H O S T