Scribbled lines and crumpled pages – piles of rejection and resurrection. There will never be the right words to amend a lost goodbye.
M.K. STANDBYScribbled lines and crumpled pages – piles of rejection and resurrection. There will never be the right words to amend a lost goodbye.
M.K. STANDBYWhat use is sleep, when reality is more beautiful than my dreams could ever muster?
M.K. STANDBYThe knot in a grain of wood, a frost covering sodden grass. Mornings warmed by the rising sun and brewing coffee – the vision of the poet.
M.K. STANDBYBuilding a fire from a ash, what did I expect?
M.K. STANDBYI’m scared of mediocrity, of scribing my soul on fading pages, each destined to the fate that met those before it – gently laid to rest in a growing pile of unwanted words.
M.K. STANDBYI feel like I’m on fire, fighting for a moment on respite – I’m not placing bets.
M.K. STANDBYLies sound so sweet when they are wrapped in velvet, a luxurious deception that charms my restless spirit – and I’m forever taken by beautiful things.
M.K. STANDBYA fight of a thousand years – the smart mind and the hopeful heart.
M.K. STANDBYI fill the shadow of the girl you want, a placeholder to the one I know you’d rather – I’ll do for now, but not forever.
M.K. STANDBYYour arms around me – and for the first time in years, I feel like I am home.
M.K. STANDBYYou are a mirage – never mine to hold. A glimering promise so tempting to chase, eternally out of reach.
M.K. STANDBYYou broke me into pieces, but I took those shards and built a mosaic. I’m stronger for the fall, and more beautiful than I could have ever been with you.
M.K. STANDBYThe smell of oak reminds me of summers spent sleeping under canvas, crackling fires and roasted coffee, the soft sound of guitar and voices in unison.
M.K. STANDBYLeaves dance on twisted arms, swaying on the breeze as though choreographed by unseen hands. Even the faithless could find themselves converts, by the smell of dampened earth and its blossoming rose.
M.K. STANDBYMaybe this time I choose ignorance, because giving began to feel like losing – repairing a house from rubble, and making sandcastles with the ash.
M.K. STANDBYSo long as we share a sky, in this life and any after – I’ll find my way back to you.
M.K. STANDBY