singingcoyote-blog

[singingcoyote-blog]

Dear Snow Angel Boy, You were always a semicolon kind of kid; Every ending had a new beginning waiting on the horizon; Your sentence continued for paragraphs, Each clause outlining another adventure; You were a run-on if I ever saw one, Recklessly stuffing stories into your syntax; I wish I were that brave; Snow Angel Boy With the viper etched tongue, Your scattered words melted into fog; We, the callous listeners, Learned to ignore your song, The constant cadence echoing through the halls; You warned us, I’m sure, Set fire to the rubble far too many times; To us, the smoke blended with the clouds; All of your words were one blur of sky; Next time, I’ll pay more attention, Use a telescope, And wait for the wind to come by; Snow Angel Boy With the broken glass smile, You spoke to us every day; But we never saw the shattered bottles buried in your gums, Staining your mouth with blood, Red dripping from blue shards, All hidden behind white teeth; You always said you were drinking your troubles away; On the day after you died, For you, We raised a glass, Made a toast, Shed a tear, And drank; I forgot the simple nuance of peach tea, Sugar masking the citric acid; Next time, I’ll grab the bottle, Read the label, And acquaint myself with my drink; Snow Angel Boy With the 88 mind, Your life was most certainly a symphony; Complex melodies, Dueling harmonies, A whirlwind of piano and guitar; Most days, you played in C major; We overlooked your entanglements with requiem, Your vision void of white keys; Next time, I’ll find the sheet music, Read the lyrics, And do my best to sing along; Snow Angel Boy With the cracked cage fist, You loved visiting the asylum; I will never be sure of the reason, But it must have had something to do With the mystery, And the shadows, And the silence; Hearing your own footsteps reminded you of your existence; Seeing tattered walls made your soul feel less alone; The lack of heat reminded you of life; Perhaps you perceived whispers, Ancient vagabonds welcoming you to join them; Next time, I’ll go with you, Hold your hand, And make you believe that your spirit is not an asylum but a symphony; Snow Angel Boy With the train track eyes, For how long have you been searching for an exit? I too sought the Grim Reaper, Found his reflection in Pills and toilets and oncoming traffic; I forgot that I was not alone, That so many of us render Pillows and coat hangers and glove compartments Into weapons of self-destruction; Next time, I’ll share my story, Listen to yours, And maybe we’ll realize that we are not enlightened, But we are the ones who are blind; Snow Angel Boy,  Drowned in night, We lost your impression on the frozen ground; We remember you falling, Your body cascading, Into sheets of white; You waved your arms, Swung your legs, And gave us a snapshot of Heaven; The morning after you died, We searched the snow, And could no longer find the angel; Snow Angel Boy, Remember that this world is not a winter landscape; Your body is gone, But your symphony remains in our hearts; I can hear the distant drumming, The light humming, A Risky Biscuit preparing for the next battle; Dear Snow Angel Boy, You were always a semicolon kind of kid; We never thought that your sentence would end; But every great idea has a period, Each novel a final page; We will reread your story, Return to it time and time again, When we need To laugh, Or cry, Or just breathe; Your story will always sit on the shelf, But dust will never consume it; We will read your story every day, Hear your symphony echoing through the halls; Thank you Snow Angel Boy; The pain is irremovable; But you merely existed; That alone is beautiful.

“Snow Angel Boy,” by Rebecca Chan, in loving memory of Jake Oslin (via prosebyday)

[singingcoyote-blog]

Love should bring joy; it should grant a person peace, but here and now, it was bringing only pain.

Nicholas Sparks, Dear John

[singingcoyote-blog]

Grenades

And since these screams cannot leave my mouth for fear of being heard, they will surely pierce through my trachea like grenades and murder me.

[singingcoyote-blog]

Reblog this dancing Rick for good luck~

[singingcoyote-blog]

a-lie-n

She’s an alien Can’t you tell? She’s well camouflaged So maybe you’ll need to look harder next time.

She wears a skin just like yours Well not just like yours But similar enough to go undetected. She’s smart, she blends in well As well as an alien can anyway.

She seems comfortable but believe me it’s only skin deep. Discomfort pumps through her veins every second she disguises her true skin, Every second she has to dull the electricity that pulses at her fingertips.

They like her, Because she’s different But not different enough to alienate her But why not when that is exactly what she is-  A-LIE-N

[singingcoyote-blog]

Falling

So I say I’m falling back but let’s be honest I’m just falling.

not in love or anything

and not for anyone 

just falling.

Like I’ve been sitting on a cloud and all of a sudden it has started to rain.

I wonder when I’m going to hit the pavement

Maybe I’ll be caught but I can’t imagine who'd catch me and deal with with this immense transfer of energy.

See I know if I stopped worrying about the pavement below, I’d stop falling or at least enjoy falling.  And maybe if I stopped screaming on the way down, I’d finally be able to breathe.

[singingcoyote-blog]

oven glove

My mother always told me not to put my hand straight in the oven I didn't listen because it never burned me The oven and I had an understanding And he had yet to hurt me. Everyday mum would tell me to protect my hands from the heat But I didn't listen because I thought I was as special to the oven as it was to me

One day, the same as everyday I put my bare hand in the oven

And it singed, scorched and scalded my skin until my flesh was mutilated beyond recognition.

It was then that I sought out the oven glove.

The oven glove protected my hand and hid my shameful mistake It showed the oven I was fine Told him he hadn't burned my once delicate hand to a hideous mess

The oven glove was my safe haven We had an understanding if you like I never took it off whether it was January or June But I knew it was only a matter of time until the oven glove burned me too.