Too Tired

My fingers freeze at the sound of your name; my emotions creep into my throat.
My eyes hide the pain you left me with, and my heart's wounds slowly start to seep.
Awaiting your return, foolishly willing to let you back in, my soul envelopes every thought of you.
Doing more harm than good, I need you in every breath I take.

~jessica~

Part of an Original Song "2:19"

...
You spoke of things I've never known
Feelings I wish I had of my own
You talk about choices I wish I had to choose
You courteously mention your next rendezvous

Pushed aside, no place to hide, broken inside
I never thought this could happen to us
You and I

We used to drive around wasting gasoline
So that we could talk sincerely until 2:19
in the morning
I guess I'm still hanging on to the past
'Cause nothing this good ever lasts
I didn't get the warning.
...

My Ink Stained Hand

While I was writing in my journal, I accidentally cut myself on its sharp edge.
The paper sliced my knuckle leaving a slit in my soft skin.
Moments later it starts to sting, so I glanced at it expecting to see my own scarlet blood filling the gap.
Instead, I found black ink dripping from the cut. Words flowed through my mind as they did from my injury.
The cold ebon liquid ran down my hand staining the paper on which I was writing.
It appears as though its words needed to be printed also.
Eventually the pain began to sear my hand and I scurried to write everything that was gushing from my head.
Quickly writing, clenching my wounded fist I became so zealous that as I etched every perfect letter, my body trembled.
Whether it be from the throbbing in my hand or the eagerness to complete my masterpiece; I do not know.
I like to believe that it was because of both.
With ink stains upon my hand and all over my paper I finished the last piece and dashed swiftly to the sink.
I scrubbed my now onyx hand until I could scrub no longer.
The mania had ceased.
I dried off the remaining water upon my hands only to reveal black stains wedged within the crevices of my skin.
It had made its way to my fingertips and exposed my concealed fingerprints.


-Jessica-

"home"

Always needed, never wanted;
This poor boy is left to roam.
Stuck in a life that is never rewarding
Lost in a place mislabeled: "home".

`jessica`

To A Special Artist

A light, so pure and simple
with a hand filled with magic
that brings life to a dull white surface
a rainbow of colors flow from
your fingers filling every blank corner.
A talent so few possess as if compared to God
bringing life to unnoticed yet worthy things.
A talent taken for granted
so precious and deserving
illuminating every face with an amazed smile
A light, so pure and simple.

-Jessica-

Given some words, I wrote:

There's an object in the corner
Hidden from the light
Twisted and deformed; no one wants
to acknowledge its presence.
deliberately hidden from vision's sight
Yet, it's the only true art in the house
Its web of entangled limbs cover itself from view.

~jessica~

Scribbling What Comes to Mind

I feel that I've been always hidden by a door.
Everything I once knew, I know no more.
My dearest friends have changed, yet I am still the same
And my withered heart grows reluctantly sore.
Friends become foes, but foes will never be friends.
When did this become my destiny's trend?
Give me one chance to change this circumstance
before my happiness and hopes come to a bitter end.


-Jessica-