Francesca Grace (18)
Untitled
This burning trumpet in ageless fires
Condemning myself to a life of falsehood
I want to go
But not be gone
In this melancholy prophecy
to casket and coffin I fall
For no one to blame but the time-bombs in my heart
Ready to burst
Around the ticking of my mind
And my soul transcends
For I am all when I have nothing
And there is nothing for me to have
It is purely already here
And I say this from the pits of blooming love in between my ribcage when I can breathe for half the day and am not watering ashes with my salt water ponds that so effortlessly flood my ashtray
And bitter tastes better
When you can’t seem to feel anything at all
Except the harsh burning of flames that exasperate you into the churnings of wells and gargoyles’ bellies and undisputed glares yelling from the tops of cathedrals
And enchanting stained glass
Hypnotizing you into a kaleidoscope
Body twirling
Spiraling like a tornado of dandelions
And ridden to the fields
There is no more pain
I walk through sunken graveyards
in isolated May
With dew drops disintegrating at the break of day
My eyes
My eyes, they weep
Not at what they see but for what they seek
I walk
Heels crushing endless lives of hope that once had made me feel alive
The taste of death on my tongue and the purity of life when you don’t know when it’s done
I waltz to you
My muse for why I’m here
To purely go
Like the dew drops
Like the dew drops that I love and the sun that hurts me so
All blistering and light
With thoughtless wonders to those who spark their love for day
My beauty lurks in the night
As does my pain.
Fresh liquor bottle caps swirling against the insides of its disguised joys and backwards happiness
Glass and nimble fingers with gems and rings shining against yellow teeth and lines embedded in your cheeks free of aching for love to come home
As tambourines ring in the silence of my ears where the forsaken inbetweeness in the gallows of my heart
Where my wrists pulse like dragons’ blood
And I rage fire in the turmoils of bare feet on cold soil
My love, it is not for you to see, it is for me to feel
And I feel the sound of empty liquor bottles being closed in this spinning disaster where senselessness is the only thing keeping me sane
I shake
I shake like silver spoons
Held in old loose thread that nobody uses anymore because it’s only for the holidays.
I like my life distraught
And used
And messy
And ugly if you may see it that way
;
But I think it’s the only way to get on
As I walk through sunken graveyards crushing roses at my feet.
Can you see beauty without seeing pain?
Francesca Grace is an 18-year-old woman who is currently living in Croatia, playing professional soccer and working with children in her local area. After finishing high school she just wanted to go, explore, experience everything she can, and help as many people as possible. Sometimes something very dark and strange takes over her essence and she’s not quite sure how to go about it.
Untitled
This burning trumpet in ageless fires
Condemning myself to a life of falsehood
I want to go
But not be gone
In this melancholy prophecy
to casket and coffin I fall
For no one to blame but the time-bombs in my heart
Ready to burst
Around the ticking of my mind
And my soul transcends
For I am all when I have nothing
And there is nothing for me to have
It is purely already here
And I say this from the pits of blooming love in between my ribcage when I can breathe for half the day and am not watering ashes with my salt water ponds that so effortlessly flood my ashtray
And bitter tastes better
When you can’t seem to feel anything at all
Except the harsh burning of flames that exasperate you into the churnings of wells and gargoyles’ bellies and undisputed glares yelling from the tops of cathedrals
And enchanting stained glass
Hypnotizing you into a kaleidoscope
Body twirling
Spiraling like a tornado of dandelions
And ridden to the fields
There is no more pain
I walk through sunken graveyards
in isolated May
With dew drops disintegrating at the break of day
My eyes
My eyes, they weep
Not at what they see but for what they seek
I walk
Heels crushing endless lives of hope that once had made me feel alive
The taste of death on my tongue and the purity of life when you don’t know when it’s done
I waltz to you
My muse for why I’m here
To purely go
Like the dew drops
Like the dew drops that I love and the sun that hurts me so
All blistering and light
With thoughtless wonders to those who spark their love for day
My beauty lurks in the night
As does my pain.
Fresh liquor bottle caps swirling against the insides of its disguised joys and backwards happiness
Glass and nimble fingers with gems and rings shining against yellow teeth and lines embedded in your cheeks free of aching for love to come home
As tambourines ring in the silence of my ears where the forsaken inbetweeness in the gallows of my heart
Where my wrists pulse like dragons’ blood
And I rage fire in the turmoils of bare feet on cold soil
My love, it is not for you to see, it is for me to feel
And I feel the sound of empty liquor bottles being closed in this spinning disaster where senselessness is the only thing keeping me sane
I shake
I shake like silver spoons
Held in old loose thread that nobody uses anymore because it’s only for the holidays.
I like my life distraught
And used
And messy
And ugly if you may see it that way
;
But I think it’s the only way to get on
As I walk through sunken graveyards crushing roses at my feet.
Can you see beauty without seeing pain?
Francesca Grace is an 18-year-old woman who is currently living in Croatia, playing professional soccer and working with children in her local area. After finishing high school she just wanted to go, explore, experience everything she can, and help as many people as possible. Sometimes something very dark and strange takes over her essence and she’s not quite sure how to go about it.