Lienne La Havas | Tease Me

:)

yawnder mourning

Encased in Ice
The boy must rise
He finds himself upon a lake,
where nobody is safe
For the sake of feeling,
He keeps dreaming, sleeping

He finds himself inside the snake,
What a terrible place to have to wait
This isn’t so bad, he tells himself
He can't move, not without some help
He must die before he reveals his wealth

He is naked, broad and broken
He hasn’t woken, eaten or spoken
The room he stands in is still, dark,
Refining the sound of a still heart

Emblazed tonight
The boy must rise
He finds himself upon the moon,
Says goodnight to his darling
Reaches for his gun
and waits for the sun

inspiration:



retrospectively, i can see this might not make much sense, but few dreams do.

Turmoil for the rose

Did she know the difference between the sunset and speaking of it? She's elusive, hard to look at, hard to see - you can find her in any book, hear about her in a number of songs, but have you ever seen her? She's beautiful, but what does that mean? It's only beauty that you were told of, not beauty that you know, or beauty that anyone can be.

She remembers the smell of a rose, and what it meant to enjoy something simple and sweet. But she can't remember how she held it, or the plant she picked it from. She can't remember the richness of the soil, or the radiance of the sun. She can't remember how she got there, or who gave it to her. She only remembers the rose and what it meant.

She wears that band around her arm to remember how the starburst burned and left many scars. She wept on those days that she heard the songs that reminded her of what happened, trying to only remember the positives, the person she was glad to have become. That rose had thorns, she couldn't hold it long.

There was no sureness, only closure. There was torrential crying, drowning out the world with music that only made the world that much more inescapable. There were those words and roads and places she couldn't say or travel or visit, because of the people she remembered, herself and they. There was only turmoil, patience and the eventual numbness that is made when a heart has been struck so many times that it's only something she can sing about, and something she remembers fondly.

She remembers the foggy morning she woke up and realized that there was something in her life that wasn't going to be there anymore, and how she could never grasp and hold that warmth. She remembers taking off the mask and struggling to smile. She remembers how it felt to see someone scream without uttering a sound. She remembers how hard it was to breath under that mask, and how she couldn't smell that rose or wipe her tears. She remembers falling back into bed to wait for this day to end, and she remembers there was someone next to her that day. She remembered the day that fog cleared up and rain came through.

She remembers the day she realized the rose wouldn't remember her.

She remembers trying to paint a portrait of herself, but never quite being satisfied with her eyes. She remembers not liking the frames she saw, and she remembers trying to paint the rose but never quite knowing how to picture herself holding it. She risks her sanity trying to paint that portrait, day after day, to try and crutch her memory. She remembers the fall nearly killing her on the way down, and not having someone to call an ambulance. She remembers when she could walk again, and she remembers that excruciating pain she felt almost every day. She remembers burning the painting for what it did to her, and allowing the embers to consume the house she couldn't call home anymore.
She remembers the air of doubt she had for the so-called qualities she was told about her. She remembers how easy it was to chop off her long, beautiful hair every year, and she remembers how easy it was to rid herself of such petty physicalities. She remembers driving in the rain and being glad she was sheltered from it, and she remembered the song she played all the way to the grave.

vines

dance around in the bramble,
while the heart is raw and ample
cut all of the entangled vines
that all end in something nice
i watched you have a heart attack,
sliced the veins that held you back
it oozes out and fills the room,
i hope you will be leaving soon
this bowl looks like the bleeding moon
these branches crack like thunder now
like power lines that touched the ground
and electrify the man they found

Loss (2007)

I wrote this in 2007. I wasn't even experiencing a heartbreak at the time. That's so odd.

i feel perfectly fine right now, i just stumbled upon this on myspace, of all places

Loss

Is falling fast, trying to catch her
knowing you're mad but guilt consumes you
a dreadful longing, forever a murmur
you know you love her,
but you can't help but hurt her
A years long story running out of ink,
the last few words written with tears
the book slams shut but the heart wide open
you'll close your eyes for everyone but her
and you'll read the book between the lines
the book maybe closed, but the story continues

all entangled vines should end in something meaningful.


i'm really struggling with nothing more than finding a definition for what i am, these days. everything else is falling neatly into place for me. it just seems like all of these things in my life have nothing to do with me as well.

 it's been that way for years.

Smile Translator

The sunrise is not so distant
The words are hard to read, but still remain:

Happiness isn’t born from an instant

Mellow sky drapes over like a blanket,
The sun is gone, yet the warmth remains
Rise again tomorrow, to spell it out
You shown the world no sorrow,
So you should never doubt

Smile, sunset
you haven’t fallen yet

The moon will weep in your wake,
Tears of joy, while you yet stay
The fall translated into birth,
and beauty was born not a second late

Smile, translator
You’ll rise again later

I dream of days that never stay,
and words i'm glad i'll never say
happiness is in the sunrise
there's beauty where the sun dies.

clutch and hold tightly,
the sun never waivers;
he is bold and mighty

blessing is being untied
from her starry mantle
wading through the sea
in the endless scandal

i rest with her,
and rise with you
to end with her,
and find my true

love, come later
i'll perceive the sky
as a facilitator

for my own consideration (repost)

Careful Cuts
She Swallowed Stars
When It Rains, It Pours
Vital Signs
A Rational Fear Of Heights
Knights and Weak Ends
Compounds
Drown Ing
& black & white & grey
The Dead Of Night
Frostbite
Statuesque
Crying Wolf
Disappearing Ax
Discipline

Statuesque

time for you to get some rest,
know a little distance from your death
i know you need to catch your breath
you have to salvage whatever's left

your eyes are like diamonds,
glassed over and light-less
shattered to pieces, you're falling
into the sky, you're statuesque

your skin is pearlescent,
white and lifeless
sinking into the depths,
scattered among the rest

you were watching and waiting,
it's burned into your eyes
this is what it's like
to watch a person die

not a word of restraint,
you're a flint against the tide
blue now, in the ocean
you really should have spoken

now she is statuesque,
bruised and broken