When she pouts and throws a tantrum, he pats her on the head and whispers promises of a smile. When she became the storm and did more than throw only tantrums, he calmed her with his smile. When she spilled milk and arms akimbo refused to cry, he hugged her in arms warmer than summer. When she told him she loved him…he pat her on the head and coffee brown eyes smiled as usual..and that was the dagger that sheathed itself in her heart, and the reason she wont believe in smiles anymore. Noah_arkenswagg



Ever been so sad, you can feel every heart beat? As though your whole being had gone silent to listen to your heart cry? Well I deserve this pain, I’m a monster who doesn’t hide in darkness. What else would you call one that makes another cry.  

Dear sherlock holmes

Dear Mr. Sherlock, I write about the following events with hopes that your art of deduction would explain why my heart is now a field of red roses. Hopefully between your last case and the next, Dr. Watson and yourself wouldn’t mind perusing my account of things. 

Events as they unfolded:

  1. She smiled
  2. I couldn’t breathe                         


You promised

You scream your actions at me..fingers crossed, words tucked behind your ears. I won’t hold your promises against you, I won’t juggle blame like a clown, but I’ll drown, in the sadness you’ve left me. Maybe someday I’ll look back on you as a lesson…but for now you’re the trial giving me sleepless nights. Noah_arkenswagg

The melancholic 

When lips wobble and liquid pain runs down from the windows of the eyes. The moment when hearts break and ribs play a dirge along a spine. When…when poets stutter while they write. When a love song ends before hope is given…thats where i dwell, the melancholic. Noah_arkenswagg

Law of memory 

Sweet words, coated in honey and jam, phrases that will startle a brave man and cause a shy lad to facepalm a blush. You have had a taste of this form of language, maybe even drawn up dreams coloured with them. I did too, and oh how I loved those memories…because memories they have become. When the artists and muses take back their sweet art, what else is left to dream of? Memories. That’s what I’m left with. Noah_arkenswagg

Walk away

If you walk away from me, please dont come back. I don’t want to smell the new scents and perfumes on your person. I don’t want to hear the stories and the songs beyond the door. If you walk away, forget I exist…for these arms can keep my body warm on their own, this I promise you. So stay away, if you walk away. Noah_arkenswagg 

The fight 

I see you leaving, while you’re right here in my hug. Little signs…a weak grip, a flutter of lashes on my cheek, and that little step backward that was well hidden with a sigh. You’re already walking away, but you just got here…and now I don’t know what to do. Battles have been fought for royalty with less of a fashion sense..but the question is, what do I do when you’re right there in my arms again, and the dragon lays dead behind my back, knights stay kneeling and broken walls keep crumbling. What shall I do when the background music is that of my heart’s joy at seeing you. Do you want me to be your superhero..or is this goodbye? Noah_arkenswagg 


If you meant more to me than you do now, I would have turned your face into art and let the colours tell a story. But for now we are what we are..strangers that breathe the same ocean of sustenance…even though with a few words it could instead become a bubble we romantically share . If only you meant more to me now. Noah_arkenswagg

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