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  • hiddenfromme 12w

    Even from hundreds of miles away.
    You still smell
    Like a field full
    Of flowers,
    And open air.
    If I close my eyes and concentrate,
    I can feel your breeze,
    Flowing through the tall grass.

  • hiddenfromme 12w


    Sitting in my room,
    Surrounded by the shadows of my dreams.
    That's where I realize how truly alone,
    I have always been.
    And it hurts to recognize,
    That when the sun fades, friends do too.

  • hiddenfromme 14w

    I can't say I love you,
    So instead I say,
    That I hope you're doing okay.
    All the way,
    On the other side of the world.

  • hiddenfromme 14w


    A hardly cool autumn evening.
    Wine-spattered leaves kissing the pavement.
    With the breeze undressing the night for bed.
    This, to me,
    Is the meaning of friendship.

  • hiddenfromme 14w


    The bottled box,

    Rattling away in an empty town square.

    Vibrating at no one,

    Being applauded by the breeze and grass.

    Stranded on a tiny stage,

    Rumbling round itself.

    Locked speeches of a beating heart.

    A soundless chasm of infinite yelling.

    Drowned out by the silence of the dead square.

    Boxing away.

    All by itself.

    Bottling more,

    And more,

    And rattling alone,

    In an empty town square.

  • hiddenfromme 14w


    In my hand, I hold a cracked mirror.
    Whose edges wear drops of my blood.
    Sliding along the lines as if ordained,
    Falling into the cracks as gravity has instructed them to do.
    And from these jagged straws, my reflection sips a bitter actuality.
    It takes inspiration from the features I can not control.
    It mimics the coarseness of my skin and bumps along my cheek,
    Shading itself to feign depth and flaunts the image of a truly flawed human.
    But it is no more than a flat imitation.
    A damaged ideal.
    With shards of envy in its eyes
    It watches me, here in this void room.
    As one by one my fingers begin to release.
    A grasp weakened by experience,
    A hand, steadied by resolve,
    And it falls.
    Its own battered hand reaching out to me,
    A vain attempt to hold the warmth I possess but it falls.
    Its mouth opening in horror as the corner of its cage kisses the tile floor it falls,
    And the glass yells with it.
    Spilling over my toes and drawing its last drink,

    Realise that these void white walls hold no image.
    Their composition is mine to decide and my blood is a spectrum of paint.
    I wonder what I can possibly create,
    To fill the empty,

    I held, a broken mirror.
    But now I paint, a masterpiece

  • hiddenfromme 14w

    I can't swim,
    But that's okay.
    Because what better death is there,
    Than to drown,
    In you.

  • hiddenfromme 14w

    I am a single weed,
    Growing in a concrete forest,
    Overshadowed by a toxic canopy.
    Clinging onto what little soil,
    I have.