Literature lulled the longing; left some life.
Eliot spoke of hollow men that could be mutilated but whole. Tempting!
Auden lamented that despite the wish to turn back time we cannot stop clocks,
Volatile as we are: love does not last forever.
Every word etched upon the page made me realise I was not
Miss Havisham; but in my pusillanimous dress I kept close
Every touch and promise, and the deepest secret nobody knew.
Heaney enticed me with warm thick slobber; yellow in the sunshine, but
Eyes not mine own met me in mirrors and I felt sad that
Reality is not a poem, or a piece of prose and despite looking deeper
Each desire reflected back at me were ones I dare not meet in dreams.
Tennyson's Lady of Shallot weaved its magic but not enough for you to keep an
Old wife. I lost my glow, although even now, my lights still twinkle on dark nights in
Dickens' London. Red lights in dark doorways telling tales of a wronged
Rebecca, Jane or Moll all with different dimensions and
Each with her own story to tell, like me,
Although none of it really matters in the end does it?
Maybe now it is time to yield.
walked on the milky way this morning,
all the stars sparkled under my feet,
the dog walked on dogstars and I the rest,
there are more of them than you think.
great grey blue bird flew out from under the giant,
it had nested there until the shadow loomed over head
had he not moved to defend the three of us, we'd be dead,
giant did not fall but stopped moving at all, it had run out of leash
and sixty feet tall and the heron flew peacefully away
bottle of booze, spiced rum half full, left at the DQ drive thru, overnight
more proof that 40 proof alcohol does not freeze to ice,
no one around to claim ownership so I took it to the bushes and
gave it a tip slowly to watch the dark, bronze liquid, water the roots of
the now drunken shrubs
Flowers in my eyes,
You said I had… flowers in my eyes,
But don’t excuse these flowers for the ones pollinated by butterflies or smelled by a child at midday
These are not sunflowers or lilies
These are forget-me-nots, orchids, and black roses,
Saturday night wondering in a sea of whiskey and beer,
You watched a monster
3 times my size
I pushed and kicked
But you watched anyway, saying I asked for it.
Drunk night leads to sober morning
Not far from the scene of the crime
Sore walking towards the mirror watching as I fall into tears at the sight of bruises on my neck
Reliving his fangs and rough lips
I shakily cover up the only evidence to offer
Piss drunk attacked on the living room floor
That’s what you saw
But you didn’t see me quivering in front of the bathroom mirror
Praying my skin could be ripped off
Praying to get his lips off my lips, his teeth off my neck, hands off my mouth, and memory from my mind
You don’t see my fetal positioned body swaying in the back of the lab before chem
Unable to get my fighting and saying no out of my head
Unable to get his face out of my brain
Unable to rip my insides out and fall out of this horrid reality
You can only see haunted words and distracted looks,
Conversations that draw raindrops and words jumbled,
Faint bruise on my neck working as my very own scarlet letter,
You can only see piss drunk girl at high school party
Boy forcing himself on something so fragile and small
Who only wants a piece of the slutty class alcoholic
Even though it was just supposed to be us girls
Even though he wasn’t from our school
Even though none of this was mapped out or planned for me
And with those judged looks
Speak of my poisonous sin
And adulterous nature
Speak of “my fault” and the expected “boys will be boys”
Still you’ll never see
Me running to my vodka to stay alive
Drinking straight from the bottle hoping to overdose and die
Crying for hours hoping my mind will blow but it never does
Looking at every boy as a threat
Seeing my reflection hating every curve and corner
Because after three violations on my body I wonder what I’m doing wrong
Wondering why I’ve been violated
Taking boiling hot baths so my skin will fall off or blister
And the worst is that you will never see
Nights I want to kiss someone
But run because I fear they’ll be rough
Nights I try to erase moments
But can’t because they’re forever ingrained
The day I finally take my clothes off for someone
Without them doing it to hurt me
And all they can notice are the cuts on my arms and hips
The day I stop myself from falling in love because I can’t believe anyone could love me for me
The second I broke into a million pieces and those flowers you see in my eyes were planted by a sexual attack I won’t ever get to erase.
February 26th, 2013
Yo’ Wassup Niggaz!
Big shout out to my moms -- love you, my crew – keep it real homies, my bidnit manager -- Happy Passover yo’ – don’t choke on no Matzah bitch or you’ll be out 18 percent. And a special shout out to my fans whose mail keeps on comin and keep my spirit up. Love all yo’! Word.
I try keeping busy here in the tombs. I was moppin before but the Aryan Bro’s stuck my head in the bucket of dirty water and sodomized me with the mop handle. Dat’s cool. Dat’s cool. I believe in karma, Mohammed and Jesus. And one of those motherfuckers will get even for me. ‘Payback is mine,’ sayeth the Lord (of the Rings).
I now works in the libary and been hittin the law books heavy. I tink we got grounds to declare a mistrial cuz that Judge knew Clity Li intimately and didn’t recuse himself. Every Tuesday he’d meet with Clity in chambers. He ‘d dress up like Little Bo Beep and Clity would spank his ass wit the shepherd’s staff ‘til he yelled ‘Baaaaaah, Roe v. Wade is bullshit’. That was their safe word. Shi’, tat Nigga be crazier than a mule on loco weed.
Yo’, Clity and the Judge be into all sorts of kinky shit. I know dis cuz Clity’s pimp, Johnson B. Johnson III, is in my cell block. They couldn’t get him for pimpin so they railroaded his black ass on some fabricated shit, like shooting 13 people with an AK-47 from the rooftop of City Hall. As Johnson tells it, it was self-defense. Eventually, he would have robbed those people and those people would’ve shot him. His Jew lawyer, Felix ‘the Cat’ Frankfurter, handed the Judge a copy of Sun Tzu’s ‘The Art of War’ and ask that it be written into the record. The Judge got technical on his ass, saying some shit like “we live in a time of peace and military law does not apply.” Frankfurter, who was on a roll, said “Then explain Guantanamo.” Judge threw that Hymie in jail for contempt and shit.
Johnson told me, dat on Wednesdays Clity would meet the Judge in the men’s room of the Holiday Inn. He said Wednesdays was the Holiday Inn’s 2-for-1 Strawberry Daiquiri Extended Happy Hour and their special slosh night. Clity would take out a lemon meringue pie her auntie would bake her, lift the Judge’s robes and shove it up his nappy ass and slosh it round and round his balls like she be waxing my Benz Karate Kid style. She’d then dish out a lesson on the Judge’s bottom with a silver plated cake server she got as a wedding gift and thought she’d never find a use for. On Wednesdays their safe word was “Hmmmmm, Sara Lee, Inc. v. Ralph Nader Consumer Council is bullshit.” That Judge is wack!
Gotta go, now. Pig says I got visitors. A’ight. Later.
Just Watchin the Clock (rap song)
Public Prosecutor v Blaise B.
 3 SLR 69
Suit No: CC No 666/2013
Decision Date: 12 December 2013
Court: Court of Appeals
Coram: B. K. Beaudoir J
Counsel: G. Bozo for the Prosecution, Renagaresh Bhulimio S.C. for the Accused
Criminal Law - Offences - Murder - Defence of grave and sudden provocation - Two requirements for defence - Subjective requirement that accused deprived of self-control by provocation - Objective requirement that 'grave and sudden' provocation exists based on 'reasonable man' test
Criminal Law - Offences - Murder - Defence of grave and sudden provocation - Applying the 'reasonable man' test - Whether basis exists for interfering with trial judge's decision that provocation grave and sudden - s 300 Exception 1 Penal Code (Cap 224)
1. Ms Lurveit Ima Ho, aged 25 ('D1') first came to know the Accused, Blaise B., through a personal advertisement which the Accused had posted up on a relatively popular internet website, Craigslist. Though D1 was, at all material times, living with her long-time partner Ms Clitty Li, aged 27 ('D2') in their rented apartment at Block 69 East Coast Road, Singapore ('the premises'), a wild and frenzied love affair between D1 and the Accused ensues.
2. On or about 6 January 2009, sometime between 11.30 pm and midnight, loud gunshots were heard from the apartment both D1 and D2 shared. According to an eyewitness' account, the Accused was seen stumbling out from the apartment soon after the gunshots with his pants around his knees. It was also reported that the Accused had, in his attempt to flee the scene of the crime, 'stumbled around like a headless chicken' as he made his way down the stairs.
3. D1 and D2 were both found dead in the master bedroom with multiple gunshot wounds to their bodies. There was no evidence of a struggle in the apartment. Dr Philly Shiotz, Consultant Forensic Pathologist with the Centre for Forensic Medicine, Health Sciences Authority, performed the autopsy on both D1 and D2 at about 5am the same day . Based on his findings, the cause of D1's and D2's death were certified as follows:
D1 - Acute Haemorrhage due to gunshot wound of the heart
D2 - Severe brain damage due to gunshot wound to the frontal temporal lobe
4. Police investigations led to the arrest of the Accused on Friday, 13 February 2009 and the Accused was charged as follows:
"That you, Blaise B. (aka Niggaz on Parole) on the 6th day of January 2009 between 11.30pm and 12 am, at Blk 69 East Coast Road, Singapore, did commit murder by causing the death of one Lurveit Ima Ho, f/25, and you have thereby committed an offence punishable under Section 302 of the Penal Code, Chapter 224."
"That you, Blaise B. (aka Niggaz on Parole) on the 6th day of January 2009 between 11.30pm and 12 am, at Blk 69 East Coast Road, Singapore, did commit murder by causing the death of one Clitty Li, f/27, and you have thereby committed an offence punishable under Section 302 of the Penal Code, Chapter 224.
5. It is undisputed that the Accused had, at the aforesaid premises, produced an illegal firearm and opened fire at both D1 and D2, thereby causing their untimely deaths.
The Prosecution Evidence
5. The prosecution led evidence by way of conditioned statements from 48 witnesses and oral evidence from one witness. There was little debate on the evidence presented by the prosecution and the material aspects thereof can be summarised as follows.
7. According to oral evidence of the prosecution's witness, Ms Zizi, whom we understand was recently gunned down by an unknown assailant in a public toilet situated somewhere in Geylang, the relationship between D1 and the Accused had soured sometime in November 2008. D1 had confided in Ms Zizi that the Accused was no longer able to 'satisfy' her sexual needs. Ms Zizi was further told by D1 that she had, on several occasions, caught the Accused masturbating in front of the fridge with a chicken carcass in hand. Concerned and embarrassed, D1 had confronted the Accused with advice to seek psychiatric help, to which the Accused promptly brushed aside unheeded.
8. It was only until the unusual habits of the Accused, which had by that time, deteriorated to such degree that he was seeking sexual gratification through the use of cabbage leaves, did D1 finally decided to take matters into her own hands.
9. Based on hand phone records obtained by investigating officers, the Accused was called to the apartment sometime around 10.30pm. At 11.15 pm, the Accused arrived at the scene of the crime. It is not known whether D2 was in the apartment at the time of the Accused's arrival. However, according to several eyewitnesses around neighboring blocks, D2 was seen returning to the apartment sometime about 11.30 pm.
10. The cautioned statement as well as the long statement recorded from the Accused were admitted in evidence as being voluntarily made without any objection from the Accused or his counsel. Insofar as is material, the gist of the said cautioned statement as well as the material portions of the long statement are summarised as follows:
(a) D1 had, against the will of the Accused, tethered him to the bed by way of leather straps shortly after he arrived at the apartment. According to the Accused in his statement, D1 had intended to insert a raw carrot into his anus.
(b) D1 was in the act of removing the Accused's pants when D2 stepped into the master bedroom.
(c) A heated argument ensues between D1 and D2 and the Accused, whose presence was momentarily ignored, manages to chew his way through to freedom.
(d) Greatly disturbed by what D1 had intended to do to him, the Accused took his pistol out (which was hidden in the pocket of his jacket) and opened fire, taking D1 down before proceeding to shoot D2.
The Defence Case
11. The evidence given by the Accused was brief and concise. He admitted to the killing of both D1 and D2 but pleaded not guilty to murder in reliance on the defence of provocation and diminished responsibility under Exception 1 of Section 300 of the Penal Code (Chapter 224) insofar as to attribute his loss of self-control on the failings of modern society.
12. Not only has the Accused elected to testify, he has, in the stead of his solicitors, conducted his closing submissions at the trial of this matter.
13. Though belated at this juncture, I find it pertinent to address the issue of the Accused choosing to conduct his closing submissions himself. Whether out of foolhardiness or arrogance on the part of the Accused, it is not my place to say, but it is my duty to express my concerns at such an ill-advised approach. It is rather alarming that the Accused's solicitors have failed to dissuade their client from committing such a folly, considering the gravity of the situation. Mind you, the Accused's life is hanging by a thread, and we are all aware that under the laws of Singapore, more effort is needed to pop a girl's cherry than it does to snap that thread.
14. Be that as it may, as convoluted as it was entertaining, the crux of the Accused's submissions is that his aggression had been the product of the environment he grew up in, amongst other factors and influences fuelled by the failings of modern society, and in consequence a characteristic, of which the Court should take account when assessing his loss of self-control.
15. First off, it is with utmost regret that I admit that this over-debated theory leaves much room for argument. Personally, I do not reject the idea that a person, so exposed to the depravities of his fellow beings and the gradual decline of our moralistic values, may be so conditioned in such matter that it becomes an indelible imprint on that person's character. However, I am persuaded to think that it is ultimately a personal choice to allow this debasement of ethics to be replicated by way of an deviant act.
16. If immorality, along with all other choices, is caused through hereditary and environmental means, might not the same be said for the laws that govern this land, which ultimately serve to protect the rights of its citizens. Unless proven otherwise, the laws of nature, on which our written laws have been established, are quite certainly inherent traits of all humankind. Accordingly, I am inclined to find the Accused's argument that his actions were purely a gross reflection of the unfortunate circumstances of which he had been exposed to, a weak and fallible defence. I am minded to think that the Accused was aware that what he was doing was a wrongful act, and therefore clearly mindful of the possible implications of his actions.
17. I am now invited to consider whether the provocation was sudden and grave enough to make a reasonable man act as the Accused had done so as to excuse his action.
18. As the law has developed, there are two distinct requirements for the provocation defence to apply: first, a ‘subjective’ requirement that the accused was deprived of his self-control by provocation; and secondly, an ‘objective’ requirement that the provocation should have been ‘grave and sudden’. The latter requirement involves the application of the ‘reasonable man’ test accepted in Vijayan v PP  2 MLJ 8 at p 12; [1975-1977] SLR 100 at p 107 and cited in Ithinin bin Kamari v PP  2 SLR 245 at p 250:
In our judgment, under our law, where an accused person charged with murder relies on provocation and claims the benefit of Exception 1 of s 300, the test to be applied is, would the act or acts alleged to constitute provocation have deprived a reasonable man of his self-control and induced him to do the act which caused the death of the deceased and in applying this test it is relevant to look at and compare the act of provocation with the act of retaliation.
19. Whether provocation is ‘grave and sudden’ enough to prevent an offence from amounting to murder is a question of fact, as stated in the Explanation to Exception 1 of s 300; this includes the question of whether the Accused had demonstrated the level of self-control to be expected of an ordinary person. Given the circumstances noted above, the Accused must have been in an emotional, vulnerable state of mind when he was told by D1 that she was going to 'fuck him senseless' with the carrot, which she had warmed up in the microwave oven moments before. Further, considering the fact that the Accused is a music recording artist known for his deplorable attitude towards the female sex, he would have felt emasculated by D1's actions and that would have tipped him over the edge. It is, however, most unfortunate that D2 had been present at the scene at that time. Her life could have been spared if she had not returned to the apartment when she did.
20. Therefore, the Accused is hereby convicted on a reduced charge of culpable homicide not amounting to murder.
Final Appeal for the Record (Label):
State of New York
Jefferson Washington Lincoln Carver
Aka: Blaise B/Niggaz on Parole
Docket #: 10098765
Excerpt of certified court transcript (pages 1624-1628):
Jefferson Washington Lincoln Carver addresses the court:
who value the lives of their families
beyond the mere gavel of law, I ask you:
What is innocence?
Do we not all bear the mark of Cain?
Are the sins of the ancestors not visited upon the children?
If I am not my brother’s beeper,
can’t I, at least, be his supplier.
What guilt is there in that?
Ladies and Gentlemen of the Jury,
‘Twas not I who pulled the trigger.
I was at my Auntie’s playing Grand Theft Auto with my cuz.
For argument’s sake, forget my alibi.
‘Twas society. Yea, she is the nefarious villain you seek!
She is the trigger happy bitch that has brought me before you today.
I swear it upon my loins.
Nay, peeps, I swear it upon my very crotch
that hath launched a thousand quips
and knocked up that be-otch Helen
bareback on her high Trojan horse.
My childhood was not coddled with frills of Fisher-Price
nor with the dulcet tones of Baby Mozart.
My rattle was still attached to a snake.
My music was the wail of police sirens
and the staccato clap of gun fire
arising from domestic disturbances in the hood.
You see…my moms was a crack ho’.
Give me pause, good friends,
as I reflect upon her saintly semblance.
It is misted in memory
like morn beneath the Brooklyn Bridge
or Dian Fossey’s silverback gorillas
playing hide the banana.
My moms hit the pipe
like Mike McGuire hit home runs on the juice
and dragged my ass from trick to trick.
Child Services took me from her diligent care
when I was but a tot in an Armani running suit.
To what end?
I was shuffled through the foster care system,
weaned on neglect and nurtured on abuse.
Today, I wear these childhood wounds as medals.
I am not covetous of bling, but I wear it.
My desire doth not dwell on Nike Airs, I just do it.
Is it not the fashion of a man to be fashionable?
To be arrayed in the silken threads and primped with pimpish hats
Who’s pluck’d feathers would shame the Bird of Paradise
In all its plum’d puffery.
Jurors, my only sin be this…
I covet the attention I was denied as child --
I yearn for the tenderness of a mother’s caress
The slam dunk lessons of a heroic father.
Hath not my wounds given me the merit
To covet no less? If offense be taken,
I, too, shall wear that affront as an honor --
A medal from the frontlines of urban warfare.
In this naked simulacrum of Law and Order
We can no longer speak of perps’ and vics’,
For victims we are all:
Victims of Madison Avenue
Who make us crave
The shit we need not.
Victims of the media
Who elevate celebrity,
Pathetic parrots of rote,
To near divinity.
Victims of Darwinian capitalism,
That makes short-shrift of our humanity.
Victims of ‘the man’,
Yes, you crackers in the robes,
Who sat our black asses
On the back of the bus for so long
It left indelible marks
In the upholstery of our souls.
Who in this courtroom
Is not a victim?
Come forth, I pray thee!
Let them cast the first stone
And beat the soot off my weary soul.
Let him render the eye-for-an-eye justice
That leaves the world blind.
No takers? No volunteers?
That’s because, your Honor, there are no perps.
We live in a perp’less society!
God is dead and our lives are perp’less!
We are all innocent.
“Who is innocent,” I ask you.
And I answer…
All of us!
Every fucking one of us!
Yea, ‘Twas Society who pulled the trigger,
Find society guilty and by this fair construct you will be compelled to bear witness to my innocence.
I pray thee, season thy justice with mercy, for in your zeal to dispense the former, you shall make orphans of all.
In summation, a wise man once said,
‘The quality of mercy is not strain’d.”
I add, Nor can innocence be feign’d.
Behind Justitia’s blindfold it is writ:
‘We are victims all’,
Just Watchin the Clock (rap song)
you stole my coke
and replaced it with
the love that poured
out of your ecstasy
tablets the ones
you sold to that kid
who died at that
rave the other night
from "happiness" he
said the bright lights
they ruined his eyes
he couldn't see
he said he was happiest then;
and you danced with me
all night long
i had forgotten
what movement felt like
your body moved
on top of mine
i was shaking for three
days after still, once
the drug wore off
you called it withdrawal
i called it love
drugs have no mercy
they keep you craving
for more, love
love it does that too
the only difference
between the two is,
drugs are easier to get
highs are harder to fake
it has taken me a while
to realize that.
The coming of the light was disorienting at first, like the shimmer of the surface of the sea when viewed from beneath. Ossie Mae was swimming up to meet it head on with the fearlessness that only the children of the Great Depression possess. That stark light called out to her bones.
Ossie Mae could hear faint sounds of work: the crinkling of cellophane wrappers, muffled footsteps, and an incessant chatter of beeps nearby. She broke the water's surface and spied a silhouette moving gracefully around the room's only bed. The lights' intrusion subsided, and Ossie Mae was able to recognize hospital scrubs as the silhouette's garment of choice.
"Am I dead," Ossie Mae ventured feebly.
"I don't know," the silhouette responded. "Do you feel dead?"
"I don't know what dead feels like."
"Then how do you know you were ever alive?"
The question hung in the air for a moment while Ossie Mae gathered her wits. "I don't reckon it matters, does it? What happened? Where am I? What is your name?" Now the questions flowed like water over the falls.
"I am Nurse Cassandra. This is a hospital. You are here because you fell and broke your hip. You came in alone...is there anyone you would like me to call for you? Family? Friends?"
Ossie Mae's pupils dilated slightly, as if looking past Nurse Cassandra, searching. "No. My husband, Jack, passed away eight years ago. We never had children and the few friends I have are all in nursing homes or moved away to live with their babies and grand-babies, or to Florida. It's just me now...," Ossie Mae said, her voice slowly and steadily trailing off.
Nurse Cassandra, who looked to be a woman in her early fifties, set down the clipboard she had been scanning while Ossie Mae spoke. She sat down next to Ossie Mae and took her hand. Ossie Mae thought to herself that for such a young woman, Nurse Cassandra had old eyes. They were kind and gray, but seemed old and out of place.
"Is there anything I can do for you, Ossie Mae," Nurse Cassandra asked gently.
"Well...my daddy was a simple man, and he always told me 'Ossie Mae, you ain't got to know what you want in life, but it sure does help to know what you don't want.' I sure do miss Daddy...but I reckon what I don't want is to stay in this hospital any longer than I have to. Could you get me out of here? Please? I don't belong here no more."
"Are you sure? Really sure that is what you want, Ossie Mae?"
"Yes'ums. Yes ma'am." Flatly. Definitively.
"Then of course, Ossie Mae. I can help you with that." Nurse Cassandra stood up, reaching into the pocket of her scrubs. "One escape, coming right up."
Nurse Cassandra turned to Ossie Mae's I.V. drip, moving quickly with practiced hands, emptying the contents of the syringe into the port on the line.
And so it came to pass: Nurse Cassandra, Ossie Mae's Angel of Death, sent her home to Jack and Daddy.
i am still undecided if i should continue to pursue this genre....
sleep is a date with death.
it's a time when your body is present but your conscious is not.
but are you really alive without a conscious?
in sleep your consciousness goes on a journey
taking Death by the hand
and accompanying him to the most majestic of ballrooms
and into the eyes of terrifying storms,
to the highest of mountains
and the deepest of the oceans' chasms,
to the most distant of memories
and the depths of what you had forgotten,
to your most prideful of accomplishments
and the greatest of all of your fears,
to the brightest of hopes and aspirations
and the most vacant corners of darkness.
he shows you what this world has to offer
anything and everything
each journey to be an experience your body may not have the chance to live.
yet every time you arouse from sleep
you awaken with nothing but haze
blurred images being all that your body can comprehend
in comparison to what journeys your mind can traverse.
as you age, your body becomes rickety and wrinkled
barely able to hold back such a bursting mind.
this is the time when your mind does not want to confine itself to a body any longer
it wants to experience more than what this world has to offer,
for in the hours awake within the body
combined with every date with Death
every memory had been made
every child had been born
every tear has been shed
every moment as a human, in body and mind, had been experienced.
your mind is not weak nor weary, rather, it thrives
within a clear container
and all that Death has yet to show you visible in the distance.
once your body can hold you back no longer, it sets your mind free.
that is when Death greets you
just as a peaceful lover would come dawn
and just as affectionately
he would accompany your mind
to everything else there is beyond
I have seen her,
fair skin and hair like fire,
her eyes soft as two ink drops in a pool of water.
Just beyond the green pasture,
before the full blue sky, there she stands,
white dress gently pushed by the breeze,
side to side, again, again.
A feeling of apprehension as I approach her,
followed soon by bubbling nervousness, and then her smile,
that does not change, her smile,
the warmth that wells up from inside me overflows, apprehension washed away in the flood.
I have seen her,
fair skin and hair like fire,
her embrace like strange fire warming me from inside,
her eyes soft as two droplets of ink,
soft, and soft.
Notes from a broken heart.
1. It’s always easier to write poems in list form because you can always just rhyme the words with the numbers, like one and fun, and sun and undone and cum, and oh.. and um…
2. When seducing someone who is only in it for the physical don’t tell her that her cheek kisses give you butterflies, the power will go to her head and instead of wanting to fuck you she’ll just want to cuddle and huddle around her favorite book and you don’t want that. Or maybe you do, but she doesn’t want that. Or maybe she does, but that’s beside the point because she can’t have that, and neither can you.
3. Never fall in love with the cute girl who is leaving, it’ll leave you heaving for air and she crushes you with her inevitable departure here after she’ll be nothing more than a memory and you haven’t shed a tear for her yet don’t lose that streak
4. I can still taste you, and I know that I never will again and I will never utter your name to anyone but the insane as a mantra to the boy I deserve better I can still feel your cold hands against my back you taste familiar like someone I used to know, and I wish it would snow outside I’m trying to hide from the fact that heart ache brings out good poetry and not very good studying habits no one is going to know this section is about you except you and that’s okay because I don’t even know if you’re going to hear this part, because these are just stupid notes from a broken heart that’s trying to mend.
5. I’m still alive, I’m still breathing even though I’m lonely I’m still smiling even though you’ve driven me crazy and I’m still shining because in the end there is nothing between me and the things I can’t do but a door way and if it’s locked I will hurl all one hundred and twenty… thirty pounds at it.
6. Sex is never as good as friendship.
7. I can’t tell the difference between the pain I feel and the emptiness I enjoy
8. I don’t hate you though I think I should
9. I’m a diamond that you won’t be able to mine anywhere else. I’m a rare breed but you see you can’t have the cake and eat it too don’t be greedy. Behave.
10. This needs to end.
1. It’s much more fun for me to lie about you then it is to say that you wanted me to stay, because I spent all semester ogling about you when I should have been focusing but I get a clean slate now that I’m in control I made my bed and I will be more than happy to sleep in it because even though you fucked me over it’s not really me you messed with is it, no. It’s yourself.
2. This poems slowly becoming notes from the other woman, when really I only ever wanted to know what your lips tasted like
3. I can’t see past the lust in your eyes and the inside of your mouth where you hide your demons and you swallow your pills. The hill from my dorm room to yours is frozen over if I slip and fall there’s a chance I’ll land face first in the small river that flows under the bridge.
4. Did she know? Did she take one look at you and say “whore!” did she feel your guilt as you moved inside her? Did she hold you closer because she knew another had already touched you
5. I took three showers after I left your house I thought you were the one with OCD
6. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry that he hurt you, I’m so sorry that I played along I’m so sorry that we let ourselves get caught up in the idea that we could be something that wasn’t a one night stand hold my hand and feel my pulse.
7. It’s beating just like yours.
8. It quakes when he touches me, does the same thing happen to you?
9. In time this will heal over I don’t know you but I know you deserve better
10. I can’t show this to anyone.