I'm kind of a *****
My last resort to not believing this is the fact
that I'm still a ******
But I suppose that doesn't mean ****
I've gone from bed to bed,
lover to lover.
Always too afraid to take that step.
I can control myself for a while.
I'll tell myself I don't need those sensual pleasantries.
But I always come back to them
and I'll come back to the same men,
starving for seconds.
It's one thing to have your primal needs satisfied.
But those human yearnings cost so much more.
Those cravings for true affection always lie inside,
like a wolf begging for blood.
I don't want to share just a pillow with you.
I want to give you my soul, my dreams.
I want you to tame the animal
without dousing the flame.
But that's not what men like you do.
You feed the wolf.
You give it my heart
and its teeth are just so ******* sharp.
You pour water on the fire
until there's nothing but smoke,
mere remnants of what I thought we could be.
You're not my lover
and you never will be.
You're a soulless *****
with the sharpest claws.
And you want to know
what the worst part is?
When I look in your black eyes,
I see myself.
I see the kind of monster I'm becoming.
I'm turning into you;
like daddy issues, like son.
But I deserve better than that;
my soul deserves better.
Today marks a new chapter.
Hell, I'd burn the whole book
and start over again if I could.
But that's not how life works.
Starting today, I'm giving up the streets.
Have fun finding another filthy *****
shouldn't be too hard in this town.
I'm leaving this side of the tracks;
Gonna find me a nice, warm
mansion to live in.
One with a big fireplace
for my lover and I to stoke
our embers forevermore.
Feb 7, 2021
Feb 7, 2021 at 6:27 PM UTC
Put your cigarette out on my soul.
If it keeps you safe,
It’ll keep me sane.
No matter the sensation
of nicotine flame
pressed to my heart
Selfishly.
I’ll love it if it means
I can love you as well.
Apr 12, 2019
Apr 12, 2019 at 3:57 PM UTC
I bet your lips taste like ashes.
Cyanide flavored poison-
sweet like candy floss but
Deadly; burning from the inside,
Passionately.
Hands hot- the back burner of
your sister in law’s cast iron stove.
The flame of desire ravaging
your skin in your past lover’s
Sin.
Press flesh too hard; the best way-
It leaves violet marks of recycled love.
And I’d dream of a future,
while you thought out tonight’s dance.
And I’d listen to the rain
hit each brick wall,
while you turned out the light
and felt nothing at all.
Apr 12, 2019
Apr 12, 2019 at 3:56 PM UTC
She crawls around in white
satin shorts-
like a dream.
Fluent only In Miss-
-conception.
The eyes have made
an exception it seems
to see
her diminishing alongside
them; like the dreamscape
she is.
The only see the ecstasy-
lodged between her teeth.
Apr 12, 2019
Apr 12, 2019 at 3:56 PM UTC
I’m sorry.
Dreadfully so.
Your hearts a mess-
so skillfully trying
to weave its way
through mine.
But I’ve already began
cutting the ties.
I don’t want your love.
I won’t lie; not to you.
I’m sorry
Apr 12, 2019
Apr 12, 2019 at 3:55 PM UTC
Step One
Feel the bare mattress scratch against your thighs
and moan in self-pity ‘cause it hurts like a-
Rub broken knuckle stubs into your temples.
Stretch out one two three toes and pretend not to taste ashes on your tongue.
(Forget to brush the cancer out of your mouth again?)
Step Two
OPEN YOUR ******* EYES
Oh don't be so ******* self-righteous.
Use scarlet nails to probe Scarlett pupils,
wipe away the morning slime and marijuana high, because
quite frankly, no-one wants to see that.
Step Three
The carpet has another puke stain.
Lovely.
Step Four
Walk around Carpet’s new addition.
Choose to be Superman- leave lights off.
You're not Superman.
Bump in T.V. stand, dressing table, fan.
Jesus Kid. How many more bruises do you want to acquire?
‘Sal right though. They’ll fit in just fine.
Step Five
Bathroom.
Violet fluorescent bulb-ly lights that nobody likes.
Twitchtwitchtwitch.
Come on now- when’s the last time you’ve changed them?
Yellow **** not surprising.
Step Six
Wow. You have not gotten any better looking.
The poetically inclined ****** with knotty curls
and a brazen face your mother likes to call
Darling,
is staring from that cracked up mirror
into your pink, anemic eyes.
And man.
Even your ******* reflection wants to jump ship.
Step Seven
Where are your shoes?
Socks?
Step Eight
High school really is Hell, huh?
Keep your head up Kid; or down…
Last night’s hurrah is still evident
in those washed out, glazed eyes rolling
around in your head.
But don’t worry-
you’ve got a small token of the American Dream
in your back pocket!
You didn’t forget did you?!
Ah- Happy Birthday Kid;
enjoy your ******* oxy-
and try to stop shaking.
You look a mother ******* drug addict.
Apr 12, 2019
Apr 12, 2019 at 3:55 PM UTC
I can’t feel my hands.
They're tingling and,
my feet are sinking
into the carpet.
Red and scratchy carpet that spins over
and over
and over.
But my heart is smiling.
So hard.
Apr 12, 2019
Apr 12, 2019 at 3:52 PM UTC
Tall ones are the best.
Don’t cry when they don’t
talk to you- don’t cry when they do.
Read 10 minutes ago
Pretend you're asleep.
I’m asleep I’m asleep I’m-
too tired to see you today, but soon.
Read 6 minutes ago
-I wouldn’t I swear I like you
a lot I would never even think to-
(Tell him- tell him I’m down.)
Seen 20 minutes ago
“Don’t drink the water after schools out;
it’ll make you live forever.”
You smile.
He smiles.
Love is like a dream
where everyone wakes up melancholy;
only lasting a small while.
I miss your face.
Apr 12, 2019
Apr 12, 2019 at 3:52 PM UTC
Every time the sirens scream,
the blood in my hands grows colder the usual.
My chest aches in such a way I must hold myself
back from clutching it.
I breathe steadily- or as steadily as I can
as to not create a fit of panic.
But it’s terrifying.
One-two-three-
Send a prayer to anyone whose
willing to listen and it goes:
PleasenotnownottodayI’mnotreadydon’ttakethemnot-
Heavy brown eyes and a glinting smile saying hello
in a way that makes me want to cry tears of
Memories- innocent and pure with the wind in your hair.
And the siren continues to wail.
Apr 12, 2019
Apr 12, 2019 at 3:51 PM UTC
When I press broken fingernails deep inside the
fleshy surface that is an anemic palm,
I am reminded-
I am real.
This is real.
Fourteen years old.
I remember the first time I got high
like it was yesterday,
but I can’t for the life of me
remember who am I.
Close-set eyes like brown almond paste-
(no my eyes are blue.)
Who.
This ****** body stripped of sin
only to mess it up again.
But I'm fine-
Everyone says so.
Fine like the wind in summer
blowing round and round cotton fairies.
And I press broken nails sharp like glass
into frail skin
if only to feel something.
But it never lasts long enough
to count.
Apr 12, 2019
Apr 12, 2019 at 3:50 PM UTC