Love is seeing you in the bottom of my coffee,
It's feeling a cigarette burn into my skin,
It's hearing your voice cracking in the branches of my trees,
It's watching the moon turn red in April and not being able to focus on the stars anymore,
It's staring into my drawers, feeling my fingernails scratching the wood looking for change,
Its licking a lit match,
And finding a golden dollar in your backyard under the sandbox,
It's getting in a car crash at 60 mph on a congested highway and never being able to drive again without thinking about hitting a concrete wall,
It's holding your ******* hand and your cold skin and knowing it has nothing but warmth underneath,
And its wanting to die before I hit thirty.
It's burning, it's certain, and it's haunting.
I'll never be without that.
Mar 9, 2015
Mar 9, 2015 at 10:23 PM UTC
my bones are made of paper
so "sticks and stones" is dreadfully wrong;
those words print themselves in bold
and stain my soft canvas
the world can read others' opinions
that have manifested into the very thoughts i think about myself
Mar 9, 2015
Mar 9, 2015 at 4:33 PM UTC
A woman is like a rose
Fragile, to be adored for it's beauty
Soft petals draped like the finest dress
Blooming red, rosy cheeks and bright lips
A man is like a rose
Scarring, covered in thorns
Draws blood at the touch
Wilts and is gone forever
Mar 9, 2015
Mar 9, 2015 at 3:44 PM UTC