kaitlyn-v-mcnay
Words are art, they make my skin dance. / So many thoughts bounce around in these visintine conduits of human minds. It's hard to put them into words, much less a flow. When people do so, it's art, raw, real, and dynamic. When someone spills some stanzas onto paper it's like they're saying "Walk in my shoes? Nah, float through my thoughts." / / P.s. my punctuation skills are certainly shit.
How selfish to want
Want what does not belong to me
But take it because I can
It's 1am on a Friday morning
My head nuzzled into his chest
His breath gently grazing my neck
I listen for the sound
The mechanism inside his chest
I gravitate towards its pull
As he dozes off
Whilst tangling his fingers in my hair
I listen to the metronome
A sound that puts me to sleep
With the rise and fall of each breath
I become confused listening to clock inside his chest
This compass is not mine
Something doesn't sound right
It hasn't given me chills
It hasn't left me in awe
Of how a simple pulse could keep my favorite human alive
Perhaps he's not my favorite
And my attraction falls short of a fallacy
What am I doing
With this tattoo covered boy
In my silk sheets
Whom is clenching my half naked body.
But my god, we look like art
Disillusioned and stained
Lonely as can be
Him
Me
May 6, 2016
May 6, 2016 at 6:54 AM UTC
Woke up today
And finally realized
That something inside of me
Has been dead for some time
An empty space
An echo
A critical part of my being
Gone with out a trace
It almost worries me
That's this hole
Has become quite comfortable
It's numb now you see
It almost worries me
I still wake up
happy to see a new day
That gap is on autopilot
Cold and mechanical
While the rest of me
Is warmer than the peak of summer
Frozen inside
Warm on the out
I wonder if my loved ones
Notice the change
They've said nothing
Of the vague glimmer in my eyes
That use to shine like the milky way
Has all but barely faded
Numb
Missing
Far far away
May 4, 2016
May 4, 2016 at 10:00 PM UTC
Dreaming by day
Drinking by night
She grips the bottle, so tight
Tips the bottle a bit higher
Pretending her day dreams are at the bottom
Love by day
Lust by night
Confusing obvious wrongs and rights
She grips his unfamiliar hips,
A drug in disguise
Laced with tattoos and bad intentions
She hopes to find love
inbetween his art and her satin sheets. She'll have him stuck in her head every sunset.
Remembering by day
Forgetting by night
That he nor him
Is not where her salvation lies
Between her own lips
Behind her own eyes
Is where her answers hide
She is too afraid to look inside
May 4, 2016
May 4, 2016 at 2:43 AM UTC
Ego Eccentric, Collective hysteria
A mind of madness,Compassionately cruel
Do or die
Black or white
Comprised carefully of duality
We are presented a human life
The thinker thinks but will never know
Think as much as you can
As much as you'd like
Ahh a thinker,
For he is one far and few between
He cringes at the tabloids
Glamorized ****** flashes
upon the big screens
Fear mothered slave state
Is where he sighs home
A pattern to repeat
An average man's prison
One of which
He's carefully constructed himself
Barring his own windows
Processing his own food
And his own paperwork
Jail keeper sounds
The morning alarm
"Wake your body!"
Mind stays in slumber
"It's time to make money"
Yet no real wealth
Another day on repeat
Constructing his "self"
Identifying carefully
With devised roles.
The play begins
"Curtain call!"
"Places everyone!"
The lights dim
Going back to pretending again
-KaitValentine
May 4, 2016
May 4, 2016 at 2:33 AM UTC