My thoughts become knots my fingers bleed to untangle.
I throw them on the ground in front of people hoping they’ll find enough value in me to try to help remedy. Hoping they won’t mind the blood already smeared on them and would ***** themselves for me.
Willing to take off their shoes and walk over the hot coals of my insecurities and become baptized by my knowing they would suffer for my company.
At what point do I decide to stop burning? My insides are cooked to a well done keeping aflame this self hatred.
Jun 24, 2023
Jun 24, 2023 at 8:42 PM UTC
Living under a cloud retaining its rain
Heavy
Raincoat on my shoulders and boots on my feet
Constantly prepared but never ready
Heavy
My eyelids
Heavy
Heavy with the weight of things I cannot control
Eyes racing side to side as the world loses control
Heavy
I fall to the dry ground
Heavy
Jun 17, 2020
Jun 17, 2020 at 7:30 PM UTC
We have not touched but I feel close
As though I have laid my palm upon the warmth of your chest and the beating of what resides there has a rhythm that makes me want to not leave it
It rings in my senses
The tune of you
Jun 17, 2020
Jun 17, 2020 at 7:27 PM UTC
Cold and crisp these sheets a perfect contrast to your warm milky white skin
Kept aflame by your pulse quickening
Each kiss getting closer and closer to my heaven
Let me see you? Let me relish your beauty before I take you?
Each curve a sloping hill I once danced upon as a child in my new shiny black shoes
But tonight my lips and tongue will take the lead
Your rose petal lips part like the red sea seeking reprieve from the tidal wave pulling you under
You seek oxygen but your moan turns me to wax
Melting into you
Jun 17, 2020
Jun 17, 2020 at 7:25 PM UTC
My sadness is a lion I like to pretend isn't in the room.
Truthfully he lies just under my chair, the forced smile, waiting to be awoke by my sorrow and devour me one sob at a time.
His claws, the rush of adrenaline, and his strength, the memories, crush my windpipe.
I am the lioness.
The lion is my leader.
Jun 17, 2020
Jun 17, 2020 at 7:23 PM UTC
I pick at you like an old scab my mother has told me to let be
I must love the pain
I must enjoy the ache in my stomach
Because I come back to this like it’s the only watering well for miles
Seeking a taste of relief but the water is vinegar and I wince at its bitterness
I pick at you like an old scab
My flesh tender
I bleed and I ask myself why I’m so tired
Forgetting that I’ve slashed myself time and time again never letting the wound heal leaving a blood stain on every woman‘s bed since
I pick at you like an old scab
Jun 17, 2020
Jun 17, 2020 at 7:14 PM UTC