it's barely summer
but i've forgotten
how to breathe;
i fall in love
with strangers
before they even speak.
entangled within
the pulsating crowd
like a fly trapped in a spider's web;
questions are spun
all around.
inferiority screams in my ear
& consumes all thoughts
until i can't hear
all the questions that are caught
between threads of my insecurities,
weaving around
& around
the fabric of my being -
tightening its grip
with everyone seeing
me choking.
it's barely summer
but i can feel
winter's chill:
each pump of my left ventricle,
an exertion against will,
leaves me *******
& frozen, still -
but feeling like i could run
before you could catch me.
i watch the moon
trade places with the sun,
racing against time,
but my day
has still not yet begun.
Oct 7, 2013
Oct 7, 2013 at 3:53 AM UTC
kites flew in his mind
& kept his head in the clouds,
forcing me to send messages to the sky
in hope he doesn't take flight
with my world on his shoulders.
he was a traveler
intent on conquering every mountain
he could lay his hands on,
& leaving every atlas
to burn beneath his fingers;
like pain searing on a map of hurt
on his lover's skin -
directionless but in motion.
cigarettes were his staple diet
with beer to wash out
the bitter taste of a quick fix.
his smoke & ashes injected adrenaline
into my wasted body
& set my vision straight
when i was getting drunk off of him
on a monday, or tuesday
(or any day mid-week).
intoxication was a breath of fresh air
on nights when he wasn't -
the nights that i had promised myself
i wouldn't cave in to my
drunken wishes.
spirits gave me spirit
& silenced my thoughts
to allow my body to speak for me
in a language i knew
he would understand.
he kept me close by his side
as he slept through the nights
that the weather shared our bodies' passion,
his heart unable to translate
the song his bag of bones played
into tachycardic rhythm
to match my own.
his arms would curl around
every inch of my being,
holding every ounce of me
but without seeing
that imperial measurements
held little meaning to someone
who quantifies in metric.
last love,
i send messages to the sky
in hope you aren't
my last love.
Sep 27, 2013
Sep 27, 2013 at 6:51 AM UTC
two a.m,
in your kitchen,
lighting cigarettes on your stove.
i'm thankful for
your addiction
or your arms wouldn't be
holding me close.
time is as long as
this cigarette will allow -
the present,
the future,
is here & now.
with each flick
of my wrist,
my eyes do the same -
from your clothes
to your oceanic eyes
to your sunken in face.
you know
i want your taste -
but ashes linger
in my mouth
& your hand headed south
& i guess we were playing
different games.
i searched for the words
to fill your
unsaid thoughts
but you searched for
my body's beginning
to connect the dots.
Sep 14, 2013
Sep 14, 2013 at 8:05 AM UTC