I hope you have another drink
I hope it tastes as sweet as you like them
I hope it burns just the right way
I hope it makes you warm inside
I hope it keeps you happy
I hope you have another drink
I hope it tastes like the last one
I hope it burns all the same
I hope it ignites a flame inside you
I hope it keeps you sane
I hope you have another drink
I hope it tastes like hell
I hope it seeps into your bloodstream and burns your whole body
I hope the fire inside consumes you
And I hope it doesn't keep you alive
Sep 28, 2015
Sep 28, 2015 at 2:07 PM UTC
You are the scars on my chest.
The deep lines like an epitaph engraving right below my heart.
Each scar a ****** stanza
of the poem
you know you wrote.
Mar 21, 2015
Mar 21, 2015 at 4:16 AM UTC
Sparklers, fireworks and simple flame has drawn my attention since I was young.
I almost set my moms apartment ablaze at 5 years old.
She said,
"You play with fire, and you'll get burned. Or worse, you'll burn everything down."
She never told me that one day a boy would set a fire in my soul and never return to put it out.
She never told me I'd have to water it down to unusable kindling.
She never said that wet wood would warp.
She never told me that cutting off the oxygen would suffocate me, too.
I guess she shouldn't have to though, because if you play with fire, you could burn it all down.
I just never thought that "all" would mean me.
Mar 21, 2015
Mar 21, 2015 at 4:04 AM UTC
They asked me if
I'd ever done drugs.
And I told them about
Your eyes.
Mar 16, 2015
Mar 16, 2015 at 10:52 PM UTC
when I wanted to turn my wrists into christmas gifts and slice them with paper cutters to see if I could find a better tomorrow written in my veins
where were you
when I wanted to pour my tears into a Xanax and Clorox cocktail and get buzzed on the thought of angel wings tearing my back open
where were you
when I took a heart shaped box full of rotted sweets and poured it in the gasoline that lit our first kiss, watching the good intentions burn to ash on the pavement
where were you
when I tore up the tear-stained ink-heavy pages of love notes and tossed them into my backyard stream
where were you
when I took off the bracelet you made me and tied it to the traffic sign on the bridge where the police found me
where were you
when I was handcuffed to a bench in a stone holding room singing our song over and over again, screaming unintelligibly at every officer who asked for my name
where were you
when I called every night, wondering why you decided not to speak to me anymore
where were you
when I checked my messages and saw ***** where I said "sweetheart", ******* ****** where I said "I'm sorry."
where were you
when I tied my last hope to a tree on the beach and swung from it
where were you
when I prayed the rope would snap just as easily as my heart did
where were you
when I stood on your doorstep in the rain, wishing that I didn't remember your address
where were you
when I was passed out on the curb, drunk and alone
where were you
when I was curled under a desk, screaming at the rain and kicking the locked doors
where were you
when I was at the cliffs, counting the jutted rocks and trying to measure the exact angle I would need to fall
where were you
when I finally decided enough was enough,
and took every piece of my glass heart and used it to carve a new person
But love,
where were you
when I needed someone to hold me while I was hurting?
Mar 16, 2015
Mar 16, 2015 at 10:51 AM UTC
It's you.
It's always been you,
Even when I put myself in strangers arms.
When I got too drunk and said I needed you,
I meant it.
It was you,
Even when I kissed the boy with crooked teeth and a drug problem.
The time I ate mushrooms and told you how sorry I was,
My god I meant it.
It has always been you,
Even when I held hand with that one kid just because I forgot what it felt like.
When I screamed about how I never should have let you slip through my fingers on my best friends kitchen floor at 3 A.M,
I ******* meant it.
It was still you,
Even when I let you best friend wrap his hands around my neck and plant his insincerity in my brain just so I could feel something,
ANYTHING, after so much numbness.
Believe me when I say it was you when I was hooked on ******* because it embraced me in warmth like you did, when I smoked 11 cigarettes a day to cough away thoughts of you, when I did painkillers at a party to feel that deep feeling of utter nothingness but no one told me it wasn't for the emotional kind of pain.
It was you.
You.
It was you when I hit your head off the wall and said 'I love you'. I meant it. I have always meant it. I still do. It was you. And it still is. And it will always be you.
Mar 16, 2015
Mar 16, 2015 at 10:51 AM UTC