Your middle name?
How long has it been since you wore a diaper?
How old were you when you first noticed you had feet?
How tall lying down?
A glowing thing or a burning dark,
Quick,
Pick one.
How many needles will fit between my eyelids?
How big was your first?
Your last?
This last light switch do I flick it?
Can you handle candles?
What’s it like to wear no skirt?
How many bras have you sniffed?
Define addiction.
Define a lover’s hip.
How many languages are enough?
How can you free yourself without getting committed?
And what’s it like inside yourself?
And I see your feet are like freaky small
And your hair smells like flies
And feels like fishes eyes
And you have three nostrils.
And the third one is for ****
And that your eyelashes are made
From spider legs
And they move by themselves when you’re angry
Or turned on.
Can you believe me when I say
Your scent steams beautiful?
Did I stutter?
Did I stutter?
I don’t know, did i?
How many lines ago was that
Can you count the orange sticks
In the fridge honey and know that I’ll always want more?
What do you see from eyes so blue? Can you see that mine are glass?
Can you tell that they aren’t windows?
Can you quantify exactly more or less all you’d want my eyes to be?
Also, You have grass eye brows.
And one, two, too many tails
And your tendons are made of twizzlers
And you only drink Windex orange blue orange juice
And your hands are made of pancakes with lifelines
And your bellybutton has an eyeball in it
But we’re not supposed to ask who’s.
And your earlobes have lips and sometimes they
Whisper sweet nothings to the pigeons on the park benches while
You stroke your fingertips across various things,
Like pigeons,
Like me.
Like me?
Well, I broke up with my boyfriend and then spent the night,
And my roommate’s mom thinks we just need more hangers
And I start all my sentences with oh, well, look
And I ran through my apartment,
counted all my pairs of tights
And I noticed not a single
Tear looked like him
And I heard that song that he reminds me of
And it was the birds screaming the earth back awake
So I drank a whole bottle of V8 and went to sleep
And I broke up with that boyfriend and then spent the night
And my roommates convinced I can
Just go back tomorrow
and I dropped my sisters black vintage gloves in the mud.
I dropped my physics class and told everyone I’m a pyro
And I’m still not quite done with that last
Guy I spent the night with
And I’ll never be as high with anyone else
As I was with dell but I didn’t call him dell
When we were together
But I never understood people when they said they could remember a touch
Until I felt his thick palms four days after he left
And when he said he wasn’t coming
I ate a strawberry
And tasted nothing
And I haven’t eaten fruit since
And I haven’t made sense 10 days before he left
Now I’m way past losing track of who left last
And now I wear lipstick
With a disclaimer
when I dropped him,
I shattered.
Translation, no mans pleased me since.
But I’d like to watch you try.
So, your last name?
Do you have any pets?
Can you be with a woman you’ll never be able to please?
May 6, 2014
May 6, 2014 at 6:23 PM UTC
I am the ocean.
And you are a Spector fascinated
by my depth and emptiness.
You're too afraid to dive right
in to the darkness and see life
from my point of view.
You wade in the shallows
and say you love my salty tears
when you really
want to become one of them.
Most of them, even.
You say you'll love my waves
and the shells I'll send your
way to make necklaces
that I can wear on our first date.
What about the monsters?
The ones that lurk behind my ribcage?
you are aware of them,
aren't you?
Or
You are conscious of them
but you'd rather not look
for them with your crystal eyeballs.
Afraid they might burst and spew fruit punch everywhere.
you're simply happy with your
ignorance and
for that I'll wrap myself
around you as you frolic
in my arms and taste the surface
of what beauty truly is.
Drowning in what you love the most.
Kissing me like I kiss
the shoreline and ignoring the way I
constantly pull back and slam you
against rocks
to have my way with you.
Just so I can calmly swallow the light
every night and spit it into
your hair when you visit.
Because oceans
don't speak
or dance
we spit
and cry
so we can be loved
by something
almost as cold as us.
Feb 13, 2014
Feb 13, 2014 at 4:39 PM UTC
tonight I faced my biggest fear
of a dog charging at me
and not letting it get hit by a car.
Unlike how you grabbed my ankles
and threw me head first into
a semi-truck and watching as
I combusted into dust and gray feathers on our 5th anniversary.
Maybe you were hoping to see a plethora of colors.
Just because I tended to inhale paint
and spew it onto a canvas means
nothing.
Y'know, it's awfully rude to build
a house on someone's spinal cord
after only biting their lip.
The blood didn't fill my mouth,
so I guess it didn't mean anything.
So until it does, I'll wait until summer
thaws the hearts of dead bodies in
every concrete cemetery
so I can hear the earths core
sing my favorite song,
you hitting your coffee cup on
our ceiling like You've Had Enough.
You used to play it with your pulse
so loud the walls would shake
and start to erode at each crevice
your song made.
That poor house never stood a chance
with the way our internal screams
messed with the plumbing.
But that's why you're hammering
nails into my vertabrae,
and that's why you keep my coat
on the tip of your tongue.
So I'll have a place to call home
and you'll always remember what my
lips tasted like.
Vanilla and saltwater.
The taste of past lovers and sweet futures you always said.
But now your house is gone
burnt down by the fire that is my soul
after you three gasoline into my
intestines to get rid of the old letters
my mind sent through my veins.
never say you loved the hot waters of my skin.
you changed the temperature every time you got the chance.
which begs the question
how does one turn the dial
on a heart encaged like a bird?
Feb 12, 2014
Feb 12, 2014 at 1:27 AM UTC
I'll hate everything.
I'll hate the next boys hands
because they followed the same
path yours did on my neck.
I'll hate his whispers in my ear
because it made me shake the same way.
I'll hate his lips pressed against mine with great force
because it broke my knees like your kiss once did.
I won't let him trace my
collarbones
or clench my hips
or twirl my hair
because I won't be able to stand
the memory of how you once loved me.
I'll hate it.
I'll hate everything.
For only a while.
Maybe a bit longer.
Maybe not.
I'm not sure.
But a day will come
where his touch will become his
and your traces will become
no more than air on my skin.
I won't tremble at his touch
hurting me anymore
not for being too rough, no
but for being so gentle.
How you once were.
And one day.
I'll love everything.
t.l
Feb 11, 2014
Feb 11, 2014 at 10:33 AM UTC
Keeping the covers over your
eyes in the morning never hides
the true darkness.
You still have butterflies in your
veins you know.
Or possibly moths,
you've always thought they were beautiful.
Pretty maybe.
Stapling the black curtains to
the wall will never
have the same effect of your
mother standing over you
saying how she wished she
could understand why you
were so in love with death
and you wished your body were
mountains so people could
glue their eyes to you as
the sun said goodbye
behind your head.
That was your funeral.
You still walk around and leave
fingerprints like the coffee stains
on my teeth.
You just so happen to leave
scales everywhere you step.
Leaving the same line from your bedroom to the bathroom
where you've probably shattered
the mirror with how your heart
felt like crushing your chest plate
but settled.
you spent so much time on looking
out of windows you became one,
knowin there is a fire burning
inside of you but your biggest
fear is never being consumed by it.
I love you and everything so much
right now
and it's still not enough.
T.L
Feb 7, 2014
Feb 7, 2014 at 10:23 AM UTC
You have a tendency
to make my bones shiver with the way the muscles in your face contract,
making all the ships in my veins
tip over to witness the beauty of the storm while your breaking
my fingers
with the gracefulness of your movements
exploding my meridians
and hopes to anchor my heart in your palms
Feb 5, 2014
Feb 5, 2014 at 10:41 PM UTC
Before you fall in love,
Make sure there aren't any
puncture wounds in your lungs
for you'll be breathing heavy
and the last thing you want is
too drown in a sea of unspoken words.
Check your hearts structure
to make sure it's strong and has
a small chance of crumbling in their hands.
Twist your tongue to ensure your
past doesn't ruin the taste of their lips.
Break your fingers so you'll be able to easily intertwine them with theirs without restraint..
Shake your mind and ***** in any loose bolts.
Make sure you're well put together just in case they decide to unravel your skin and look underneath.
You don't want to fall into a pile of blood and bones at the tips of their toes.
T.L
Feb 5, 2014
Feb 5, 2014 at 7:22 PM UTC
Are you a book?
Because your face has words across it
and you have a ripped leather spine
and you have pages I could flip through
and maybe you'd give me a paper cut.
I wouldn't mind, you know.
Because if you are a book,
you'd be a number one best seller
in my world.
Feb 3, 2014
Feb 3, 2014 at 9:57 PM UTC
I once read on a snapple cap that said the average weight of an elephants heart is 29 pounds. I can't imagine walking around or sitting down with a heart that heavy. But I realized that's what I've been doing for the last few weeks. I don't leave footprints in the snow anymore. I leave sink holes in the ground. I don't leave an imprint in my mattress I break the seams and fall through the floorboard until the hands of the clock even dream of three am. I don't wear your t-shirts, either. I display them like a billboard because a heart this heavy needs an industrial strength ribcage to sustain it and I no longer wonder why any guy who will come after you will be unable to infiltrate it.
T.L.
Feb 3, 2014
Feb 3, 2014 at 8:37 PM UTC
My mother used to yell at me.
When I would call my birthday,
'one-day-closer-to-death day'
because ladies don't do that.
and she always thought an 8 year old
shouldn't talk about death.
As if I didn't fully comprehend what the
words coming out of my mouth
were carrying.
I did.
I pondered them in her closet every night and soon figured out
They were obviously forests tied with
boulders.
I carried more words of mass heaviness like that than she
carried bone marrow.
When someone first told me
they loved me, I panicked
and scattered into almost a thousand black beetles and crawled up his spine
so he couldn't see my face
and the death spilling from my blood
red lips.
Because ladies don't do that.
FALLING IN LOVE IS THE DUMBEST
THING YOU COULD DO.
I told myself that for each star
I counted in your eyes,
And every cut on your chest.
That I more than likely
caused by throwing my words
around not realizing they turned
into blades at the very last moment
but maybe if I did, I'd be a lady.
And I wouldn't think
birthdays equal death.
Since ladies don't do that.
T.L
Feb 3, 2014
Feb 3, 2014 at 9:27 AM UTC