Lend me your hand,
drape your fingers over me and relax.
Trace the outline of my body,
barely coming into contact with my supple skin.
Use my skin as your ballroom floor,
as your fingers dance to a beautiful ballad.
Have me lingering onto the last touch,
and yearning for the next.
Glide over every inch of me,
bring forth goosebumps to my surface.
For if your fingertips were pens - and I, paper,
my entire body would be inked with your love.
Let not a single space on my skin go untouched,
don’t let any part of me fade and disappear.
Cover me in your penmanship,
and make my existence permanent.
Jul 18, 2015
Jul 18, 2015 at 6:38 PM UTC
i smile for now;
we hang out for awhile
just on the couch
no white forests, no cute chocolate boxed romances
no notes, all smiles and all pearly white teeth
with less words and letting hours elongate
silent stares, you let me know you've fallen
in love with my lips
and for one, i think i am just fine with that
before yesterday becomes the same as tomorrow
i think i'm okay with you and i
for now;
Jul 18, 2015
Jul 18, 2015 at 5:39 PM UTC
Loneliness and depression are like parasites,
adapting to their new host bodies
They will cling to anything that it can.
Something with an open wound,
someone weak in the flesh - susceptible.
For these are their preferred feasting grounds,
and I’m their favorite company.
Apr 4, 2015
Apr 4, 2015 at 1:29 AM UTC
My weakness lies within my heart,
it’s naive and craves romanticism.
And it’s willing to do anything
for even the slightest amount of affection.
When I give,
I will give until I am but a fragment of myself.
When I love,
I will love without thinking what I’ll get in return.
And so when I fell so deeply in love with you,
and you told me you didn’t feel the same,
it broke my heart.
My walls came crashing down around me,
and I found myself choking on the remnants of our broken love.
All I could was “Why?”,
but you left me with not so much as an answer.
My chest cavity grew weak,
and my heart sank into my stomach,
which should be filled with butterflies.
But instead there I lie -
cold and broken.
I’m desperate to be saved,
to have life breathed into me,
but the only one for me is you -
so say you love me too.
Mar 31, 2015
Mar 31, 2015 at 11:21 PM UTC
Nobody, nobody
knows what to do.
Life is a mystery
that we wander through--
gathering hints
and interpreting clues.
But nobody, nobody
knows what is true.
Mar 31, 2015
Mar 31, 2015 at 11:20 PM UTC
In the early mornings,
when I cannot find the motivation
to get out of bed,
I look at the books
that I have not yet read.
A wave of guilt washes of me.
I turn to look at the unfinished drawings
and the pencils that are still sharpened.
A wave of guilt whispers to me.
I roll over and see the empty words
of stories, with the characters unpublished.
A wave of guilt drowns me.
It seems these days, I am nothing but
Guilty.
Mar 31, 2015
Mar 31, 2015 at 11:20 PM UTC