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 Nov 2018 Alec Astaire
H A N A
Those silly songs;
so sad but true
With lost feelings
of me and you

I played it on
with the tape's side A
Felt like blossoms of dawn
and flowers of May

I flipped the tape
Found side B's empty
The same thing I get
Every time you look at me

"You'll get over this."
You once confided
That's what our love is;
Too one-sided
I wrote this three years ago and I'd love to share it here with you! ♥
i’d rather write about the freckles on your back than think about all of the ways in which you quite possibly don’t love me.

i feel sick at the very thought of you picking me apart the way you did; fingers grabbing and stroking in a catastrophic symphony of skin and vulnerability.

let’s read between each other’s lines; share my sentences and punctuate my paragraphs with your mouth; because i can breathe easier on the mornings where i wake up wrapped around you.

because my moods change like the ******* seasons and the spinning in my head doesn’t want to stop.
                                         you tell me that i should probably get a therapist because no one that thinks about all the ways in which they could **** themselves has an ounce of mental stability.
                                          i tell you that i have been to four.
                                          names faded into a blur with hazy snippets of conversation remaining.
20mg.
                    30mg.
you tell me that trust issues and scars aren’t endearing and i tell you that neither is counting up the potential number of pills needed to dissolve your body into the living room carpet.

let me sink inside your skin and make a home in your flesh;
i tell you about the nights where i lay awake in the bath turning the water red.
                       tragic, isn’t it.

you tell me that this isn’t how my head should work and i tell you that i already know. everything you could possibly tell me i already know.
i know that 400 calories a day isn’t normal, and my hands shouldn’t shake all the time.
                                             i know.
please let me stitch myself into you, even just for a while; until i no longer feel dizzy and my world stops spinning.
i don’t need you to tell me that it will be okay, because honestly i don’t think it will be and, that in itself, is okay.
                                                                ­                 let me stitch myself into you, because my own skin can’t take it anymore.

let me call you back when my voice stops wobbling and my vision straightens out, but honestly, i’m terrified that it never will. what if this is it. headaches and tears and shaking and blood.
                                             and the debilitating, gut-wrenching feeling of pure and euphoric emptiness.

                                              tragic, isn’t it.
 May 2018 Alec Astaire
inthewater
she reads books and she plays music
the cute, innocent
clumsy girl
with freckles on her cheeks

you like to read and listen to music
the cool, handsome
sweet-talking man
who likes freckles on her cheeks

[ or at least you said you did ]

she rolls her eyes at your compliments
the cautious, bright
guarded girl
with curiosity in her eyes

you lay them on thick
the certain, sharp
imprudent man
with hidden agendas on your lips

she lingers a little longer
in hopes of crossing your path throughout the day

she laughs at your jokes
and you know they're not funny

she sings for you in the car because
you like her voice

[ or at least you said you did ]

she's become good at excuses
the hopeful, naive
kind-hearted girl
with sureness in her words

you soak them up
the stark, ill-intentioned
vacant boy
with uncertainty in your voice

she gave all she had to care for you,
the smooth, clever
self-serving boy

you convinced her that you loved her

[ or at least you said you did ]
sweet nothings are just sweet nothings
 Apr 2018 Alec Astaire
jordan
Our first date involved you shoving your tongue down my throat and i don’t know if it’s because you couldn’t get enough of me or you couldn't get rid of the taste of her.
I feel empty
Like all the emotions are still inside me
But I don't feel like letting them out anymore
Besides, what is that even for

I feel empty
My starving mind and body can only tell one thing
That this world is too crowded for a person like me
And this is the moment I doubt in voluntarily breathing

I feel empty
I don't wanna think straight
Everything has happened in sync and in serendipity
These actions are just too late

I feel empty
No music, game or form of excitement can wake me up in this reality
Nothing at all can help me now
It's like passing away is planned somehow

I feel empty
This heart that is palpitating or brain having a migrain
Can't make me forget about things that just adds to the never-ending pain
Truly numb forever, this is me

I feel empty
If this will ever be my last goodbye
I would just like to say thank you for everything you have done to me
All those advices at my crisis
Or the shoulder to cry on during my vices
Thank you and now I'll probably die
A poem I made a long time ago that I could still relate to now.
 Apr 2018 Alec Astaire
CA Smith
To you, the ground beneath my feet
Every step I take,
you support me.

You stand with me,
in my times of trouble

I am warmed by your embrace,
as I become entranced in your outfit of lace.

Nothing could be more finely crafted,
than my connection with you.

The ages may wear on you,
yet you remain the only one
my sole longs for.

For you truly are...
My favorite pair of shoes.
I read your favorite poem today.
It sounded like the first time you read it to me.
The words on the page flew into my mind;
I watched us slow dance together.

We swayed and spun from line to line,
And as I reached the end, I saw your face.
I looked into your eyes and realized
I miss you more than I thought.

It’s a different feeling nowadays
Than when I stood still and watched you drive away,
But that empty feeling still taps me on the shoulder
As I read the first line again.
I kept chasing
you, as if
you were
a distant dream.
But dreams
are not always
dreams.
Sometimes, we have
nightmares too.
When did those dreams turned into nightmares? When did I stop believing in the magic of dreams?
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