slip my hands around your throat
slip my blade though your vein,
Little monster.
Throw the first punch
you're already dead
why not die twice?
Theres already blood on my hands.

Guilty pleasures of the deviant mind
scratches down the spine,
Bite marks along your side,
Love bites across your collar bones.
my little monster,
Make a sound
leave your moans down the hallway.

Latex gloves against the skin,
Making his incision
victims lie screaming
eyes wide open
he looks down
for he found his little monster,
Within.

Doesn't make her an
**Angel.

Written at age 15... it's rusty:


**Last night you were the focus of my dreams.

There were others, swirling in and out, and making demands, and just visiting, but yours was the only face that stood out.

And you were happy, for once.

We sat on my bed just soaking up each other and you weren’t pressuring me into *** or out of your mind upset, there was some sort of resonating contentedness and I felt fuller than I have felt in so long.

Almost like it was back to last fall, and you still wanted me.

Then you got up, picked up a black bag and walked away, without a word or backwards glance. I might have been asleep, or merely preoccupied, or maybe I just sat there and watched you leave, as if I had known this was to be our fate all along. I remember wondering when you were planning on coming back, when deep down I knew.

You weren’t coming back at all.

     I woke up to a plethora of messages from other boys, like always, and I wondered why none of them had made it into my dreams.

And why none of them were from you.

Your imprint's emplacement
Massed fate's apogee,

Where words become pavement
Whilst time sets them free.




Too bad you didn't like it.
I actually wanted to make you feel special.
I don't write love poems
For this reason.

Far away
I’ll go to hide
The proof may be rampant
But the evidence, lies

I’ll leave no hint
Say no goodbyes
To search for my body
Would not be wise

The grotesque state
I may be in
Would do no justice
For your skin

I’ll disappear
In reference to
This ****** up state
Comprised by you

So only you
Will realize this
Is a demise
You will not miss

And when I’m gone
You’ll grow to know
I went unnoticed
Head to toe.

in trouble
~

I AM
the crime scene.

My type,

Then, I got
**help.

Yet, where is the fun

When my best friends tonight
won't know me, come morning?