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****** isn’t a love song.

It isn’t the warmth of your lover’s lips,
or their hands skimming across your naked skin.

People are not ******.

Drugs are not a metaphor for your personal Adonis.

It isn’t beautiful.

It isn’t romantic.

It sure as hell ain’t heaven (but it really ******* feels like it).

Sometimes you imagine them.

Their body pressed against yours. Heated kisses and veins like cracks through marble—

Soft enough to carve with your aching fingertips.

People. Are not. ******.

You want someone whose presence can be melted down and injected.

People falter, break, lie, abuse, cheat, steal
and
leave.

Oh, God knows you have (every God you never even knew you prayed to).

You feel too much and then too little.

Not everything is as simple as fixing a rig but everything is as complicated as searching through your skin, trying again and again and AGAIN to find a perfect place to let that melted bliss baptize you for the

first;
fiftieth
hundredth
time.

Love is not a drug.

Addiction is not a religion.

Someone’s absence is not withdrawal.

Death is not poetry.

****** isn’t a ******* love song.
 Nov 2016 - Aquamarine
Phia
I think it's hard to give you up
For the same reason a drug addict keeps going back,
The high is amazing,
Regardless of how deadly it is.
A girl stood before me at the supermarket
a few random items littered her basket
pink socks poked out from her sneakers
they were covered with little creatures
an inch of flesh stood between
those ankle high socks and her jeans.

Nice socks I exclaimed!
she turned around inflamed
looked at me and said
I have a boyfriend
her face now red.

Are they his I asked?
her face broke into a laugh
sorry I got so defensive
guys make me apprehensive
I don't really have a boyfriend
sometimes I just like to pretend.


*I know how you feel I replied
in embarrassment I've often lied
and whenever I'm struck by beauty
of someone new I meet
I can't look directly at them
I look towards their feet.
https://www.instagram.com/p/BzjEKe3nX0B/
She destroyed herself
Too many thoughts*
She fell apart
Too many little pieces
She fell in love
Too many little feelings
She discovered herself
Too many little stars
She believed
Too many little moments


And
         In
              The
                     End


She was home
Too many little things
That reminded her

of  *
herself
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