all i could think was whiskey
his hand tasted of it over my mouth
his breath smelled of it as he exhaled into me
he felt like it, ice to the touch
but burned like fire inside me
triggerwarning whiskey taste touch smell fear fire
There's not much that can scare me in this life.
They all seem rather mundane in the ways of scaring young children
When people like me think of frightening circumstances,
We think of all the ways we can lose our not-so-hard-earned money,
The ever resounding call of failure
And in the end, the inevitable destruction of this earthly vessel.
However, all of these unimaginative dilemmas still seem so bland in my eyes, when compared to the pain in my chest when I'm alone.
One day you will find
Haunting in my eyes the lies
That slid down your tongue
The girl that I fell in love with had long hair
She had bright blue eyes and never wore a lick of makeup
She laughed a lot but she was very cool
She showed her emotions but never too much.
The day she cut her hair was very symbolic
She cried when she got home and looked in the mirror.
Despite what she thought and how I knew her to look,
I still thought she was beautiful
The day she wore makeup for the first time was a mess
She had dark circles and lines covering her beautiful eyes
Making them seem like a whole new shade.
But despite the looks she got on the street, I still thought she was spectacular.
The day she heard her favorite joke and didn’t laugh was the hardest of all to bear
I waited for the punch line to hit her and I sat waiting for that hypnotizing laugh
But she just offered a weak smile and a fake scoff
The girl I had fallen for had completely disappeared right before my eyes.
I met you on a Sunday. It was early in the morning, before the sun began to peek over the ugly buildings of the town that we both hated. I was walking home after a sickening night out with a guy whose name I had already forgotten. You said you were walking to your job at the drug store. But you were going in the wrong direction, and you looked like you had been crying.
It started to rain in the few minutes before our eyes met. You were standing under a bus stops pavilion when I saw you. I joined you under the shelter and you pulled your hood off your head to flash a fake smile at me.
You told me your name meant happy and the irony of that was painful. I told you mine meant unfortunate. The pain in my eyes, and the sickness in my voice were obvious as I told you this truth. You didn’t ask me if I was okay and I liked that. Your eyes offered no pity or lust. Just the tired blood shot look that I probably mirrored.
We talked for a few minutes until you decided you were late. You walked out into the rain and disappeared into the fog, leaving me alone under the bus sign. I stared at a spot on the ground where continuous drops of water fell from the glass roof over my head.
I was about to stand up and continue my walk home when I felt the bench move beneath me. I looked up to see you sitting there with the same swollen blood shot eyes and soaking wet hair that dripped into your lap.
We sat there until the rain stopped and the sun shone over our heads. You looked me in the eyes and told me not to be afraid as you leaned in to kiss me on the cheek. And I wasn’t. Even after the distasteful night that I shared with a stranger the night before; even after spending my whole life being told by men that I’m not worth ****,
I wasn’t afraid.
What it feels like to disappear:
To know her
But to see her with him
To altogether recreate all galaxies
Because one with out her in it
Does not deserve to be in this universe.
To look at her with tears threatening to spill out of your eyes
And a knot in the back of your throat
And tell her you love her
And her not once, look up from her phone/She’s texting him
To **** a nice guy because you want to forget her
To not understand what he means when he says he loves you.
When you’re ******* him you remind yourself of his name
Or you might slip and say hers.
To not believe that your life is reality.
To not believe you actually exist
Until you look at yourself in the mirror
Staring into your own eyes,
Yet still not feeling convinced.
To cut into the top half of both of your legs
To try and convince yourself
That there is something "living" inside of you.
My heart is a cold stigma
It is the epitome of the frozen winter.
Your heart however
Is the illustration of the warm summer
Now there's not just distance between us,
But seasons as well.