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abysmal Jan 2014
i love you like the b side of my favourite record

golden slumbers occur whenever you're at my side; cold or warm - i'd never wake up if i had the choice.
"how do you know you love her?"
she came in through the bathroom window and i knew she was mine
abysmal Nov 2013
green eyes watch me from across the table.
calculating, all-knowing.
but never sharing.
she flashes me a smile as if she weren't just thinking of all the ways she could hurt me,
(**** me)

i know if i deviate eye contact,
that'll be it.
the detonation of a bomb.
as childish as it may seem; i cannot bear to look into her eyes for longer than the 20 seconds it took for me to fall in love with her and her fixation on everything that is wrong with the world.

she pushes her hair back as she nonchalantly eviscerates my thoughts.
sifting through them before deciding on the one that will obliterate me almost immediately.

she leans in and kisses my neck
with a predetermined chain of events.

i've already calculated her next detrimental move
but am too infatuated to put an end to it.
the detonator serves her purpose while whispering into my ear;
*i love you
abysmal Oct 2013
you're in my veins
hot and poisonous
but i refuse to let you percolate.
instead, i wait for you to clot my blood and cut off my oxygen supply
while thinking to myself;
*"it's just like you to redefine asphyxiation"
abysmal Oct 2013
Here is the secret of life.
The key to happiness.
The answer to the unnecessarily composite mathematical equation.

Let yourself fall in love with her

Let her bad habits become your favourite creatures of the night.
Let her laugh find its way through your selective hearing.
Let her hold your hand at concerts and let her kiss you when they're over.
Let her tell you that she loves you even though she's said it more than twice in those ten minutes.
Let her sleepy green eyes explore your body in the early hours of the morning.
Let her make your coffee the way she takes hers.
Let her finish telling her joke even though you already know the punch line.
Let her bite your collar bones and let her smile at you when she's done.

Let her destroy you.

Let her torment you and threaten to break the fragile heart she's got in her hands.
Let her look at other boys and let her wish she had them.
Let her tell you that you'll never be able to give her what they can.
Let her stop noticing everything you do to see her smile.
Let her hit you even though you're not the one who's into corporal punishment.
Let her break every bone in your body.
Let her leave you bloodied and weak on the unforgivingly cold bathroom floor.
Let her burn down the pathetic, metaphorical home you built together while you're still in it.
Let her validate these actions.
Then let her move on and forget all she's done.
abysmal Sep 2013
Waking up next to you is scary.

And before your vehement self-loathing causes you to interpret this as an insult; I'll explain what I mean as best as I can.

I'm scared because I always wake up before you; and I know that all I'll want to do is watch you.
That's dangerous because it only makes me love you more.
The way you heavily breathe through your mouth as a result of a congested nose, the way the relaxing and contracting of your intercostal muscles cause your small body to bounce up and down in a perfectly rythmatic manner. The way your heartbeat fills the entire room. So much so that I have to susurrate the bed sheets to mask the sound so my unforgetting heart doesn't fall any deeper into the enigma that is you.

Then you wake up.

You look at me with disoriented green eyes and matted brown hair and smile. You smile at me exactly the same way I've been smiling at you for the past ten minutes.

It's scary

Because by that point the clamorous sound of your heart beat is quickly replaced by mine. Sometimes I'm scared that you'll hear it. And you'll know.
abysmal Sep 2013
I don't consider various eye colors "beautiful" nor "enchanting".
In all honesty; I've never really understood the incorrigible obsession with iris pigmentation that is genetically inherited and beyond the control of the possessor of the same pair of eyes you deem "beautiful".

But in contradiction to the callous statement I've opened with;
I've found a pair of eyes that I can unhesitantly call beautiful.

It should be noted that I only fell in love with the eyes after I'd seen them roll back with pleasure
(a memory that still makes me shiver)

And from that night on; I started to notice every single beautiful thing the eyes did.

The way they lit up with frenzied excitement,
The way they burned with raging desire,
The way they filled up with salty achromatic tears.

I've loved the eyes for as long as I can remember.

But I don't consider myself lucky just because those same eyes look at me lustfully midweek; but because in a seemingly redundant life, those eyes became something to look forward to seeing; or feeling pierce through your skin on a warm Saturday night
abysmal Aug 2013
I don't do this.
Sit up at midnight and pretend I'm capable of putting my feelings down.
Capable of stringing them into something beautiful when really: they're just ramblings of a ***** teenage girl who can't go after what she wants.
Who she wants.

I don't do chest pains when the realization of your absence is as lucid as my lack of fear of death.
A preeminent death that you made so frivolous with the warmth of your smile,
The lust in your touch.

I don't do relentless memories.
Memories of your hands on my hips, your sighs in my mouth and my skin under your nails

I don't love this hard. I hope you understand.

— The End —