I'm drunk.
I'm drunk
And I wish I hadn't eaten in months.
Everything
Tastes like you.
Everything tastes like your **** in me.
Again.
And my screaming.
Again.
And you not caring
Again.

But you're just my ******.
And my friends are blackmailing you for it.
And now you're blackmailing my friends
For breaking all your bones
After they tore you off of me.
And now it's between you and them.
And I don't want any part of it.
And if I did
No one would give me any part of it.
Okay I do.
But still no one will give me any part of it.

So I'l trudge through
******* mountains
And ***** rivers
And razor blade forests.

But you can't forcefully *******
With my body.
Just to keep yourself warm.

My dying wish
Is to hate myself less,
Love others more,
And stop being depressed.
To pick myself up
And move on, not regress.
But these feelings
Are hard to suppress;
All the distress you put me in,
Still shows to this day,
You can see it on my face,
I doubt it'll ever go away.
But maybe if im lucky,
My wish might come true,
My life would be over,
And thats when I'll get over you.

You were as stealthy as a slow gas leak, by the time i knew i was in love with you, i had succumbed to you. You were in the drivers seat of my car lighting a cigarette with the windows up so i could breathe you in. I quit smoking so your secondhand smoke was all you would allow. I watched as you brought the cigarette to your lips and dragged in as if your life depended on it. It was your third one today and i told you that you should stop, maybe breathe me in for a second. Do you know what i would give to become second hand smoke from your lips? All you would have to do is kiss me and i would vanish into thin air, become a noble gas in the periodic table but there is nothing noble about the element of disappearance. I have been shrinking away from you ever since you held my hand in that convenience store a year ago. I'm trying to convince myself to get over you because all i am to you is someone to **** slowly through your second hand smoke. I never knew I could get so addicted to nicotine until it came from under your tongue. When you're gone, it's hard for me to breathe which doesnt make sense because when youre here my lungs are filled with your sweet black tar. But you will be gone for months when you leave in two weeks. You said you'd write to me, but written words can't carry your second hand smoke. You can't build a home out of a human being, but that doesn't mean i cant find a home in your bed.

I brought you into my world
You saw it through at every angle
You were the one that wanted to feel
How I survived this pain throughout this years
We weren't dreaming when I reeled you in
In fact I reminded you to

                                             Just stop
                                                   &
                              Take a second to breathe
              Remember the feel you brought from reality

Before, during and after the trip
I'll still fight for this love that I've dream
Or maybe you forget about our

                                             Acid Kiss

                                  ©2013 Maman Screams

I want to tell you I could love you.
I could make you happy.
I could make you fall apart on the
bedroom floor,
helplessly and desperately proclaiming
that our love was more
than the nights of
raised arms and oceans of threatening depths.

But fifteen is an age when all of this
is just a dream,
a cliff where the jump is even more
dangerous than everyone says it to be.
Fifteen is the age when I believe,
that my hands have grown rough enough
to take yours
and maturity and age
have always been our similarity.
But fifteen is just another name for
"You're too young."

I cannot promise you that a wedding ring
would worth more than
the freedom to love the women
of taller heights and wider hips
for their lipstick is much darker
than the lip balm I use to
smoothen the dried skin.

For I do not know what it is like
to slide the glass between my fingers
and to taste the golden bubbles
freeze my teeth.

I do not know how to light a cigarette
or how to inhale the scent and death of rebellion.
I do not know how to let the ashes fall
unto the tray without burning my skin
and dirtying my nails.

I do not know how to make you want me,
how to dress and turn my curves
into mountains you wish to explore.
I do not know how to turn my tongue
into a weapon much deadlier
than the wind.
I do not know how to make you
feel beautiful.

So with all of the worlds streets, corners and
dimly lit bars,
I am nothing but a little pigtailed girl
with a lollipop in one hand and a poorly written
love note in the other.
And there you are,
as tall and as handsome as I've always seen
you as
with no time to look down,
only straight ahead.

But I guess, thats okay.
The heels would never have fit me anyway.