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  Feb 16 LAICEY
Kay
It's slowly driving me mad
Listening to the playlists you made
Of other people singing
What you never had the courage to say
  Feb 16 LAICEY
Paras Bajaj
The emptiness in my eyes,
The truth behind my lies,
The fall before my rise,
And the goodbyes;

It scares me.

The dark beneath my skin,
The light within my sins,
The voice that loudly sings,
And my broken wings;

It scares me.

The wounds I can't heal,
The pain I can't feel,
The loss I can't deal,
And when I am real;

It scares me.

The silence in my little talks,
The stillness in my moonlit walks,
The thought of separate ways,
And my numbered days;

It scares me.

The demons under my bed,
The words spinning in my head,
The blood in my sweat,
And my cold breath;

It scares me.

-Paras Bajaj #PoetrybyParas
Instagram : @mr.parasbajaj
LAICEY Feb 16
Sunlight crept in through the
slits in your blinds,
two bodies intertwined
at 11:30am accompanied by
two glasses of red wine
(quarter full) on your bedside
table, above which your picture
perfectly hangs and aligns with
the painting you finished last night.
Last night. Sigh
I was yours and you mine,
traced my finger along your hairline
while your head rested between my thighs.

These moments only last forever in my mind.
© LAICEY Poems February 2021
LAICEY Feb 15
drawn to your emerald greens,
like you are drawn to the sea,
i fell into you blissfully.

your soft-spoken speeches echoes
inside your art-covered walls,
green. it's where breaths have slowed
and quickened into pleasurable moans...
"hey can you please open the window?"

it is funny the way i've grown in fondness
of the colour green, almost like a promise
of our love - an everlasting fluoresce.
yet i still want to loudly profess

all over again,
no motive, just simply me:
i am so in love with you,
with everything i have.
always will be,
always yours.
© LAICEY Poems February 2021
LAICEY Dec 2020
5? 6? 7?
(can’t be certain when exactly)
14.
17.
18.

He told me that it was okay.

Some will flinch at the touch.
Some will go into a daze.
Some - I - will crave the touch of strangers, and many at that,
to replace those days.

He told me that I was special.

I became careless and reckless
with love on accommodation sheets.
While I mistaken their meticulously placed words
for love that I thought was finally peace.

He told me that it wouldn’t hurt.

It’s 2:52am and my timeline is flooded
with girls and trials and underwears passed around in court
as if it mattered for the verdict.
The bags around my eyes are flooded
with tears of anger and hatred
as if to beg for some kind of justice.

They told me that I should be flattered.

But the thing is we haven’t been okay since.
It did hurt but we still needed ******* evidence.
We were already special before they took away our innocence.
And now all we can do is get angry and hurt and wince
at the stories like ours that social media has evinced.
We hope to god our daughters will never have a jury to convince.
© LAICEY Poems December  2020
  Dec 2020 LAICEY
david badgerow
last night i stayed up late after the sun kissed the horizon's eyelids and wrote poems as letters to all my exs and some to my one night stands lying to them about not being scared of the dark anymore and that i don't recall the exact shape their outline made on my bed sheets.
this morning when the sun rose pink through my window i
did not lick the envelopes instead i lit the corners with
matches and shouted out their names to the walls in
my bedroom. my feet did not take me to the
mailbox instead i'm standing on cold toes
naked in front of the bathroom mirror
waiting for enough warm water to
collect in the tub for me to bathe
in. tonight i'll drink the star-
light that spills out on
the cold kitchen
floor tile and convince
myself i've never truly been
loved by anyone; that i've gotten
here by sheer force of will. that i'm
fearless and invincible while my fingers
fumble with the heavy pistol and my tears
write her name in the folds of my favorite shirt.
tonight is another late night holding sepia pictures
of her because i'm scared to go to sleep alone now. my
whole body hurts when i think about the new empty closet
space she left and how her hand would find a nest in the soft
crook of my elbow when we were walking anywhere or the fresh
shock of electricity when my fingers first found her fingers and her
fingers tied my fingers to my other fingers tight around her waist. my feet ache, because the first time we danced it felt like i had swallowed
a gallon of violent purple hummingbirds and my earlobes are
burning swollen because her painted lips aren't here to cool
them down. her finger nails found the place between my
shoulder blades naturally and i feel so foolish because i
gave my whole self to her but it was an unwanted gift.
it's three in the ******* morning again and i'm
writhing under the thick down blanket but her
velvet toes aren't tucked deep into the small
of my back for warmth. before i choke on
my mistakes and crush my fat tongue
with a bullet i just need to ask her
why

why did i lose you to him?
why are his hand prints on your hips?
why does he get to wake up next to you?
why can't i think of a good excuse to call you?
why did my right foot disappear when you left me?
why does his morning breath get to tickle your eyelashes?
why can't i remember what your nose looks like when you laugh?
why isn't my pillow as comfortable as your bellybutton?
why do you have nothing to say to me anymore?
why does my mouth still taste like a bird's nest?
why did you take my cast iron skillet?
can't get the format consistent on hp and i'm tired of trying to **** with it.
LAICEY Nov 2020
You are a bullet,
harmless, fascinating, daunting -
when unprovoked and on your own.
Except maybe a choking hazard.
Nice to touch and feel on my skin, but cold.

Give you power,
or a gun,
your aim is never accurate but
deadly all the same.

I can replay it - you charging
at the TV with incredible speed -
in slow motion.
The sound that followed was deafening.
It was an ear ringing, catastrophic explosion.
It was your fist meeting the screen,
us screaming and me crying,
on my cut up and bruised knees,
begging for you not to leave.

I had a tendency to chase after bullets
and a desire to fix the mess they would create.
I didn’t realise that I was the one being chased.
And that I was my mess I had to clean up.

I’ve stopped going after bullets.
(But now I play with fire.)
© LAICEY Poems November 2020
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