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2.7k · Jan 2015
Supply and Demand
Anniebell Lector Jan 2015
And I run,
I run so far away;
from the pain and the decisions
you've forced on my fragile mind,
From the agony of realizing
every second I spent blind
to your lies, and your love,
and your useless promises.
To your empty dreams
your late night wishes.
turned into a past tense verb
moved by your lack of motion,
momentum created from my
spontaneous combustion in love
infatuated with your hollow charm,
and your flawless game.
The desire to tame,
an nothing more.
Though, I became the *****,
who took it all and shouldered
the Burdon of your wasted potential.
And buried the belief that
than what you gave me.
What I got,
the empty handful
of ashes.
paid in full
626 · Mar 2015
The Sadist
Anniebell Lector Mar 2015
She glares, in contempt of her cage.
She bites the bars.
She screams her rage.
Her sun thirsty skin stretched over a soul
too big,
too bound,
too much for this tiny cathedral.
The ceilings of her Sistine Chapel rebel against
her plaster skull.

They waltz in her spotlight,
fighting over her camera's eyes.
look at me
They flick their tongues,
bat their painted lashes.
They flash their brilliant colors,
their brilliant intellect.
Prey lying in the arms of predator,
they sacrifice sanity for the ecstasy of her madness,
just a taste of her sacred communion.

She drifts,
one to the next, because they're all the same.
They make promises they can't keep
for the sake of romance.
They marvel wide eyed, because she's not the same.
Absorb her until they can't,
and hobble away, broken.

They won't stop though.
Cracked like a whip on their tender skin,
they come back,
limping and smiling.
Her weakness in the devotion playing on their
bitten, pouting lips.

"Love me." said The *******
                                                                          **"Always." said The Sadist"
555 · Mar 2015
Anniebell Lector Mar 2015
And maybe I loved you.
Maybe I didn't.
Who cares by this point?
While you're screaming at me,
while I'm curled in the corner,
not sure if your's or the voices in my head are
louder this time.
Maybe I didn't want you to touch me,
while I laid so still,
my tears carving deeper scars than my razor.
Maybe, I did.
Who cared by the time
I woke up with you ******* her,
in my bed,
next to me.
Maybe I didn't want to get you high,
when I worked sixteen hours a day,
smiling lies, and cracking when their eyes were averted.
Maybe, I did,
but who really cares,
by the time I found you,
finger ******* the carpet
for little crystal rocket ships,
that would put you back in your head.
Maybe I didn't want to stay,
when you begged me.
Secrets, brushed under the carpet for a minute,
love facades painted in your black hole eyes.
Maybe I did,
but, who really ******* cares,
by the time I finally got away,
because, I had to face the inside
of the Jack O' Lantern smile, you'd sliced onto my eager face.
but who cares?
You didn't.
553 · Feb 2015
For Future Reference
Anniebell Lector Feb 2015
If we end up angry, screaming reflections of who we are now,
Thank You for the butterflies.
If I end up choking
on tears I won't let you see
Just Know
I would never allow myself to mourn
for someone I didn't love.
432 · Mar 2015
Anniebell Lector Mar 2015
I only told you once.
How unhealthy my love was,
my obsession,
hurt me more than you anyway.
I wrapped my life
around you.
I wrapped my thoughts
around your vague desires
your cruel demands.
I remember your head on my lap
your tears on my thighs.
I remember you laughter,
your promises.
I remember
how hard I tried
to fight your demons.
I remember days, weeks, months, years
wasted on your sick delusions.
I was so lost.
You saved me,
Jim Jones to my misguided youth.

Better the abuse you know, than the strangers you don't.
348 · Feb 2015
Anniebell Lector Feb 2015
I'm finding it hard to sleep these days.
While my mind whirs electrical currents
civil war.
And my voices whisper
taunting my neverending curiosities.
today and tomorrow and yesterday pool at the back of my skull
forgetting which came first,
and which hasn't happened.
Forgetting to care,
as I stare into the smokey galaxies above my bed.
Dreams consort with ghosts,
nightmares sing cryptic lullabies in hollow voices.
Conversations that never existed, unravel themselves
before my hopeless, opened eyes,
and I breathe my silent testimony
to the horrors I so graciously accepted as home,
to ears that will never hear it.
Like a nymph I feel my skin,
cellophane tight,
conforming to laws of nature that are not my own.
Accepting existence as an anomaly, out of spite for my creators.
I rise and fall
pulled by sweet Luna
into the fading lights of my consciousness,
then back to harsh reality before I can appreciate
my mind's secret gardens.
345 · Feb 2015
Anniebell Lector Feb 2015
I'm  a believer in late night conversations.
I'm a believer in starry eyed, open smiles,
ink stained fingertips.
I'm a believer in hour upon hours,
lying in safe arms
disregarding the world and it's perpetually
social structures.
I'm a believer in butterfly kisses,and eskimo kisses,
and any other kisses you can muster.
I'm a believer in spontaneous proclamations of love,
sweet slow touches, reassuring words.
I'm a believer in eloquent anger,
words turned to a fencer's foil,
dancing in careful time with a discussion bordering heat.
322 · Feb 2015
Desire Tides
Anniebell Lector Feb 2015
Give me your lies.
Slip through my thighs.
Sing me a song,
sweet lullabies
growls through bared teeth.
Involuntary sighs.

Love, close your eyes,

and give me tonight,
desire tides on the glassy shores
of discovery.
for once, I'll try
to forget how I flinch.
For our grand reprise,
our opus
cacophonous rise

and fall.

Callous poet, silent philosopher
let my fingers ask you
303 · Jan 2015
Anniebell Lector Jan 2015
Those that say writing is for those avoiding life,
have never seen the way my pen
dances across it's stage.
They've never seen the way words can
wrap themselves about you,
settle in your bones,
nap in your empty places, guarding your secrets.
They don't know how it feels
to squirm under the relevance of a poet's
transcending prophecies.
They don't know the subconscious way we bite our lips
when e.e. cummings whispers
Or how we sigh, starry-eyed
when T.S. Eliot feeds our fantasies with dreams
of places and things we can't find in our backyards.
They can't possibly understand
the relief of understanding,
when Sylvia Plath eviscerates herself into our thirsty
mouths, spilling her soul onto skinsoft pages.
Maybe, then
poets are not so alive after all,
human sacrifices to their own mortal experience.
297 · Jan 2015
The Bet
Anniebell Lector Jan 2015
Do I move you?
Do I beat your heart's percussion in my All-Star's allegro rhythm?
Do I make you wonder
while you lie alone, thinking of my fingers
on your skin,
in your hair,
discovering your beautiful
secret places?
Do I touch you?
Do  I linger in your mind like last nights whiskey?
Do I hold you
in the sway of my hips?
the tilt of my lips?
Do I make you breathe
when I've been gone too long?
Do I remind you of half hidden fantasies
when I look at you
bedroom eyes, bedroom hair, bedroom voice,
inconsequential syllables
slipsliding their way down your spinal column?
I bet I do...
284 · Jan 2015
My Words
Anniebell Lector Jan 2015
What would you do
if I painted the sky with stars, and
coaxed the moon to stay,
just to look at it's reflection in your eyes.
If I gathered up all your broken pieces,
and spent hours patching
the hairline fractures in your mind.
If I ignored the splinters,
Because there's always collateral damage.
And if I whispered lullabies while you slept,
just to keep your demon away.
What would you do?
If I kissed your eyes when your world
got ugly.
If I sang to you, just to give you something
beautiful to hear?
If I promised on your very skin
the love my lips can't explain?
If I articulated in fingertips, and sighs.
Would you translate my love,
or just the echoes of your hearts burnt corridors.
268 · Jan 2015
What I've Become
Anniebell Lector Jan 2015
He had known just from looking at me,
could tell from a glance,
and how I had taken that bill,
so pathetic
I wanted to scream, but
for some reason my hands would not
obey and my lips muttered only
Thank You.
Is this what I had become?
This empty shell sitting by a gas station
with my bag and my cigarettes.
Is this what I had become?
This girl with hollow eyes,
and an empty stomach.
I'd been fooling myself to believe I could
remain unchanged by this.
I couldn't even accept the help of a
because no where in my mind
could I grasp the concept that he wouldn't
do something to hurt me
in return.
Trust had vanished from my weary perceptions
and I, being a fool,
thought I didn't need it.
What have I become?
266 · Jan 2015
Anniebell Lector Jan 2015
I love the way you pretend.
I love the way you dress up
all skin, and cotton, and beautiful
I love the way you tease,
my words from their dusty catacombs,
with your smile, your sway,
your beautiful ******* lips,
trailing down my neck, my chest.
******* this neverending
journey to the end of your corridors and locked doors.
I love the way you don't know
how you inspire my deep seated desires.
I love your innocence
my inner demons coaxing
the lost little lamb
in your eyes.
I love the way you shiver
when my fingers make promises my heart can't keep.
When my smile makes promises
my foundations can't withstand.
I love the way you don't ask questions,
how you trust me.
So lovely,
and I know I'm going to break your heart.
But the way you look at me
reminds me of what it means to be human,
even if what I do to you, proves
I'm not.
266 · Jan 2015
how to love a wildthing
Anniebell Lector Jan 2015
I wander through lives,
wild thing in a domesticated age,
baring my soul to those who dare see.
I send my thoughts whisper-thin
like night breezes touching you
in your subconscious wonderlands...
and await your unplanned replies.
I change rapidly
Trying, nonetheless
to do what I'm told,
file my thoughts away like scars
no one wants to see.
Until you resurrect me:
pacing, snarling, wildthing
sleeping in my deepest cells.
You give me my reply in sweeping words,
blessed unholy silence.
A kiss, love, to end the world.
263 · Jan 2015
Anniebell Lector Jan 2015
My hands are always cold
with no one left to hold them.
My scars, a little too visible.
My memory, a little too lonesome.
Sitting under a bridge thinking,
about the trainspotting
pipe smokers.
Letting my mind carry me off
tryin' to catch some of that smolder
ed green
that burns in my bronchioles.
That grows to trees in my mind.
Can anyone save us, who can see
in a world that's gone blind?
245 · Jan 2015
Living Dead Girl
Anniebell Lector Jan 2015
My heart is sleeping,
but my body's awake.
My mind's busy keeping
your advances away.
My brain fingers your shadows.
My tongue catches your eyes.
You like how I tell you no
like I can see through your guise,
but in spite of my resistance
it's all a big game.
You'll chase me. You'll catch me.
I'll scream out your name.
We'll do our dance,
sing our song.
You'll realize I'm empty,
and then you'll be gone.
And I'll burn out your image.
Write your name in my sin.
You'll move on, forget I happened.
I'll laugh, and cave in.
189 · Jan 2015
What I've Learned So Far
Anniebell Lector Jan 2015
Freedom lies close to loneliness.
Success often dines with its enemies.
Love must bear the weight of loss.
Happiness always knows pain.
Peace cannot scrub the blood from it's hands.
Life can not exist without death.
Nature doesn't know the meaning of "fair".
You deserve what you end up with.
Poets are made from misery.
You cannot control life,
only react to it's obstacles.
And sometimes,
**** Happens

— The End —