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agnes Nov 2019
I sat on your windowsill and you were paranoid about your car
I filled your fridge and your freezer and I cooked even if you didn’t ask
you’d grab me hard from behind with a look in your eyes that I couldn’t quite place
you didn’t know how to clean and you kept the same sheets for way too long
despite the blood stains I’d left on them
I finally let you read my poems but I don’t think you ever understood them
they’re not flawless so it’s okay
the places you went to were lame but I didn’t dare to tell you
turns out my friend didn’t like you and it may be inappropriate to choke me in your car
to think my neck was left blue from the way you’d attack it
but I’m young and I thought that was affection and what *** was like
because you were older and you liked ***
I think you liked it a lot
sometimes I didn’t want to but maybe I should give up just for you because maybe that’s what love is
you must know more than me
you got drunk way too easily and then you’d be over me again
but that’s what I see in movies and what I read in books so it must be okay
I think your taste in music is bad and your friends are immature
you let them know you were inside of me an hour ago
but I suppose it’s okay even if it feels strange hearing you say it
I didn’t cover up my bruises when I met your family and only your father mentioned it
but that just made it worse
we stayed up late and sometimes I’d follow you to work
that’s where you saw me cry for the first time
I cried a lot that day
it hurts to think about that sometimes and that’s why I’m getting help
because I cry when I put on makeup and I cry when I see your clothes
I can’t wear that same perfume and I’m always on edge
you said it’s my fault because you warned me and said sorry
but I don’t think you can feel remorse if you don’t know what you’re apologizing
you made me feel like I was crazy and then I stopped answering your texts
I said okay
and then I left
agnes Nov 2019
tunga täcken och dina andetag
bläcket i din hud och dina fina ord
jag glömmer nästan att sängen är dekorerad med mitt blod
fläckar som du låter finnas kvar

du känns som mitt paradis
för ibland vill du hålla om mig
men oftast vill du ha mer
dina händer är för ivriga och blåmärken är bevis
du ser ledsen ut men du fortsätter ändå
jag tror att det är okej för du vill ju ha mig

jag vill gråta
du vill romantisera
du säger ju att jag är fin när jag gråter
även när det är du som orsakat tårarna
gillar du det?
är du stolt?
för mina ögon brinner när dina bara är blå

jag är en saga och du är min prins
det finns ingen krona på ditt huvud
så du låter makten koras i dina händer istället
men det är
vi är okej

du greppar hårt och blåser på såren
lämnar mig för ett bloss från cigaretten
jag känner lukten av rök på dina kläder
men jag vet att jag inte ska fråga
aldrig ifrågasätta
för då hade jag kanske sett
att dina ord var mjuka men din säng var hård
att dina löften vara stora men dina lögner var större
jag faller alltid för dig ändå

jag håller dig i handen och allt jag säger är fel
mina kläder är värdelösa
mina ord är ett evigt eko
du varnar och du säger
                                           f ö r l å t
men du vet aldrig vad du ber om ursäkt för

alkohol i vårt blod och mina tårar på din kudde
din själ som låtsas vara trasig
min själ som skriker ditt namn
aldrig någonsin hittar de till varandra igen
för illusionen är förstörd och till **** får jag syn
du är inget mästerverk och jag tycker synd om de andra
de som ser när dina ögon blir mörka
de som ser dina läppar runt en flaska

mörka väggar och du är borta
någon dag kommer du få höra
om natten jag spenderade hos din vän
eller telefonsamtalen från personen du träffade senast för en kvart sen
viskningar på stan och folk som ser igenom dig
du är en kliché
och inget känns okej längre
agnes Nov 2019
he came, i cried
a blanket wrapped around me and a bra I’ve just unclasped
because he asked me to
they always do
I fall into pattern and I do as he pleases
and he tells me it’s on my conditions
and I’m too tired of definitions
for I don’t know what’s right or wrong
I’m afraid he’s just like them
and I’m so sick of wearing a thong
fluttering eyelashes and doing makeup only for him
my worth boiled down to a simple *** doll
tell me to reach for the alcohol
at least that makes me feel better for a while
when he’s not around
he’s n o t around
agnes Sep 2019
whirlwinds dust ashes
it wanders and follows your every step
your hair turns into moss, your fingertips connect with your accomplice
someday you will have to saw them in two
I wonder if your laugh will be the same once its your fingers under the blade
you’re turning bald and your nose is merely a button
can you smell the stench you create every time you lower your lip?
do you see the trail of destruction?

your bed is a coffin
your heart is non-existent
it’s a shame your teeth don’t even match the vision
your eyes aren’t rubies and your gums aren’t ******
glory is fictious, horns are the dream
not even that is what it may seem
for your head is a block of dirt and your thoughts are deflated
perhaps the worms came and ate them
perhaps they feast on you the same way you feast on me

except you don’t
the feast is your imagination
your perception is pitiful
you are forever insubstantial
agnes Jul 2019
why do I write when I’m sad?
how do I express emotions when they aren’t bad?
I’ve got my mind turned off and my ghost is asleep
I replaced him with my soul and traded love for spontaneity
a disembodied existence

value connection and protection
but never hold your words
they escape the weak grip of your promises like hummingbirds
premises of sobriety and vandalizing the heart of your lover
games and rules we never follow
declare yourself the oracle of Apollo

villains of the world and ink in your skin
tell ourselves we practice deadly sin
reflection in the mirror and that wicked look you carry
they know you’re not here to Hail Mary

abuse with no release
I feel sorry for them and you’re not a masterpiece
prove it with marks on my neck
show you the bruise on my thigh
I’ve finally escaped your high
agnes Jul 2019
lighting is dim but defined with a flash
her fingers reach to put her bra into place
she bought it a week ago and it’s all lined with lace
she fluffs up her hair with a strand behind her ear
she remembers when this moment brought her fear

it’s 11:00pm and the bra will stay on until 11:05pm
her makeup is long wear and it starts to hurt her eyes
but she knows her eyeliner will paralyze glamorize and hypnotize
obligation or free will?

her body sheds the last piece of clothing
she knows now’s the time to start moaning
they won’t notice how forced it feels
she’s already got them head over heels
their mind stops working or at least that’s what they say
what’s more important than their lust?
project your important with every ******

she’s a product of their imagination
she’s an object
or at least that’s what they make it seem
she’s to do whatever they dream

***** talk, slow blinking and a kiss
soft caresses or hard slaps
soon they’ll line her arms with straps
tied tied tied
or free free free
what’s control and where does it end?
was this ever a way to mend?

I’m *** *** *** *** ***
is my worth portrayed in the pleasure?
is there any other way to measure?
how should I view myself
if all other people see is themself

support but never consider
all the ways in which you hurt her
don’t come around and don’t touch me there
don’t rip apart my underwear

I still touch and I still come around
I’m your personal little playground
agnes Jul 2019
she saw it on her clothes
the rips and tears the hanging threads
she saw it on her body
the skin and marks imbedded in her cells
when her life is pointless and she draws parallels
between highs and the percentage of the bottle in her hand
but she’s a coward and it all tastes the same
instead of this she’ll be seated on a witness stand
let the rage begin let your thoughts pour out
but never mind because no one is here and you’re pathetic
there’s no point, stop thrashing around!
the sky is empty and you’re the devil
sit back and watch the angels who leave you
they will revel

she will call out and hope for a single word for that’s more than she’s heard
in the last days weeks or eternity
paint your ugly eyes with burgundy

she sees her mirror but not herself
a ghost or silhouette or someone posing to appear attractive
everything is retroactive
her legs are torn her arms are worn
she’s easy and she’s too nice
trust me you won’t need to tell her twice

she is pained
I saw that she cried after she came
she was alone in bed
she won’t get that image out of her head
she’s spiraling
I’m spiraling
her and I her and I
it all equals me
she’s fictive and it’s my disguise
I’m alone
anyone please talk me down
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