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 Jan 2016 Brianna
W Winchester
I'll never know which way her head turns first when she hears my voice, or what stupid jokes make her start laughing all embarrassed, idk what it feels like to hug her, idk what kinds of foods she likes to snack on, idk what she looks like when she's tired, idk what random moments can make her smile, idk what she shakes her head at when she overhears a conversation, idk if she leans on a desk before she gets up or if she scoots out her chair first, idk if she picks her nails, idk if she lips when she gets an injury from basketball, idk what her hands feel like in mine, idk what shampoo she uses and what her hair smells like and how short she is compared to me so i can kiss her head and- i could go on. But it's the little things, you know? You two have that and I don't and it makes me sad
 Jan 2016 Brianna
Molly
The feeling is viscous. Impermeable.
I’m restless, doomed. I can’t explain
why I love art
but wear a lab coat, just
so I’m forced to remember
what life is worth.
I can’t find that in words.

A white noise, a terrible ringing. I
used to feel nothing. Not anything.
Now I hear my fear and anger competing.
I’m listless. Delusional.
My mind is irrational.
My heart says “don’t listen”
but I can’t always hear it.

I wouldn’t
hurt myself anymore, but sometimes
I can’t sleep on my side.
I’m balding from tearing
my hair out. Sometimes
I dream I’m pulling at wires
and on waking my palms are bleeding, sometimes

I wake up and I’m crying,
fingernails buried alive, and I’m prying them
out from under my skin.
But, these are just days the SSRI’s
aren’t working,
the days when I'm ill
and my whole body's hurting.

My dad is so sad - he says
“when will you stop them”
I say “hopefully never.”
He’s downtrodden. I’m sodden in rain.

I want to lie in bed today.
Is that okay? What if I
never get up? What if I forget
how to feel, and lie here
for weeks and weeks upon end?
I’m so afraid of
losing my mind again.
 Jan 2016 Brianna
Molly
Jameson
 Jan 2016 Brianna
Molly
My room smells of smoke and cologne.
You seem nice,
your eyes are lovely. My inner thighs
are peppered in bruises,
my legs hurt, my cheeks are flushed still.

It’s sweet to look at the milk skin, the ink blots,
remember I’m real. Remember
the feeling of being wanted,
your weight on me, the sweet nothings,
the drunken kissing, the moaning.

I want to hold on to you, but I’m
sure I’d be fine without you.  My ex
had a baby, I wasn’t angry.
I wished him luck; it’s a girl.
A new main lady.

I drank something crazy, I lost my cigarettes,
brought you home and we went to bed.
I wonder could this ever be anything really;
could I ever look into your eyes
and say I love the bones of you?
 Dec 2015 Brianna
heather leather
he said his favorite color was blue because
that was the color of the sky and his mothers'
wedding ring which was the only thing that
survived the fire and he keeps the ring around his
heart so that whenever he is feeling down,
he can always remember the color blue

she said her favorite color was red because she liked
to light things on fire and she was the
heartbreak girl that burned everything she
touched and you can tell that's she's coming your way
because the first thing that you think of when you see
her is red

he wanted to disappear into the ocean, because he
was calming waves of serenity and peace but
she wanted to burn bright like the star she knew she
was born to be, and she did; she was the wild card,
the indigo of the world and she burned everything
she touched, everything she loved until one day all
that was left of her heart was a pile of ashes

he said his favorite color was indigo because that
was the color of her engament ring, the one that he
had bought her the day before she burned alive and he
wears it around his chest now so that whenever
he feels like a burning red, he had her in his heart
to keep him a steady indigo

(h.l.)
i like the color indigo
 Dec 2015 Brianna
Megan May
Dear god, his touch is like fire.
His fingertips leave burns on my skin, every place he lays his palm blisters
It's mesmerizing
Everyone knows the flames will hurt if you touch them, but they are oh so pretty
And he just so happens to be  gorgeous, the type that I can't take my eyes off of
It doesn't matter if every time my skin meets his, it scalds my heart
None of it matters anymore
Because he provides the most addicting kind of torturous pain that I could ever imagine
But as soon as he takes his hands away, I turn cold as the ice I was born from
He is full of fire and I am made of ice, and oh he makes me melt
 Dec 2015 Brianna
Unrequited Love
The most **** thing about a guy has nothing to do with his clothes, hair or eye colour.

It's in the way he looks at you with longing, when you finally find out he wants you just as badly as you want him.

When he pulls you so close to him that there is literally no space between you, because he can't stand the thought of there being any.      

When he kisses you, so that it feels as if he is stealing the air from your lungs, and for those few seconds you forget what air even is.
    
When all thoughts go out the window and its just him, with you,in the most simple way possible.

Now that is the definition of ****.
Pure passion is ecstacy...
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