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melancholy Sep 7

Summer heat.

Washed hair.

Clean sheets.

Cool hands.

Warm skin.

All the time in the world.

Patience worn thin.

A thrill like fire.

An ache like ice.

A terrible hunger.

This feast won't suffice.

Overflowing heart.

Short-circuiting brain.

The stabbing of longing

Nearly drives me insane.

Freckled and bright eyed.

Skin thin over bones.

In some world

I'm with you.

In this one

I'm alone.

Frustrated and frazzled.

Eager and resigned.

Thoughts of you call to me

Dreams not far behind.

Escape fading away.

Reality bleeding through.

I lie in a spacious bed.

I wish I was lying with you.
melancholy Sep 7
Sun in the sky

Sleep in my eyes

I rise slowly

Thinking of you

Thinking of me.

Passing of days

Nails bitten away

Waiting on you

Wondering if you ever

Wait for me.

Curiosity bites

Some spark ignites

Finding mystery in you

Hoping you find intrigue

Within me.

Obsession resumes

Compulsion consumes

Fingers crossed

That your intentions are pure

And that I don't dash the expectations

You must have for me.

Attempts of calm fail

Familiar loathing prevails

How could I trust enough

To throw myself into the things

That are invisible to me?

Life carries on

But the thought's not quite gone

A star that always remains

Dim, but bright enough to see.

Because, my dear

I never consider what is

Only what has been

And what could be.
melancholy Sep 7
I think I want to bleed again.

My insides feel hollow

Empty, but like there's something there

That needs to spill out.

I've made myself numb

Denial pressed onto my old wounds

Like bandages.

I haven't let myself hit rock bottom in months

Convincing myself, time and again

That, not only would it be okay

But none of it was ever real

In the first place.

I've worn my struggles on my sleeve

Like an attention ***** badge

Become the poster girl

For overcoming.

I've tried shedding my old skin

Spreading bits of my new self

All over everything

All in an attempt to show everyone

That I'm not who I was anymore.

I've convinced myself of tomorrow

Where all those hideous things

Are reflections in my rearview mirror.

I've fallen in love

With the idea of life going on

Because surely

The truly awful things

Won't keep happening to me.

Now I remember

That I'm a fake.

Today's my day

To fall back down.

I think I need to bleed again.
melancholy Aug 11
The day is going to come

When I'll wake before the sun

When I'll try hard to look my best

When I'll spend hours behind a desk.

The day is going to come

When I'll start to settle down

With some man I'll keep around

Then we'll figure out the rest.

The day is going to come

When the clock will start to tick

And I'll decide whether to live free

Or spend my mornings, sick

And peeing on some test.

The day is going to come

When my life won't be my own, —

I'll be filling up a home

With books, boys, girls

Or pets.

The day is going to come

When my hair will start to fade, —

Blonde, brown, red

Then grayed, —

A reflection much older

Than the one I last met.

The day is going to come

When I'll have to figure out

What my whole life is about, —

Though it scares me to death

I don't think I'm close yet.

The day is going to come

When I'll shed the skin

Of being young.

With wrinkled, squinting eyes

I'll watch the sun set.

Thinking about it now

Lifts me up and brings me down,

But, God, —

I just hope I have plenty of time left.
melancholy Aug 11
His hands are an artist's, —

There's power in them

To sculpt

To create

To demolish, —

And she's letting him

Make her his subject.

She looks up at his face

As he molds her like clay

Whispers to him:

"I don't like you

But I love you."

His eyes are like a hurricane, —

Wild and vicious

Ravaging everything

That he **** well pleases.

He tries knocking her down, —

Tearing her apart

Stripping her bare

So she'll have to rebuild, —

But she stands still.

Back straight against the wall

She tells him,

"I don't need you

But I want you."

His mouth is like a hot knife, —

His tongue gleams like silver

Beneath the light of a pretty lie

His words, serrated

Cutting deep enough

To make even the most obscure parts bleed.

She looks on as he takes a stab

Utterly unmoved,  —

The wounds he leaves

Are never more than superficial.

She grins at him

And states:

"You are dangerous,

But you aren't frightening."

His heart is a rabbithole, —

It's a long way down that dark tunnel

But, if you're brave enough to take the tumble,

Once you finally land

You'll come face-to-face

With a mere little boy, —

Frail and trembling

Trapped for years.

Gracious and graceful,

She takes the boy's trembling hands

In her steadfast grip

And offers the truth, —

"You're a vampire, you see, —

A predator as old as time,

But once I stake you

You're done for."

His skin is like ice, —

Cold and thin

Melting away

Beneath her fingertips.

She looks at what she's done

And shakes her head

Before bursting into brilliant flame.

"You kept trying to **** me, —

And one day, you might have, —

But, love,

I am a phoenix.

I've burned and burned

A million times over

But you know

I'll always rise again."
melancholy Aug 11
It's not the mirror

Making me wonder

If I am, or ever will be

Good enough.

It's the angel on my shoulder

Arguing with the devil

Who lives in my mouth.

It's my self-control

Tarnished as metal

Beneath a heavy layer of rust.

It's the unfinished books

Collecting dust on the nightstand

As I crack open another.

It's all the projects

That I will never

Bring to a close.

It's the time that I spend

In a room by myself

Listening to my family's laughter, —

An open invitation.

It's the things I don't do

That I once did.

It's the things that I want

But may never get.

It's the things that I am

That I'm trying not to be.

It's yesterday

Tinted a rosy hue.

It's tomorrow

Threatening rain.

It's today

Slipping between my fingers

As I sit here

Trying to untangle myself.
melancholy Aug 11
Hopelessness is an addiction.

I take that little daydream pill

Washed down with a tall glass of desire

Every single night

Just to make me sleep.

Lust is a drug.

There's something about wanting

That can lift me right off the ground

But when I come back down

I always feel like I'll need more next time.

Envy is my lifeblood.

Imagining her limbs, all tangled in his

Makes my eyes light up green

Igniting a spark in me

That keeps my head forever spinning.

Wishing is a disease.

There are things I want to know

That live beneath another's skin.

Those are places that I'll never see

Lines on a map that I only trace in my dreams.

Indulgence is a vice

In all its many forms, —

A sweet-tasting concoction of poison

And I will surely keep drinking it

Until the day my insides give out.

Bitterness is an artform.

What else can drive a poet

To bleed out her most ridiculous fantasies

Filling her canvas up with graceful shame?

Not another substance in this world.
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