Like eyes knew your mind was already at home within that lonely-love of yours.
Feeling distant frustrates the lost. The deep look for that girl that has a beautiful soul inside.
17 longer feeling years, tainted, waiting, deserves a cold man to be close to. One with a true heart.
Wishing on hopeless petals as an excuse to avoid the galaxies-worth of thought you contained in that bitter brain of yours.
Cold cheeks cried out for softly captivating lips.
Twistedly committed to searching through constellations, inviting those whose hearts were like a vortex.
To the point of disorientation, when all the constellations start to blur, creating disastrous patterns.
Fear, flawed lungs, struggling to breathe.
Cruel whispers to **** your hope of ever finding love.
Like looking past the light and into a mirror, you see him and suddenly you're not so broken anymore.
You awaken.

He frustrates me, more than you could ever imagine.
Twisting my mind until I become dizzy and disorientated from the confusion.
The web he weaves of contradictions and uncertainties cuts into my soul, with sharp words. Sharp enough to **** someone, or bring them into insanity.
Constant on and off thoughts of "does he want me?" cloud my brain like a song; but I keep going back for more, as he is addictive.

He frustrates me, more than you could ever imagine; but my God those eyes, hypnotic, bright.  That smirk, as if he knows he has me wrapped around his finger.
And I am, he feels like home, in the most beautiful of ways.
Warm skinned and cold-hearted, without even a word he keeps me. I am held captive by that gaze, my God those eyes!

*He frustrates me.

Somebody once told me that to love would be the strongest feeling of
All. Yet I discovered a new feeling the other day, I felt
Vacant. Surely most have felt this at some point in their lives. My mind was
Empty. I sat there for a while contemplating what that meant, to be vacant.
Over and over again, but could not yet come to a conclusion.
Ultimately, I was confused. I turned to my mother for answers but
Right at that moment, as I turned, I realised that it isn't just an emotion.
Something physically leaves your body for your mind to become this.
Oddly enough we are frozen almost, even for the shortest amount of time,
Under a spell perhaps? No, not a spell, but a curse. And just
Like that I understood, for us to be entirely conscious, we need someone to
**save our soul.

I still sit there, on the couch furthest from the television in the lounge.
From there I can get a glimpse out of the curtained, front window.
I used to sit there when I was waiting for you to come see me in excitement.
Now I still sit here waiting for you to come see me in an utter ball of depression, as I know it won't happen.
But I will still sit here and listen to each car go past and compare it to how yours sounded and hope with every part of me that you come back.

And just like that, every bit of happiness was ripped away from me, simply by you leaving.

I knew a girl in my school once who exchanged the water in her bottle for ***** to blur the sadness she felt inside, even if just for a moment.

I knew a boy who I fell in love with but instead of falling in love back he fell into bad habits to fill his empty, dark mind with colourful patterns.

I knew a girl who I became best friends with, she wrote horribly sad stories on her wrists because she couldn't afford pen or paper.

I knew a man once so heavily institutionalised that he'd rather put himself on his own death row then face the cruel world.

I knew a woman in my street, so lonely that she hugged a bottle of wine every night, temporarily comforting herself to sleep until the next morning.

I knew a man, so distant you could see space in his eyes if you looked close enough.

I know a girl. So within everyone that she can't see herself anymore. Blurred, empty, broke, trapped, lonely and distant she lays there, in her own thoughts, motionless, waiting for someone to know her.

I like the way freshly cut grass on a warm Saturday afternoon smells, whilst I sit in the sun and sip on coffee, breathing in the fresh air.
It is almost like being reborn and getting to experience your senses for the first time again.
I like the look of the smoke that is given off by lit incense as it burns down.
The beautiful ripple effect, then flowing off freely into the room, relaxes me.  
When I close my eyes and breathe it in, it reminds me of sitting in front of a fire place, with my gaze set on the flames;
But, more than anything in this world, I like the feel of his presence.
He is nostalgic.
Bringing me thoughts of comfort.
He is both the smell of freshly cut grass on a Saturday afternoon and the sight of rippling smoke emitted by incense.
He is my nostalgia.

the vines that called her home wrapped ever so tightly around her already tainted lungs, taking away her breath.

the petals that once fell ever so softly upon her skin now left bruises and scars beneath.

the tears she cried, like waterfalls running down her mountainous cheeks, left behind her mascara like the rubble formed of a flood.

a mess she was, a disaster, like a cyclone of emotions.

mother nature was her spirit and hell was her home.

Have you ever looked into a mirror?
Of course you have, we all have at some point; but have you ever really looked, deep inside?
Like a vortex it will **** you in and you will become committed to picking out each flaw of yourself, as if you were to blow away the delicate petals of a dandelion; one at a time.
Honestly and truthfully, do not lie, we would all like to be cynical and selfish, to love ourselves would be one of the greatest pleasures,
but mirrors;
they are hazardous, distorting our true image until we no longer have anything left to pick out.
Yet we still insist on persecuting ourselves?
Maybe it is we who distort our own image.

I can not seem to describe it the way I would like but, it is as if, sometimes, I am able to focus on everything I touch.
Getting into this sort of zone, I guess you could call it, where it is like my senses of touch and feel are heightened.
Like when I scrunch up a piece of paper, I can feel every crease and crinkle.
So you can not imagine what it feels like when I get to touch your skin.
I focus in and feel every line, every wrinkle, every vein, every hair follicle, every mark.
God you are the most interesting person to trace.
You make me feel at home when you hold me and our bodies meet, like two galaxies colliding.
You feel like a warm bed on a cool night.
A cup of coffee made just right on a Sunday morning.
I can not wait to caress my fingers upon you once again.

I lay on the bed, bearing my naked soul for only him.
I was open and vulnerable.
Eyes wide, he began to dig deep through my mind, hungry for more, leaving me to catch my breath.
Such passion I had never seen before.
Sheet gripping, eye rolling, heavy breathing type passion.
The way he looked at me, with a smirk, as if he had just caught his prey and taken the first proud bite.
I am his.
I lay on the bed.
He sat there with such appreciation in his eyes, after consuming my spirit, as if I were his piece of art.
As if we were frozen in that very moment.
Such mesmerizing eyes, his gaze excited me more than anything else.
I am his.

the freckles that paint her skin make for the most interesting constellations. it is as if galaxies fill her cheeks and reflect into her eyes. but do not connect too many as you will lose count of her.

if you look close enough past the light, you'll see her soul, but beware not to wander too deep in fear you'll get lost in a twisted, endless maze known as her mind.

although dangerous, she has a beautiful spirit, much like the ocean. cold, lonely and impulsive but inviting, mysterious and deep.

What a hopeless excuse for a human, you plague my brain like a cancerous disease.
Tarnishing my will to ever trust again.
Your breath is an utter waste, using up oxygen, you still live on unaffected by your wrong-doings.
To want you dead would be too kind, as you deserve nothing bar heartbreak and to never find love, slowly killing your mentality until you yourself become nothing.
You are no longer worthy of a single thought in my clear and beautiful mind.
No more shall your name constrict my vocal cords, restrict my breathing or bring a tear to my eye.
This shall be my last thought of you. My last mention as you are vile and I am happy.
'What a hopeless excuse for a human.'

**THE END

We all have addictions, you were mine. As much as I'll never admit it to you, you run through my veins and poison my blood.

They say to not smoke past the number on the bottom of the cigarette but I do anyway in hopes of burning your breath out of my lungs, giving myself a new reason to struggle to breathe rather than the thoughts of you.

Tainted like an iron brand your name is imprinted. I scratch at the deepest corners of my mind trying to get rid of it but somehow you're still there.

My lips, memories of yours on them, biting off skin hoping it will take off your old touch.

I have changed the bed sheets more times than I can count but still your presence lingers, sitting on the edge, smirking.

All these thoughts of you and still I know I do not even cross your mind.

I thought you were gone permanently but forever was mistaken for just a moment in time, and here you are again, clouding my mind.

she was 17 wishing she was 6, feet under, not years old. The sun had never felt so distant. although alive she was not living, unlike the plants that grew beside her, but like the ones inside her, tainted and uncontrolled .

he was 17 looking for galaxies in the eyes of people who didn’t deserve even a star. wishing on dead dreams with a broken heart. although breathing he was drowned by the alcohol he immersed himself in, found washed up and barely conscious in the local bar.

they were 17 rotting at the soul, waiting for the moment they would fall, lonely. although exhausted and ready to go, found themselves not so much alone. staring in the eyes of one-another, lost no longer, but now found and feeling at home.

her eyes were heavy,
her lips, sunken,
she couldn’t even pull a smirk.
her body felt cold,
mind distant.
everything felt like work.

she tried so hard to impress,
from the way she talked,
her personality,
even the way she dressed.

but here’s the thing no one knows,
the letters she would write,
the secret codes.

No one picked up how sad she was,
until it was too late,
she was already,
a lot cause.