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The crows feet that bore lines through your skull.
The scars on your arms from distant pains.
The way you bite your lip when I roll my eyes.
The way you play with my hair.
The sound of my name on your lips.
Little things.

The way you make me stand on your feet whenever we dance.
The way you make me blush.
The safety in your eyes.
The way you accept me,
For exactly who I am.
Little things.

Who knew such little things, could mean so much more than anything else?

Beauty is in the eye of the beholder they say.
I say,
I have never known such beauty, such grace, such divinity; until you.

Since you.

It was always you.
I'm a fool.

Lost between something truly comfortable
and an old spark.
Why the **** do I do this ****?
This feeling of lost time,
Of constant yearning.
The result of a lifetime of unsatisfactory relationships; especially the one I have with myself.
That's the answer isn't it?
Nothing.
Just me, myself and I to figure it all out.
100% acknowledged.
Yet my heart...
Could not yearn harder.
It's defining... This constant pulse in my ears.
Makes me want to curl up and sleep it off...
No hangover in the morning,
No missed messages,
Nothing.

Just wash my makeup off,
And still think I'm beautiful.

Wait...
When does strength mask emotion?
I'm so in control I don't feel the need to write.
Yet, I want to.
A place for me to admit my short comings,
A place to merely be real with who I am becoming.
A woman who doesn't settle,
but hides behind her face.
No one will see this pain.
Suicide before they see me cry...
No. That's silly.
Life is a bigger and better adventure than that.
Then why is it still on my mind every week?
At some point I'm alone and something happens...
It points out a fault, a short coming, a failure ..
Then my mind wanders to all the pain,
the lies, manipulations, loss..
and I can't hide from that truth.
That behind this mask,
no one knows me.
This too, is my fault.
I don't know how I feel?
Is that wrong?
Or bleak?

Lying here naked,
Body drenched,
Yet,
I do not know myself.

Tears spill from my tired eyes,
Laughter fills my lungs,
And still a feeling of longing...

Why do I feel this...
This emptiness...

I wish for nothing more...
Than to not lose that longing...

But to understand it.
The eggplant baby ***** of this ceiling seems to swirl.
I am consumed in my own rhythm,
My own longing...
Just pull my ratted hair,
Tie me to the chair and make me shake in anticipation...

You don't.

Just a delicious little daydream to keep me company.

Wallowing in my ecstasy with no relief.
Watching the wallpaper peel slowly with my heavy breathes.

A chill runs down my spine,
As my head rolls back,
Eyes sigh,
I bite my lip.

Waiting.

Cutting into my fingertips,
Trying to stagger this urge,
This urge to let go.

To feel relief.

Bliss.
Kiss my eyes,
Roll my shoulders and extend your hand...

Build me up baby,
Watch me break you down.
Lose myself in your smell,
In your arms,
Your smile...

This is a mere desire.
A naughty little line,
Consumed in pure need.

I'll wander for now...
Until you feel the need,
To come and play....

Once again...
I had a dream...

That one day the screaming would stop ringing in my ears.
That one day the tears would no longer stain my cheeks.
That one day,
The pain would end
and not by the bottle in the medicine cabinet...

I was right.
It stopped.
At least the actions did.

But what was the price?

Abandoning the problem?
Realizing that you are better than what they made of you?
That you are not a *****?
Not a horrible, numb excuse for a human being?

Sounds easy to throw away, doesn't it?

They why do I keep looking at the bathroom door?
Thinking that bottle is the only thing to make it stop hurting...

Anything.
I would do anything to break free of this depression.
This pain that encompasses my every spoken word,
my every thought,
my every step...

Makes you feel like you're losing it...
Like nothing you do, matters.

Just turn off this ******* song and shut the **** up.
I can't stand it anymore.
These jumbled words, jostling around for release...
Never hitting their mark with their poison tipped arrows.

Just **** it.
**** this longing...
For what?
Who the hell knows.

We always want more, right?
What's so ******* bad about being happy?
Maybe because I don't know what that means...

Just go.
Let my rotting carcass stay in this chair,
watching the shadows dance across the walls
while the demon whispers in my ear...

*Burn it down.
4/6/2014
Can you taste them?
Those slow melting morsels of sugar,
just lingering on the corners of your mouth...

You let them drip from your spoon,
let them roll off your tongue
and dress your intentions.
As they try and undress me...

Everything's inviting,
the presentation, the flavor, the texture...
Like Bartlett pears:
"Granules of sugary sand, made to melt and fill every taste bud."

The warmth of your phrasing,
reassuring with their momentary high
and their lingering desire for more...

Heavy with mood,
rich with aphrodisiacs'
and smooth like that cocky-*** grin...

These words are like ants,
attracted to the smell of decadence...
Sweet rotting decadence...

Watch them decay,
as the truth beneath...
Reveals the lack of sustenance.

Live on these words?
On these hollow, sugar-coated statements,
and be satisfied?
*******.

I need more than that.

You left me nauseous,
and filled with this stain...

Keep rolling those lines,
make them smooth and inviting,
make them enticing,
make them all yours....

Never again,
will I indulge you.


I need a tall drink of water,
the wind wiping through my hair,
and this pavement,

To guide my sullied feet,
as I "beat on against the current..."
of my self-indulgent past.
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