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chichee 2d
You'll always be my favorite kind of film. The sitcom without the laugh tracks or a romance without the actors. Pining for you to vivisecting you against the metal of a surgical table, because maybe if I cracked open that soft, ****** flesh I'd finally be able to understand why. How you unspool me, all these years between us but you're still the only boy that's ever made me cry without hitting me first. Mum says she liked me better before I got off the pills. Honestly, I only cut them up once they're dead mother, we all need our hobbies.  I used to rewrite scene after scene of the woulda-coulda-shoulda's of our script and hide them from you. I used to be a lot of things. Don't we all miss me on pills.
It's been a while.
chichee Feb 11
This is how we meet:
It's a cocktail party, ****
big baby blue eyes and
the smell of your skin
lingering in every corner.
Out on the country lawn, we all
give whiskey kisses
and blanket smiles.
Tonight I'm lined with teeth and
you're bored out of your mind.
On the radio, a song plays
I just wanna feel something
.
A little doodle, thinking about what's it's like to meet nitroglycerin.
chichee Feb 5
I once wrote an essay about falling in love as
Biology’s grandest trick
The truth is I've always wanted to meet someone I'd fling myself off buildings for.

I just didn't think I could survive the crash landing.
Bit generic, trying to post more often but uni's finally kicking in.
chichee Jan 31
You said you needed an extra pair of hands
                                    so I took mine off and
gave them to you.
The sun set in my glass,            darling-
                                   can't you hear that?
         coo-ee, coo-ee
                    oh the cockatoos
are jabbering philosophy again.
                                                          ­Sweet-talker,
I want to push my fingers into your mouth,
                                  swirl it in all the      honey in there.
                                                          ­    My hands on the clock
pointing at quarter past five,
                         birds swing up into the air like
                    the half-beat of a pendulum
                                                        ­      lungs filling up with water-
we're all romantic fools here.
                     Sometimes I think of time         as fluid
tick tock tick tock
                my glass dripping into
                                           yours.
                                                          ­We're all running dry,
quickly, before the night ends-
                                 ask me to         dive off
the edge of the world                
                                           ­        with you.
Took me ages to title this. Not as sad as what I usually go for.
chichee Jan 24
I'm reading a step-by-step manual on
how to love yourself again.
'Cause although fundamentals may be philosophy,
Rewiring is all physics baby.
We all need a reason to escape gravity
and plunge ourselves out of orbit.
Self-sacrifice isn't worth ****
if you're wired for it.
To stand on the edge of a tall building and
think of jumping.
Inertia and hysteria.
The magnetic pull of your body to the ground. To return back to dust.
loving myself is
a little bit like that.
Schrodinger's cat lives, Schrodinger's cat dies, but you never know unless you open the lid.
chichee Jan 19
If you're a writer your main trade is hating yourself and
finding ways to be clever about it.
Smoke cigar and coffee-stained typewriters,
bachelor in the sixties, suicide in the seventies.
I'm just a cliché, raining cats and dogs, beating dead horses and singing
a little song about death
a little song about love
there is nothing new under the sun.
Dylan doesn't understand what you do is better than
accounting, your trade is people
like stock markets-
string them up and watch them fall
I play with hearts, you say like
a girl showing off her somersaults in the backyard.
But no one is listening.




So you burn your eyes out with hot wax in the living room
and swear
your name is Icarus
throw your diploma into the laundry and watch it turn into tissue paper,
taking moonlight walks down the beach and
straight into the bottom
of the ocean.

(you thought she would hit you
when you told her you wanted to write
but she only laughed...
and you were surprised
how much
it hurt.)

Your father's pride, a phone full of contacts,
seeing straight in the ******* morning and the heart
of a girl that was once foolish
enough to love nitroglycerine,
sold for
a bottle of ink and a scrap of paper
and your name in the
obituaries.
...
...
...

Tell yourself it was worth it.
Sometimes I think writers like me might be why no one reads anymore.
chichee Jan 13
Every morning I die
a little death.
Bourbon-shot skies and
whiskey lies,
better stop making those
bedroom eyes,
'cause I might just take you
up on it darlin'.
I'm a little bit of pretty nonsense.
Rhyme and dine,
turn down the lights,
break our bodies into bread
and say our daily prayer
and ****** hope there's a god
for sinners.
Fire brings out the worst of us
and we're fucken gasoline.
You keep spittin' out that
serious talk saying
Everything has a price,
Well then kiss me
and let's bleed for it later,
the whole world's only
a cocktail darling.
Watched the sunrise today and thought of this- something impulsive.
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