So now,
Losing the three last night,
Takeing them back today,
Dripping and dark the woods . . .

He tried to spit out the truth;
Dry-mouthed at first,
He drooled and slobbered in the end;
Truth dribbling his chin.

If my Valentine you won't be,
I'll hang myself on your Christmas tree.

A kiss just a kiss until you
   Find the one you love,
A hug is just a hug until
you find the one you're
   always thinking of.

A dream is just a dream
   Until it comes true,

Love was just a word until
   they day I met you.

Where do you live?
Hello, are you dead?
How about you?
Yes, everything
I am dreaming.

Your writing is perfect
Oh my sweetheart
You are so smart
I love you sweet.
And I'm an artist.

A little bit sad today?
It's ok sometimes
to feel a little sad,
I'm not sad today
My sweet friend.

Your last poem is magic
It's beautiful that
You're obsessed
with the moon
I love you, poet.

Eh, I can't see your looks!
Nah, It's time to read books.
No school anymore
Because I'm rich lol...

Sleep with me?
         Love me, babe!
Cooldown please,
We are still friends...

3 hands


kidding hands,
an autocorrection title,
was supposed to be
kissing hands but either works

man overcome with an elixir of Sunday bed warming/charming/chilling, lukewarm "hot" coffee,
melodious love songs inducing
languorously hand-to-mouth,
five finger fore play love making

a potpourri of knuckle gnawing and gentling kisses
upon a hand borrowed from the a tablet holder,
while she reads the paper bemoaning the sorry state
of the world, the government permissions bad guys...
and weeps for the world we are leaving behind

a mood changer with 100% effectiveness

newspapers- a safe *** condiment

think I'll reheat my coffee

<•>

my hand

she cant sleep knows that I'm up at 2:08am composing.  
and showed her earlier today
the kidding hands poem
just as the lights were going down, downtown on
William's Measure For Measure

so at 2:09am her hand snakes over and wrap itself
around my thumb as if she was weaning an infant from
what infants like doing, or weaning grownup old men like me from doing at 2:09am, what they should be best leaving alone,
like writing poetry or it could just be the woman
pseudo-******* a poets thumb as a way of saying
can't sleep head buzzing and in between I love the
livening lying of living with your hands thumb in me

<•>
the facement of your hands*

dr. mandy is handy with a needling drink of boo boo bo-toxin
that auto corrects the face's reflecting times drawing upon it,
our bodies facement; an effacement I suppose, or maybe a
defacement.  

very little to be done to keep the *hands couture covering
from revealing what devolutionary year it is for you: why I write of the facement of your hands and why I kiss them, your hands,
lovingly, hoping the natural  toxins on my lips can ****** their aging,
and if they can't, then it is a great way of saying
I love you

<•>
  2:53am

depression, the musical
the only musical
without a rehearsal
it isn't picky with its cast
in fact, its director retired
the moment it met you,
now it's you

depression, the musical
the only musical
without a proposal
you are meant to be its director
but all your chords have frozen
and now all we hear is static

depression, the musical
the only musical
without a melody
i'm sorry but,
we were too sad to craft a beat
too sad to dismantle ourselves
from our beds, get up, and eat

depression, the musical
i'm too tired to stay awake
depression, the musical
a thief stealing my sleep
with all the clutter it makes

depression, the musical
the only musical
that requires therapy
you see, a musical like this
is rather toxic, rather mental,
rather real
because after all, it is all
in our heads

all in our heads.

- crimsyy

a/n: thankyou so much for reading! i hope that through this poem, i've helped someone, anyone, in some way. If you do suffer from depression, please don't hesitate to seek help. I'd like to say that, as someone who has struggled with depression, i have come a long way from where i was this time last year. Recovery is a long journey but not only is it worth it, it is possible.

Dear Daddy

You put your hand on my leg in the movies.

I wanted you to stop.

You hugged me.

I wanted you to stop.

You smiled at me.

I wanted you to stop.

Imagine being afraid of a stranger,

Imagine that stranger was your father.

Signed your 8 year old daughter.