Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
bs Nov 2018
cry into my lap at four a.m.
i never want you to swallow the tears that finds its way to wash away the grime staining my vessel
but i want to trace your face and decipher the image you were made in
the one i inked long before our time

the water bodies coasting the pier scattered around us to listen in
two strangers gifted courage to explore
it sounded a lot like dipping your tongue in honey and letting bloom
it sounded a lot like the release of hot air that was finally granted permission to occupy space
it sounded a lot like falling in love

perhaps, the cracked magnifying glass kept too many secrets
perhaps, l'appel du vide found black marker running over it
and you were the only pit i was lucky enough to descend into
it doesnt feel like falling at all; only flying
  Jun 2018 bs
strawberry fields
the sun drips
yellow yolk

the gold knots
of my spine
breathe the first of Spring days
the radio plays our favorite song

i see you backwards
all the times we had

the sky is blue, the lake is blue
your eyes are blu
and they say i look like your
oh gods. help me
i can’t feel anything
except you
and everything here is you
Edit: Thanks everybody! I didn’t realize this was a daily until later.
  Jun 2018 bs
You spend your nights tossing and turning on your creaky bed
You hug your demons like a teddy bear
You try to hush your cries for sometime
But still a tear or two escape from your eyes
You attempt to think about the old happy times
But you can't evade the darkness that surrounds you
Sleep has abandoned you like your lost love
And all you do is stare at the ceiling above
You are broken tormented and terrified
In a vicious circle of emptiness and sufferings
You crave for the warmth of your lover's arms
But all you get is the coldness of your bed
For tonight, my friend let the moon be our messenger
Through it lets talk about our broken hearts, lost love and shattered dreams
Let's talk about the pain that clouds our eyes
Let's share the warm hugs of kindness
Amidst this pain, let's not forget that we are warriors
Souls who refuse to give in
We'll fight against our demons like the warriors we are
We'll rise above this world once and for all
Never give up
bs Jun 2018
you called us the perfect match that one birthday, i felt my bag of seeds fall onto the open sidewalk, the twines ravel into discoid around my feet and make me think your words are water to be sipped from your open mouth, your hand snaked my waist as the roots pulled me farther away from the night you told me you don’t want to bend over backwards for my knees anymore, my Puma’s always gave you cold feet but my inner thighs were still Ghadames enough for you to set up a tent, or perhaps, steal one I thought I had saved for someone special.

you called us the perfect match that one day. i saw you leave that sentence in the fridge and sip them five days later, face wedged somewhere in between the biting humour of my psyche like a power station without a generator and the never ending exploitation of the little blonde girl named weakness who found a place in my fingertips so close to your face, in my wallet, in the place I once used to be able to rest, but these shoulders, opened orifices for black holes, like Falstaffian stars that caved in, that were anything but the empty space we occupied on the benches of basketball courts.

Three days after I started writing this and the urge to your clouds hover over me once again glistens like a poison apple I don’t want to confess to biting, because this pain is biting, and there is only space for one. I don’t want to eat the cake at three am and hope no one notices it again, because they will, they will see it from the icing on my lips and the grime on my fingertips. I miss your smell already thought it sells for 10 dollars at the corner shop. But its you, its you, its just you. Your kisses on my cheek after we fight. It is wrong that I consider this a sweet moment. It stems at you pouring my blood into a kettle and leaving it to cook. But this liquid will not evaporate.
But I know these tears will.
Though our sheets remain stained, my cheeks won't.
  Jun 2018 bs
Alissa Rogers
The throbbing headache and nausea
I can endure; I've had worse.
Right now I could cry,
such a raw hope consumed me
as I thought about you, desperate.
It was still dark for me then,
when I needed you. Now it's day.
It brings a true smirk to my face
to know you are nothing more
than a night of binge drinking:
a foolish part of my youth,
a consequence of boredom.
I could not hold your liquor,
I vomited all that bile you said to me
in the hedges outside. Don't fret,
this is not a bad memory, in fact
you might never be a memory at all.
I am well. I will drink better and
far more dangerous poisons.
I am today, you are only last night.
Next page