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Brooklynn Nights Jul 2015
i'll write about him when i feel right about him
-and this goes for each last lover-
until then, i'm taking cover
amongst bed covers
i'll be warm forever,
but i'd rather be set aflame
with chance cold spells that feel as though they will never end
i'd rather be repeatedly burned and frozen
than to simply be content
inspired by/written for craig owens
Brooklynn Nights Jul 2015
on my hand, a diamond band
on my head, each word you said
on my chest, thine lover's crest,
this torn wedding dress,
and inviting mattress
through which i profess
my deepest and darkest
ripe for the harvest
i'm the canvas, you're the artist
who knew a look would start this?

in my heart, more works of your art
in my room, dark as a tomb
in my bed, we're sticky and red
smeared with sweat
exhausted and bled
we'll dance 'til we're dead
"let's do it again"
"on my hand, on my head, on my chest" and "in my heart, in my room, in my bed" are both from "diamonds" by giorgio moroder and charli xcx
Brooklynn Nights Jul 2015
as the ruins continued to crumble,
i couldn't help but stumble and try to catch myself
in place of you
in every dream i've ever had,
you're always running away, exponentially faster and faster
in all of my dreams, you're the master
and i am a rag doll with her mouth sewn shut
with each occurrence, i am reminded of my greatest fear
that no matter how strong something is,
there will always be a force capable of breaking it
i keep these false memories
in the back of my mind for future reference
-not that i could shake them if i wanted to-
they serve as a self-medicating placebo
because if i keep reminding myself
of how effortlessly you've abandoned me in my dreams,
then when it truly happens,
i'll have a tolerance built up,
or so it seems
  Jun 2015 Brooklynn Nights
Ivy Swolf
What is a name but a mask of an
      empty mind, for bodies are just callous
shapes of the odd DNA
      handed to us from destroyed
generations. It would be nice if I
      could look you straight in the eye and speak
with incomparable
      honesty, but I'm reminded of the blinding glare
illuminating like blue lightning behind my eyes
      of past bridges burned down with that tactic.

Listening to staggering silence
      prompts me to unravel the one pinnacle
thread to my existence. I'll tell you my weakest
      point before you even get the darts
out. Indecision is my only theme,
      and you found it out. You found
it out.
I'm grinding my bones with an iron pestle,
      and sifting through the dust as a last resort that
there really isn't anything more
      to my meager existence. I don't want anyone to know
that I'm nothing more than my empty words,
      but every time I part my stale lips,
the truth comes out and I'm busted.
is my skin transparent or
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