Carnal instinct, mixed with leather bound
books and leather on belts
you tie me up, and smack me
your kisses taste like blood

Your tongue is filthy, your mind is wicked
I'm full of tears, I'm wet
you snarl
you just want to see the bruises on my neck
you just want to hear me beg

You pick me up, and carry me to bed
now, I'm royal
now I'm sweet and raw and red
now we'll rest
head on head
now I've done just as you said

it should be noted that girls don't always come from venus, that some boys might be a little deader than they were before they claimed you took their breath away.
some girls have barbed wire around their hearts, and others have white flags. some boys have touched more cigarettes than thighs, more blades in the bathroom sink than the ones in her shoulders. the city might whisper the name of one boy and tremble at the thought of another; a girl might  have a hit list with only one name on it — her own. some boys will **** just to say they lost their virginity and some boys will spend the rest of their lives making love as though they could gain it back; some girls have lost their tears and sweat in the upholstery of the same car that might belong to one of these boys — and some of those same boys are sweaty handprints on the backseat windows while others are fingerprints on your throat, but no matter how you look at it, he will always leave his mark, won't he?
it should be noted that some girls will miss you like hiroshima playgrounds miss the laughter of young children, but others will miss you like an 11:30 flight at 11:31, and i bet you never knew that some boys will never tell you that they miss their father just as much as some girls calling everyone else 'daddy' except for the one they truly need; you'd never believe me if i said that some girls look at the night sky where they used to see their reelection in the stars, but now only see another broken mirror.
it should be noted, that not all boys are from mars.

It’s windy here

but there is no use worrying for the newly sprung greenery

or small chipmunks already awoken from a long winter

because this wind comes every year to dry out the soggy April soils

it takes some lives just emerging from the earth but

we need it so we can finally break ground and wake up our gardens

there’s this thing in agriculture called hardening off

when you grow seedlings indoors they aren’t accustomed to the harsh climate outdoors

they need to be hardened off

slowly introduce them to the winds and cold beyond green glass

gradually and then all at once

just like how the spring comes every year

it may feel like a sudden drop of heaviness on your chest

but you are hard and strong just like new seedlings

and you will survive the storm

as i try and craft my speech i stumble
as it comes out of my mouth i mumble
i fear rejection for i do not think very highly of my self
relatively humble.
oh how nice it'd be to get this girl to smile and fall and tumble
in love. her curly hair
id adore her blue eyes and say i never stop admiring.
hair so pretty,i mean beautiful
prettiful

I need this Melancholia,
I need this
hard breath
of cold air,
freedom of
roaming hands
and
stomping feet.

I need
blankets too tight
clothing
too loose,
to help
dissolve,
discard,
and decide
who
what
I am.

There are,
pine trees
in my blood,
and
cactus thorns
on my skin.

I am bent,
and freezing.
My paint is chipping,
and I am starting
to c r a c k.
Rusty and rotting,
but not broken.

My pipes tick,
and are slow to start,
but I am still moving.

I need
broken bottles,
empty bottles,
half way through me,
then back out.

I need
cascade into darkness,
inky smears
from too much pen.

I need
high on my own supply
high on my own high,
sinking
walking
breathing.

Things have been so weird lately,
I need the chaos,
the uncertainty,
the madness.

I'm feeling around in the dark,
on my hands and knees,
picking up the pieces.
I'm blind,
but I'm putting myself back together.

I got a sore neck from resting my head on your shoulder.
I don't even mind, I would love to be close as the skies get colder.

My eyes are sore from not seeing you,
My heart is light with the joy of knowing this is all true.

I can't write my ******* essay,
I am too busy thinking of how I don't want you to stray.

My mind is sore from thinking about this spark,
My skull rings with this beat as I lay awake in the dark.

Hearing you say these words can be kind of terrifying,
But when you remind me you care, it is the sound of my world clarifying.

I want to be sore, I want to remember,
The way we were close, just fan the spark, don't put out the ember.