Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
His
He'd drag to hell
these daydreams do tell
a slow song, a love song
that i know too well.

He'd be my Romeo, and I Juliet
if I let him be the one to drive me insane and yet
My bed is his favorite
clubhouse
My legs is his favorite
clubgrounds
and My lips is --- his now
as i don't dare to ever care to think about
-another man.
I'd rather have no man.
My dreams are clouded with this man
let me pretend
I dont care,
he'd grab me, pull me close, whisper in my ear
he'd dare me to say "i don't care" again
he'd press his lips to mine.
conquering his sweet valentine
nonetheless, just invading my lips and thoughts with his tongue as he intertwines
"Are heaven and hell just metaphors for inner selves and our peace with each one?"

Over breakfast I suggest this to the other which is not the one that feeds
everything I am is a lie
my addiction waits...

what kind of role do I play
the damage is complete

I'm broken and shattered
scattered with the wind

I am all these lost pieces
hoping to be whole again
I noticed strawberry jam on my bible...
and I thought, well, that's not good...
but it occurred to me that God wouldn't mind...
and then all at once, I understood life.
bubblegum popping
you reminded me of sin
with scent sickly sweet
the last line has been amended thanks to bill :)
writing poetry, for me, has become like a eating disorder.
although instead of consuming,
i'm the one producing.

each day i strive for this unattainable image,
this glorified idea of what i might become,
and the parasite in my brain grows.

i force my finger down my throat,
causing words to come bubbling up.
and each time they are more vile than the last,
a sour odor wafting from them.

my mouth burns from the acid but it tastes like victory.
because at least i created something.
and i leave my poetry there to rot,
refusing to admit i have a problem.

too blind to understand that each time i do this i'm slowly killing myself.
i'm hungry for something that can sustain me,
but i reject every antidote.
hopefully this isn't a trigger warning,  sorry. ironic enough that this isn't even the one i struggle with.
right before you kiss
that fraction of a second
words cannot describe
mailing the letter
sealing love in envelopes
a kiss for a stamp
i remember your scent
it stained my favorite place to kiss on your neck,
and just behind your ear where you always nervously tucked your hair

i remember your flavor
the way your lips tasted like hope,
and the sweet tang of licking you off of my fingers

i remember your touch
how your palms where smooth like silk but your knuckles were hard and cracked,
and how our bodies felt when your bare skin rubbed against mine

i remember your sound
the way your morning voice resonated like you smoked two packs a day,
and how your moans were like the cries of angels

i remember the sight of you
how freckles were sprinkled across your cheeks,
and when your hair fell around your face and over your shoulders you looked a lioness

you awoke all five of my senses,
and you won't soon be forgotten
the bewildered man
stumbles through his strict routine
say, cherchez la femme
excuse my heteronormative haiku, believe me, i'm not proud of myself. this was based on a show i was watching.
Next page