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Kayle Marie Dec 2015
I’m ashamed to admit, that you’re my 2 pm daydreams and my 1 am nightmares. That you’re both the icy frost and wildfire that crawls through my veins. I tried to immerse myself in the shallow tide of your midnight blue sea. It’s no use though, I get swept up in your deep end and drown in the pleasure your voice brings me. As if there’s any chance of heaven in your hell.
I see the broken halo above your sleep tousled hair. So I torture myself with the pipe dream of fixing you. Grab a fist full of your t-shirt and pull you near. Our lips hesitate, eyes linger and hearts beat wildly.
I’m staring into the abyss.
And God, do I want more.
-Beach Dazed| Kayle Marie
Kayle Marie Nov 2015
I have false memories of a broken summer.
The hot hands, hot lips of an underpaid lover.
Convincing ourselves that this town’s a mess.
Blocking out the world with liquid excess.
But I didn’t leave that town. The vicious cycle still continues and the daydream of leaving is still just that. What remains is a boy, too stubborn to not play with fire. Who still looks at me like I’m something holy. Worships every inch of me with bated breath.
I’ve got a boy who loves with every fiber of his being.
That boy is divine.
That boy is mine.
— Lawful Neutral Chaotic | Kayle Marie
Kayle Marie Nov 2015
Oh god, this is typical me.
To fall in love in the time it takes a red light to turn green. I’m stuck trying to preoccupy my hyperactive mind by betting on which raindrop on the car window wins the race. Then I remember that time we got stuck out in the rain, and the way the water clung to your eyelashes. How your shirt stuck to your chest and refused to let go. It’s ridiculous to be jealous of an inanimate object, but love isn’t always objective.

This isn’t love, it never is with me, this is madness in its purest form. Mutually assured destruction in every way, but even if I wanted to, I wouldn’t be able to escape. I’m falling in love with the simple things. The crooked ***** of your nose, the flecks of gold in your whiskey brown eyes. The scar on your forearm, that tells a story I will one day ask for.
It’s just like me, I suppose. I can never leave anything alone.
— We’d Make The Perfect Metaphor | Kayle Marie

— The End —