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 Apr 1 Kat M
Debbie
The Death of Desire

The arson of my dreams was set by me.
A brilliant blood orange glow.
Down an abandoned wreckage road.
Night and her dark velvet invitations.
Fuel my gasoline Lamentations.
A self inflicted burn, gives desire a final
blistering yearn.
Hope and wishes compose optimism's
lather.
But dreams are now dead blackened cadavers.
 Apr 1 Kat M
sena
today i turned 17
another year onto my life
another candle on the cake;
closer to being an adult
or
closer to my death
my perception of aging has always been obscured
unsurety fills me not knowing what lies ahead
but i no longer want to live "unsure"
im determined to live this last year of being adult-free ;
with no worries, no doubts
to live surely in everything i do
ill update again in 365 days.
i want to be 16 forever
 Mar 31 Kat M
Marc Morais
She is a good
girl—firm
as a rule

Waits her turn
steps light
knees tight
to the line
she's been given

But rules
have a way
of wearing thin—
like ropes
stretched too long
against want—
like doors
that we can't
keep shut

She is a good
girl
so good boys
always say yes
when she asks
nice
and proper
Songs To Get Railed To—Orgavsm

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dGKKsbFdp6M
Tick Tock, Tick Tock
That's the sound of a clock.
Tick Tock, Tick Tock
What will you do when it stops?

Tick Tock, Tick Tock
That's the sound of a threat.
Tick Tock, Tick Tock
When it stops you will be dead.
A moth ate my clothes
But I didn't really mind
'Cause he said he was a butterfly
 Mar 30 Kat M
Chetan
O and N
 Mar 30 Kat M
Chetan
Somewhere between okay and not,
like standing in a room with no doors—
not trapped, not free,
just there.

The world hums on,
but the sound feels distant,
like watching life through a window
you’re not sure you want to open.

It’s not pain, not peace,
just something in between,
a quiet weight, a floating ache,
a question with no answer yet.
 Mar 29 Kat M
C
I wonder if I will let myself eat cake on my birthday?
I don’t want 25 to be the year that I waste away.


Every sprinkle

is a number,

every morsel

fuels my hunger.


In the mirror,
stands my executioner.
Day three of swallowing the guilt
This is not kissing, this is
Painting memories on skins
Burning desires on your lips
It’s writing, it’s dancing, it’s fighting
It’s exciting and it’s frightening
It’s us in union
It’s love in unison
It’s not kissing, that’s missing
The point, It’s
More.

_M.
Inspired by an instagram quote/short poem that I lost immediately after. Thanks for bumping into me, quote.
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