!

I had only tasted wine twice in my life
once it was from the bottle, stolen from my fathers fridge
it tasted like bitterness sliding down my throat
it tasted like unhappiness bottled up
stupid stupid stupid boy
i was as sweet as a candied grain of salt
who told me i was special?
a vulture sat on my bony shoulder
it's claws dug into pale flesh
i sat happily
singing
always singing
it leaned over and whispered things that made me crack a smile
we sat on the edge of the couch with blood between our legs and blisters in the shape of hand prints where he touched us
i was happy to have a piece of cloth wrapped around my mouth

the second time i tasted wine
it was the flavor of her sugar coated lips
i could smell it
i could taste it
i didn't care
she told me it was backround music to the taste of her
like it was always lingering
i was drunk off the way my heart thunked
it sent a beat of nervousness throughout my ribcage
she slid her bony fingers under the back of my shirt and told me it was supposed to be this way
she whispered that love was supposed to feel this way
i nodded and went pliant
i thought love was supposed to be like that



i ******* hate the taste of wine

FAKER

me: adds a poem
you: thinks it's beautiful and heartbreaking
me: poem is about stevebucky
me: aaaahhhhhh

1.youre too careful and too soft and your stomach
is growling. (you havent figured out if its
the emptiness you like
or feeling like youre alive, after all)
2. your teeth start to fall out in your hands;
your gums are rotted through.your blood
tastes like sweet wine
honey in in a fly trap
a cavernous echo when you feel brave enough to open
your mouth and beg.
3. there are princesses in your dreams, and theyre dripping blood
onto the carpet
(your mom bought it special for you two years ago
shes going to be furious.)
4. dissociative identity disorder is characterized by the presence of two or more distinct personality states
5. youre on fire youre on fire youre on fire youre on fire youre on fire youre on fire youre on fire youre on fire
6. youre covered in dirt. stop screaming in public
be quiet you ******* slimeball
what a creep.
7. you wake up in the middle of the night. you are missing two of your limbs. this
is normal
you go back to sleep.
8. she is delighted at your progress. you smile, and feathers are stuck between your teeth.
the dead bird in your lap says nothing.
9. you wake up in the middle of the night. you are in a coffin. this
is normal
you go back to sleep.
10. she is delighted at your progress. you smile, and clean up the mess you made.
11. you wake up in the middle of the night. your arm is missing. this
is normal
you go back to sleep.
the dead bird on the floor says nothing.

I can cling to a golden thread of desperation if you put it within my reach
I can wrap it around my fingers and toes
I hope to cut off circulation until every breath of mine is a beautiful violet
I can twirl on the tips of my toes until the world around me turns faster and I am standing still
I'm not in wonderland
My teeth are made of glass but no matter how hard I clench my jaw, they refuse to break
My eyes are growing blades of grass within them but my ******* lawn mower won't start
Why do I always expect to be cared about?
Why are you always the martyr?
Why is it my job to take care of you when I still have to learn how to take care of myself?
Why can't you let branches grow from yourself and be your own **** person?
You follow in my footsteps like you are afraid of making your own imprint on this earth
Dig your feet into the ground and stomp
Create earthquakes with the impact
Shake down every brick building that was built up to block the sun from reaching your eyes
I was not put on this earth to be your protector
Your protector is within the thread of the leash you tied around my neck
I'm choking on air and you pluck it out of my mouth and swallow it whole and still complain of not being able to breath
Stop walking behind me and start running beside me
Gold is only found where you look and so far, you pretend to be blind
Stick legs don't bend but they break pretty **** easily
The flowers sprouting out of my ears are wilting
Recycled ideas should not fill your head
Your own ideas should
The thread tied around my wrists is yellow and black
I can't find the strength to snap it
I'll spend my empty days unraveling it, only getting it tangled up again