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Apr 2020 · 98
skinned dirty
Lie Apr 2020
it’s all ******. all of this.
drinking till we can’t remember our names,
making out with your lover’s best friend,
choking on each other’s smoke.
we’re chugging rubbing alcohol and it’s tearing up our throats
until they’re as raw as the bleeding skin of our knees.
the roadside gravel is stuck in our red palms
as we roll around, screaming nonsense.
nothing feels right.
no pill can slow our heartbeats bursting through our artificial veins.
we’re slicing and bruising our bodies,
treating them like rotten fruit.
any diamond wedged in our pores has been crushed between headaches.
it’s sick, it’s ******, i can’t feel my lips,
god, how did i end up in another parking lot at the break of dawn?
Aug 2019 · 321
buzz
Lie Aug 2019
sometimes there's this buzz in your mind.
the clock reads 2:09 AM

but oh this buzz.

golden flakes of pure ideas
and dust of ambition.
sometimes there's this clean inspiration
that would become polluted if you slept.
amidst the scribbles of a pen
minutes have fluttered by.
sometimes you forget there's a world
and a life you've built.

there's this buzz
and it's gorgeous.
Aug 2019 · 136
summer
Lie Aug 2019
the nights are fevered;
clothes are amongst the blankets;
the weight of the sun is laid on shoulders;
ripened fruit drips with water,
just as sweat drips down backs under shirts;
the coals and wood are burning and scattering ashes like dandelions;
while the smoke is dancing with fireworks in orange sunsets.

each day is slow and languid;
the seconds are running by without thank;
feet dip into pools as helplessly as brushes dip into paint;
the tennis ball hits the ground late;

and the phone never rings.
any feedback is welcomed!
Aug 2019 · 620
rain tea
Lie Aug 2019
the milk swam in the tea like clouds in the sky,
small beads of brown sugar laid at the bottom of the cup,
with a few stirs of a spoon, the drink swirled in clockwise circles.

she sat across an empty chair,
raindrops fell down from the sky to form puddles in the uneven cobble ground,
the chilly wind bit her cheeks and painted them rose.

when she stared into her tea,
it began to sparkle,
peacefully and idyllically.

but it never lasted long.
and she finished her tea.
and the chair was still empty.
please give me some constructive criticism!

— The End —