it’s confusing to me
and maybe this is where
the grooming,
psychological abusing
comes from.
i’m used and discarded,
tossed into the recycling bin
until i’m reused again.
and again.
every time making me
a little weaker
than the time before.
a little less able to refuse.
a little easier to bend,
to break.
the lack of permanency
in the place i long for,
the place in which
i never got to stay for long,
only to be hauled away and
returned upon further notice.

my simple response
“no.”
simply two letters
to your beck and call
is all it took
to immediately
come running back
to you.

we've been playing for months, yet
i am no longer the master of my own game.
i sit and wonder, "how did i get here?"
without ever truly questioning myself.
simply because i knew.
it is as though I am currently without a name.
considerably since "This" is no longer Me.
who I am, who That is,
                I am no longer certain.
I have simply become a replica of Its impression on Self.
      "tick tock, tick, tock."
the arrogance of time refuses to stop,
and "now" becomes a fleeting "then"
as My life slips through "Her"
into a dazed, drunken phase.
time only lingers in the present
for those who are truly Present.
Her time is lost, so what is My time
when the days blur together?
"Her" memory sanitized and wiped cleaned.
***** cleans wounds, right?
Dissociation to self,  the insouciant desire to care.
an erratic, chaotic, tumultuous torrential downpour.
I'm theatrical sure, but passionately so.
"Passion," i'll drink to that.
                   "Pain" has me pouring another,
                                                    and another.
"Reward me," and we'll cheers to the clear liquid that
warms my throat with each increasing gulp.
"Relax." you worked hard, take one or two.
              Six deep, Seven's the magic number,
                          plus, what's one more?

yet one will never be enough.    "sleep or shoot."
            
                            don't forget to swallow.
                            you know you love it.

stop saying no when You can say "yes,"
and stop holding back, when I'm telling You "NO."

                         stop fighting...
                                                ...su­ccumb to the misery.
  
 besides, just one pour will make it all better.

bad boys prey
on beautiful women
with damaged minds.

my descent into Darkness;
i remember how beautiful It felt.
being swallowed into The Pitiful Abyss
until i was sealed underneath Its surface.
it was pure Bliss.
numbing my emotions,
Its darkness encapsulated my feelings,
keeping them buried out of sight.
falling   diving   sliding
              sinking.
the days grazed into nothingness.
the agony was gone.
It felt wonderful.
there were fires burning above the surface
but no longer were they felt by me,
only others.
It was a beautiful descent.
yet as i slowly began to lose my breath,
Its pain began to to pierce my lungs,
asphyxiating me by means of emotional strangulation.
my unbearable grief fired into my bloodstream,
the effects worse than ******, and without the pleasure.
It's flooding through my veins
as tears endlessly cascaded down my cheeks.
"How did I get here?"
the pain became unavoidable, unbearable.
but how can you become what you already are?
it was then when i realized:
i wasn't sinking into the Abyss,
i was drowning inside of It.

succumb to your desires,
your Lilith.
succumb to me,
and all my little games.
release your inner darkness
and dance around our paradise
with lack of accountability
or morality.
surrender to lust,
crawl to me, you’re at my use.
my leisure.
now fix your smeared lipstick,
so i can ruin you again.
you are my favorite game,
and we’re just getting started.

the sunset starting dimming
and i thought of you.
i thought of how you weren’t going to last forever.
i thought of how you were a fleeting moment.
but i can’t help but admire the beauty.
i can’t help but admire how perfect you were.
how perfect we were.
even if it was just for a fleeting moment.

you can’t be stagnant
when there’s an ocean
outside your door.

a simile comparing my love to the explosion of a star as a supernova

have you ever seen a star explode?
do you know what a supernova feels like?
I've never seen a supernova, but I've felt one.  I've fallen in love with the brightest stars and once they disappear, it's only a matter of time before it hits me. First the wind hits me from the outermost layer and I feel it but have no idea what's to come. Then the heat begins to consume me. It's hurting but I've not reached the point of rupture. And once I do my whole body collapses into the heart of a supernova. Watching the star burst into a million pieces all at once as if thinking about your own heart, feeling it do the same.

That's what it felt like loving you, you were a supernova that just completely decimated my world.

i'm at war.
but how do i fight
my own demons?
how can i pull myself down,
when they push me above.
above my conscious layer,
in the ego is where they thrive.
if i can submerge
into the subconscious,
if my will aids my side,
i will fight
and i will survive.

i loved you,
i love you.
i've always loved you,
and i will always love you.
my brain doesn't know
how to let you go,
and my heart refuses.

your allure;
our intense ****** energy.
best *** ever
was also a ******* killer.

you drive me crazy,
you make me angry.
how many times do we get in fights?

but the way our bodies intertwine,
oh honey-
you are mine forever and always.

the decreased temperament
as the screams of “****” filled the air,
both intimate and out of resentment.

you come, you go
i stay
waiting
for you to come home.

i decided to leave you today,
i love you but i cannot stay.
does it count if you never came home?
i found a safe space in you, but reality says ive always been alone.
you’ve never been mine
in the time ive been yours.
throwing stones at myself
as i throw myself at you.
so i’m leaving you today,
you wont notice i’m gone until ive traveled too far away.
you wont care but i’m telling you anyway.
i love you but you never wanted me to stay.

-m lang

authenticity. the overwhelming affection from my two tuxedo cats after coming from from a long day from work. my father's love. my mother's embrace. the way poetry makes me feel. my favorite childhood memories with my grandma. the magic my grandpa taught me to believe in as a child. "if you wear these slippers to bed, you'll fly in your dreams." the nostalgia from an old ticket stub. (you loved me then.) trust. the beautiful people i stumbled upon in life that i now call best friends. the ride or die love i give to my friends, and receive from my friends. love. tender love. the kind of love that consumes me, driving me to the point of madness. intuition. heartbreak; a loss that imprints itself into my soul so deeply that it changes the way the world spins around me. kindness. (the authentic kind.) self-awareness. the gentle wear from a well-loved book. co-workers that make those long work days seem shorter. the sun's rays that feed my soul, and my plants. the smell of a rainy morning. the warmth radiating as our bodies intertwine. addiction. irresistible desire. recovery. the feeling of sand between my toes. (the part of me that didn’t die was filled with love.) interrupted silence of the mind. euphoria in a dream like state. the miracle of human experience.

- m lang

a feeling i once thought was lost,
is blooming in me
just as though i’m a flower in a spring.
reborn again,
loving myself again,
and again and again choosing me.
sprouting up from the seeds
and nurturing my needs.
as the grass starts growing
and there’s blooming in the trees.

November 22, 2020:

"we were running down the cold, winter sidewalks slick with black ice, yet we confidently graced down its path. we were laughing so hard the neighbors could hear us. i felt like a kid. yelling back and forth to make up for the distance between us as i sped ahead of you. our noses were red, our breath was engulfing the air;
we were smiling as wide as our mouths would allow, and then some. we were happy. we were excited. we were falling in love; the kind of love that makes you forget about the rest of the world, if only for the moment.
time has passed, and our bliss has vanished into anguish, but to this day i can still feel the cold breath escape from our lips as you caught up to wrap me in your arms with a kiss, a warmth that held me safely through the night."

to the aching wretch i felt when i watched you slip away like lonely drips falling from the faucet after it was turned off, almost as if i were left behind. your voice leaking like the sound each lonely drop makes when it hits the ceramic ocean. your love that was once tidal waves drifting into a small mist. we’re older now, and wiser. the metal on the left side has rusted therefore the touch of cold seems more attractive than warm.

as each drop falls through the middle, i think of all the opportunities we missed. all that we let slip through the cracks just as the water falls through into the abyss. burrowing into nothing.

i’ve been shielding myself endlessly
for an inevitable end— that,
while i knew it was always coming,
eventually,
it doesn’t stop the reality of tomorrow
impaling me, breathless.

on one desperate hand,
i’m begging and wishing
for just one more day.
one more moment before you go.
the other hand holds gratitude.
five years with you was more than i could have ever dreamt.
life went up and down-
and sideways
in every which direction,
but you stood in the middle with me
and we held on to each other.

as the last five years dwindle
through a reel of memories
into our final moments,
i am filled with tears—
pouring from my eyes and from my heart.
love is pouring from my heart.
love for you,
for this lifetime we lived together.

you are my greatest love.
and our love story continues,
even as this chapter is closed.

insatiable thirst,
i drank from the garden of Eden.
Lu s t,

gulping for air as the water drowns me.
eyes fluttering
sinking into darkness.

was it worth it?
betrayal to Him?
betrayal to Self?

my "insensitivity"
isn't stemmed from negativity,
but more so a desire
to think about it logically.

a life without stress
is when i do my best.
and don't take that as     distance,
but my choice
to be  sep ara te.
                          
             independant.

   me, myself, and i
mind, body, and soul.
woven together underneath
the attachment of my surface layer.
hidden from most,
deemed "unreadable."

my "detachment"
a word often describing my
lack of attention-
is not a reflection
of my affection,
or a distraction
from my emotions,
but a reflection
taking place of a reaction.

my "cold heart"
is not the polar
to a warm heart.
it is simply the polar
to a fiery heart,
but it burns
just as fiercely.

being with you always felt               right.
now that you’re gone, all I do is      write.

the place in my heart that made me feel                           whole
is now replaced with an unbearable, gut-wrenching       hole.

our love that once left me feeling sky                       high,
replaced with anxiety at the thought of saying       “hi.”

yet, the vast desire remains to be within your   presence.
i’m still sorry about your birthday                       presents.

time spent with you was the highlight of my          week;
the current lack there of makes my heart grow       weak.

your intensity left me teetering on my      heels.
oh, in due time I hope this                          heals.

i’d preach to the world how much i loved you    aloud,
at this point, is it even                                            allowed?

“you’re­ Benny’s girl!” was my favorite       compliment,
you, truly you, were my greatest                 complement.

we were Romeo and Juliet, our perfect            allusion,
therefore the idea of lasting was simply an      illusion.

it was fun, it was      new;
if only we                  knew.

when i was yours and you were                    here,
i'd avoid the warnings i didn’t want to        hear.

the signs were there, yet i would think       “no,”
because at the time i didn’t                           know.

we couldn’t quite hit the           brake,
consequently causing us to       break.

our love was karmic, one big          lesson.
i’m hoping in time the pain will     lessen.

there was a time i thought the world was     ours,
if only i knew that day would be our last     hours.

as i write this, and time has                        passed;
all i have left of you is memories of the       past.

my tears look prettier
falling for you.

i fell a p a r t from the one i love
as we shattered like broken glass
on the winter solstice filled sidewalk.
my heart now icy as snow,
while my desire burns like scorching coals.
with each fleeting memory
passing through melting snowflakes
i remember us.
carefree, running through the streets.
i remember us
even as we melted away.

i feel like sylvia plath,
or james dean when he said
“live fast, die young, and
leave behind a beautiful corpse.”
except he didn’t say that.
but sylvia plath was volatile
to her mind
and a tortured soul.
the carbon monoxide
filled her soul,
just as the misery fills mine.
the burning desire to exit,
to end it.
the desire to burn the
fires inside my mind.
the poetic way of james dean,
and sylvia plath
lives in my veins
and feels like a raging fire
that cannot be tamed.

find me
withering,
grinning,
pretending.
ignoring that my world is ending.
sabotaging my sanity
rest assured there is no plan B.
i’m trying,
holding back the whining.
putting on my every day best
for that could be the very day i’m dying.

-m lang

it was the frustration.
the frustration caused by
your arbitrary outbursts of anger,
whilst vomiting words of resentment and regret.
words that melted into my veins,
tarnishing my blood
with the ink that fueled my writers hand.

the dependency and obligations that i had to be yours,
and yours only.
the suffocation entrapped me
              (((inside of a cage)))
                       so small.
once i finally remembered,
"i could spread my wings."
i realized your latch couldn't hold me captive.

the salty tears that endlessly
stained my cheeks,
swelled my eyes,
and shortened my breath.
the emotions, the motions,
my body was speaking to me.
i was finally able to listen.

the intensity of emotions
without regard for
                           emotional intelligence.
it never made for a successful relationship,
but it sure as hell made for a good story.

our love ended at the cost of many cons,
but it came with a recipe for beautiful prose.

when will i stop
making playlists about you?
writing poetry about you?

when i realize
         there is no you.
there was you.

and when you were you,
i wasn't me.

so really,
our love no longer exists.
          we no longer exist.

and now-
now i feel myself letting you go.

he left you,
you text charlie again
"where are you my love?"
to your plea, the response is clear.
gone fishin'.
"ill be back when i'm ready,"
the harlot says
in the midst of the chaos.

to be brought back to abnormality by the sound of his insecurities leading to your own demise.
you're not crazy.
i'm not crazy.
i am not crazy.
to the mountains and skies,
my brightness and light.
to the burrows and shade,
brought out at late.
i'm questioning my peace of mind
trying to justify another's.

say it out loud in your head, in my head.

i wish we could meet one another all over again,
in a different place, a different time
with fresh feelings of love and anticipation,
stealing smiles that are only meant for the other.
i dream of seeing that smile again.
encapsulating your lips,
radiating curiosity and adornment.

i wish we could meet one another all over again.
i wish we could do it right this time.
i wish we could see our mistakes coming
before we allowed them to consume our minds,
betraying our hearts.
controlling our actions,
acting out in reaction.

i wish we could take back
the anger,     the frustration,     the hatred
that deeply imbedded itself into our souls.
souls once intertwined, reigned by love.

i wish we could meet one another all over again,
and fall in love without falling apart.

becoming the subject of a muse,
merely an object as the muse.
i see the discomfort that comes from
having your story told for you,
displayed without your consent.

i am the director of my own life.
i wrote you out of my script,
so leave your idealized version of me
out of yours.

the unsettlement i feel
to be spoken of so highly,
with a glaze of gold outlying my skin,
stuck to a pedestal.

i am not your trophy,
i will never be your wife!
your version of me
projected through the eyes of obsession.
infatuation.
did you see me as your possession?

and so here it lies.
here lies the irony of making you a muse,
to preach my uttermost desire
to be shed as yours.

infatuation is a funny thing.
it doesn't rhyme with love,
but it sure sounds a lot like it.
ideallic,
surreal,
mostly because it isn't.

silly girl,
you didn't see
what was right in front of you.
you saw imagination.
you saw perfection.
life isn't Barbie,
and he isn't Ken.

don't be fooled by the fantasies
inside your head.
the mind is a universe of its own.
unexplored,
full of wonder and surprise.
trickery and demise.
seek out what is real,
and decipher what is not.

today is the day i decide to love me,
instead of you.
how, i’m not quite sure. although
i’m sure that i want to.

in a moment of intoxication;
a moment of weakness.
i broke a promise to myself.
a promise i've made to you
a hundred times before.
never again becomes
always again.
this is the last time, please                            promise me that.

you know me better than i do
and you know i can't say no,
never to you.
i need an escape,
but how do i get away?
                                                           ­             you won't let me go.
my promises become a reaction,
or better yet-
a threat.
a weak one at that.
it's not about the promises you make;
but how well you keep them.
and i've kept mine,
as well as you've kept                                             away.

"innocence"
in its denotative form means;
"a lack of corruption or purity."
"innocence"
in its connotative form means;
"a time before you."
the person i was before you
is   gone   gone   gone.
i fell down the rabbit hole of love
and drugs.

fighting for your affection,
your attention.
you were my favorite affliction.

i crossed a line from which i can never
return.
i ate from the fruit of eden,
and i paid my price.

a beautiful serpent;
you wrapped me up,
slowly warming my skin
layer upon layer
until you swallowed me whole.
into the darkness, i was consumed
only by you.

a loss of innocence.

so what made you different from the rest?
your ability to provoke,
to evoke
my emotions.
the passion you ignited to the surface,
who knew i had it in me?

push and pull;
pushing just past my limits,
magnetic forces pulling us together.
together, there with you;
it felt like home.

the space between us
felt like a river.
it was only a small distance
i had to cross, but
would i sink or swim?

gasping for breath,
taking in all of your oxygen.
it was never enough.
what we had was never enough.

we were a flame,
bound to go out.
inevitability on our side.

time was never on our side.

my life is in shambles
and i’m simply bitter.
i’m happy for you
but i wish i was better.
you weren’t right for me
and i’m happy for the other,
but understand that you’re boring
and that i’m simply better.

She was a poem he found inside an old history book.
A hidden treasure beneath all the rubble.
She was a light that filled the darkness of his mind.
A gold medal, his own personal medal.
It wasn't until she left that he knew this.
She was a pen and he was no longer her paper.
The worlds once written between them were gone.
Her silver lining would no longer show in the distance.
His light had gone out, his treasure now broken.
His medal had rusted, but he kept the poem,
He kept

i told you my greatest fear,
and you made it come true.

does that say more about me,
or more about you?

- m lang

a writer’s fictitious realities
stem from their lived experiences.

so when i tell you a tale
about the monster under my bed,
let it be known that he is very alive
and very real –
living inside my head.

we grow wiser with age.
so teach me-
reveal to me your knowledge.
three hundred rings my elder,
what have you seen?
what have you heard?
you stand strong
through all you’ve experienced.
teach me to stand the same.

speak to me,
i'm listening.

I was always afraid of growing up,
because growing up
meant we'd drift apart.
I didn't want you to go
So I tried as hard as I could
not to grow old,
not to say goodbye.
It didn't work.

the justification it takes to remind myself to stay away. the strength i don’t have to be alone. the attachment and dependency i held onto. the love we had. but if it was love would there be so much pain?

we took the pain so we could stay in love. but that isn’t love.

a loss of words:
usually it does not come easy,
writing a script to a private performance
hidden for your eyes only.

eyes are the enemy,
one look and guilt overcomes you,
engulfing you into a swarm of
regret
doubt
emotion.

words escaping you
attached to a kite,
flying further      and further
      and        further away.

stumbling over your voice,
tripping over your tongue.
yourwordsruntogether,
they  don't  mesh  at  all.

the finale,
               the closing scene.
                                 the credits start rolling,
and you're out of time.

i feel haunted.
but
is it you?
or am i ghost
in my own body.

–m lang

when they tell you, "don't fall in love with a poet," mark their words.

poets love differently than most. we feel differently than most.
we fall in love with words as we trace their outline onto your bare skin.
                                we fall for prose, not people.

we'll dream about what it's like to lose you before you're ever gone.
                                                                                   we romanticize loss.
a heart inflicted is a powerful tool and the passion that flows through our bodies fuels our writer's hand.
           melancholy was gifted to us.

we express our thoughts best when we write them down
as we write you off with nothing left to say.
                                                      we will leave you br oke n.

                  "don't fall in love with a poet," they warn,
                           "you'll only ever be their muse."

the sun and the moon were always lovers,
every lifetime here and before.
the comfort of every new birth
guided with the soft reassurance of
“we’ve found each other before.”
the burning fuel of
“this may be our last”
to the sweet surrender,
the driving immersion
of two souls
intertwining so deeply
that will leave a trace
bringing them together once more.

how could i ever go back
to a time before?

a time before you
and before hard love.
a time before my soul surfaced
from the darkness.
a darkness we created.
it wouldn't be fair to say it was you only.

it was you only i wanted.
it was you only i craved.
i yearned for your love
in my own desperation
and through my disposition
came depression.
anxiety.
self-doubt.

who was i before you?
who did i become with you?
who will i be without you?