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cassiopeia miel May 2016
you don’t own me. you can rent my body for a night or three, but don’t knock on my heart’s door because there’s nobody home. you could try to break in but i’m circling you in the shadows with a can of gasoline and a box of matches, waiting to jump at the opportunity to ignite this night with a little more fun than the kind that can be promised with a bottle of gin and doing the horizontal shuffle against a boxspring.

you wanted to **** me, and that was fine with me, but then you got greedy and wanted to love me and darling this just won’t do; i don’t want it, i don’t want you. (you might be inside me, but you’ll never be able to find me)
plEasE... i want to hold you close, but you have been infected and when your body is near to mine, the bile tilts and drips into the perforations in my skin. i’ve already been worn thin and this acid hits deep to the exposed nerves strung together like broken piano strings and sparking frayed wire.

petulance is a small child with his index fingers in his ears and his eyes ******* shut, as if he can erase fact from factuality; "it didn’t happen. i can turn back time, i can restart this game. insert 4 coins.”

i’m not dancing anymore; my bones are cracked eggshells held together only by how still i can stay, tongue bitten raw with the focus placed on my concentration and concealing my previous reputation--man, i’m not lost, i’m just searching for the person i used to be.
--- i don’t accept who i was, so how could i accept who you are? you are tainted and i am rust and the primordial soup of stardust, decay, and dust.

i am one incapable of loving, i am ugly and there are no pretty words to dress up my hate; i’m dressed with rage, dressed to ****. i should play tennis, because love means absolutely nothing to me.

you are the kinda mistake i’ll learn nothing from.
this has been unfinished for months. i keep meaning to come back 'round to it, but i don't want to think about what inspired me to write this, even though it's already on my mind 24/7 and driving me mad.
cassiopeia miel Jan 2016
I remember being fifteen, fifteen and smoking huge amounts of green, ditching school to trip in the park, not really acting myself ’til it’s long after dark.
I remember being sixteen, sixteen and feeling mean, drinking rye whiskey and getting kinda tipsy. Shoving fingers down my throat and wishing I would choke.
I remember being seventeen, seventeen and unsure how to could handle myself; I didn’t want to ask for help. Pills in my body more than weeks in a year, life was the only thing that I feared.
I remember eighteen, eighteen, 100lbs. lean and living with a drunk man ’til I fought back, got choked and ran.
I remember nineteen, nineteen, new on the scene, now I’m dating Molly and she’s awfully kinda jolly but I’m ripping my wrists up and trying to pretend I’m not ****** up.
Twenty’s here and I’m s’posed to be responsible but I am terrible, all teeth and bile, remnants from when I was a ****** up child.
Twenty-one's just comin' up 'round the corner, I'm a little older and a lot bolder.
cassiopeia miel Jan 2016
you said to be more like you so i became a ghost too but i have taken your place as the one breaking dishes, shattered glasses refracting the cold light of morning-afters and you are silence and silence and silence and no matter how much noise i make or how many times i scream out your name into the dark you’re nowhere to be found; you’ll never come back around. you’re dead and you left me here alone on my own. i can never forgive you for this.
you have been dead for 348 days.
cassiopeia miel Jan 2016
mere letters away, you reached out to me through cyberspace and i amused your responses
you, on the periphery of my galaxy
i was blinded by the sun, mindlessly orbiting, drawn to the heat and the beauty and not realizing it was destroying me, i am uninhabitable, i am unloveable.

it wasn’t until two years later that i locked eyes on you across the rave
in the steel light of dawn, that was it. you had me hook, line, and sinker.

let’s play a game mimicking cat and mouse. but i am a leopard, stalking through the shadows, and you are the clumsy panda cub rolling in the grass.

unfortunately, i had tasted blood and the hunt was on.
i play with my food and you are the best thing i've ever had in my arms.
and i would keep you in my arms forever if i knew how
cassiopeia miel Jan 2016
[ Six-feet deep; I'm at the edge of collapse and still losing sleep, with lapse in judgements, and promises I can't keep. I'm sorry to cause all this worry, but I'm in such a hurry to get somewhere I can bear; maybe I'm just self-centred, I mean, God knows I'm ill-tempered; I'm a bomb needing to be diffused; and I'm tired of being constantly refused. Pull out the pin and let me reveal the tiger within. Crush me underfoot, like dry autumn leaves; grace in their falling; beauty even in dying. I will not scream in protest as you crack my poor bones. (This is the warmest I've felt in years.) // You glossed me over in varnish, a sparkling veneer to fill my cracks and mend my chips. A second coast of kerosene, you toss the match and I'm up in flames; snap, crackle, pop my bones in the heat 'til nothing remains. I'm addicted to the concept of living, so it's too bad that my own existence is a lie. Leave me at your back door endlessly wishing, wanting, craving after you've kicked off your dancing shoes; this invitation was long overdue. Here's my RSVP to an illicit rendez-vous, party of two, just me and you. ]

[ Drag these razorblades over my arms, creating chasms across the landscape of my body; skin and sin. These canyons fill with red, rivers. Fireworks explode in my head like an epilepsy-inducing lightshow. An absence of pain in the face of a crimson rain; a stone-cold numbness. A cold breeze rolls in off the shore and I'm not sure what I'm livin' for anymore. ]

[ Was it this way all the time?

I'm a degenerate, a ***, filth-slicked scab.

Can't stop picking; let me see bone and muscle.


i want to ***** forever

exist??? why...


points of light and reason in an endless sea of black.

how do you job?

How do you house.

im sorry mom. i tried, i lost.

i tried. i lost.

i tried. i lost.

i tried. i lost. credit balance: empty. insert more tokens?

****, i'm all sharp broken edges; ripped old "fragile: glass" stickers

look, but dont touch, lest I sink into your pores and make you just as spiteful, bitter, broken like me.

go ahead, drop-kick me across the Milky Way. im misery personified contagious outrageous



you either die young and free, or you live long enough to just become another gear in the machine.

i'm so ****** tired. so ****** tired. (I feel you Atlas.)
cassiopeia miel Jan 2016
[Perhaps I derive a sick satisfaction from this unrequited attraction; it gives me something for which to strive, something that keeps my fire burning and alive. // A red-hot coal buried within the heart of ash and fire ruin; I'm begging to be stoked--Please discover me soon.]

[ Caught in the throes of ecstasy just from having you next to me; this is precisely my kind of therapy, "Take as needed." prescription mistreated, you are constantly ruining through my veins and erasing all my pain. I'll let you take the reins. Please steer me to a place I've never known; take me to your home and please don't leave me alone. Keep me warm, shelter me from the storm, and I'll meet you in the middle, but I'll never play second fiddle. I'm not in the chorus, so put nothing else before us. Let's do the deed, you're what I need and my sin is greed. ]

[Background noise on static on a T.V. screen; I'm pressing myself to the glass, desirous to be held. 'DON'T YOU FORGET ABOUT ME,' screamed to deaf ears. You are etched into my psyche, Michelangelo's Sistine Chapel 2.0, this time painted under my eyelids; your own smoky eyes the color of the dusk sky, saying 'Good night,' from elsewhere under the same stars. You stripped away my shoddy bandaging to expose a ragged battlewound ****, and told me that to start the healing, I needed to cry. You departed in the morning, but left me the peroxide pain to remember you by. ]
cassiopeia miel Jan 2016
Work of art I'm anxious to start, leave your stain on my lips, Mona Lisa under my finger-tips. I will permiss you to trespass my epidermis and hold fast, let's make this last--I'll carry you like dust on my eyelashes through all of my life's dark labyrinthine passages. We're slow-dancing in a burning room, painting the town red and spinning our poison onto life's loom. I'm just precocious, entirely too ferocious. Taking the bull by the horns, I won't back down, you have my solemn word; I won't settle for second place, nor third. You're too pretentious for this scene, and I'm just another grimy ruffian trying to get clean. Dancing under stars 'til the sun beats down from high in the sky; let there be love, let there be light; I'm ready to fight the good fight.
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