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kylie Nov 2020
don't wanna be
just wanna
love less
heart 2 big for my body
kylie Nov 2020
the ringing in my ears
sings a melody that
only u would know
by heart
it’s not very good but u love it anyway
kylie Oct 2020
one heart
split in two
half price baby
are you buying?
can’t give you all of me
hope these pieces will do
kylie Oct 2020
pink plush lips against my clavicle
breathe into me a life that i never knew
before you
— galatea
kylie Mar 2020
you have dealt with her damnation for far too many centuries. one day, you dare yourself to reach up and stroke her obsidian cheeks with tired, burnt fingertips. you look into her sable eyes and search for what they used to be—two bright citrine stones, young and benevolent, disappearing behind her honey-glazed grin as you wander over every mountain and through every desolate valley that graced her naked anatomy—but that girl is gone now, isn't she?

you breathe her in and she spits you out. she laughs as your skeleton crumples at her feet. she picks up your tibia and uses it to pluck the dead souls from her teeth, all except for yours. [even in this dark red light, she looks nothing less than holy.] she tortures and berates you, sets fire to your skin, yet she refuses to pluck the stars from your irises—tell me, boy, why does she still let you shine in a world shrouded by despair?

sometimes her touch isn't scalding against your flesh, sometimes you don't flinch when she runs her sharpened claws down the length of your spine. sometimes she presses greek tragedies into your tongue—you cannot tell if she loves the taste of desperation, or the fact that she still brings you to your knees.

you cry because you love it, too.
kylie Mar 2020
he is a tattered heart with blood-stained teeth. he needs you to be silk sheets and a pink sunrise, but you are neither of those things. rather, you are canvas constructed of guilt and hot desire. he ruins his ****** hands down your neck, your *******, your thighs. you learn to love the taste of all the hurt he's caused because it's

all for you.

he needs you to be a proper woman, strong and dignified with rose petal cheeks and a bounteous womb, but you are nothing more than a glutton, consuming every spewed whimper born through impatient fingers grasping at his royal bones. you dig your nails into his flesh, you burn constellations into his back, you make sure his eyes are closed.

you are nothing that he needs, but you are everything right now. you wear the revelation like a drunken king adorns a crown: with pride, with arrogance, without feeling its weight. you straddle his waist and sink onto a throne made for a worthier queen. there is red hot blood in his veins, golden ichor in yours—you are not of the same world. the stars rattle when he breathes your name.

they die out when he considers how you are not the one they should be burning for.
kylie Mar 2020
he pins you to the earth and
you can feel a lightness pulse
through his veins like ichor,
the way it was intended to flow
before your ruination.

for the first time, you feel small
beneath his gaze.

you whimper,
"what do you plan to do to me?"

he whispers,
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