his noceur soul leaves me wondering if he’s ever tired of the same **** thing. the endless sleepless nights, the fireball going down his throat as he inhales nicotine. i’m waiting through his phases, but the paroxysm in my heart and soul is overbearing.

you spend every friday and saturday night
with white dust attached and sprinkled on your nose. sometimes you’ll tell me it’s a quarter of the moon, and all of the gods have to taste the galaxy too.

you sometimes scream that i’m the worst addiction you have ever endured and sometimes you whisper that you don’t want to quit me. you tell me without me you can’t live
that my hands send you to the highest heavens and my lips make you taste it

you claim that the universe is that spot between my thighs, you also claim you know the route to the underworld and to get there is by pulling my spine

you ask me if i can save such a ******* soul
because you are drowning in my love
and i tell you it’s gonna be okay
while i tie the anchor around your feet.

the aeipthy feeling of this devil who devoured my heart last summer grows every morning and night. i can see still the pieces of my flesh in between his teeth when he smiles, and i never felt so empty.

i licked my lips and sat there while the pastor preached the word of god, but i was too busy staring at the boy sitting next to me with his arms crossed. he was five years older than me, but i was a lifetime better than him. at least that’s what i think.

he had a pearly white smile and his heart on his sleeve, his irises didn’t look away as i caught him staring. he always liked to observe, and i happened to be the one who his eyes loved to prey upon.

his name was like toxins, decaying on my tongue, but i loved saying it anyway. he listened to dubstep and said that was his favorite kind of music while i loved the head banging rock music. we were so different but that meant our love was one of a kind.

but he felt like splinters in my fingers; the ones you ripped off harshly and watched the blood prickle up while you felt the sting. call me a *******, but i loved every second of it.

eyes are windows to the soul, and if i ever saw his eyes again

i would rip them out of their sockets and keep them as my own.

you were scabbed with the bitter breath and air of december's tragedy, and perhaps it's truly better than it sounds but i can never tell. i never lived my life in violent indigos.

the sun seeps through your window in such a way your dark night eyes look like a desirable honey that drips from a bee's hive

your lips are pulled tight because your tongue is filled with secrets that are ready to spill out in the open like cream pouring into coffee. 

you never tell me about the foreign chapped lips against your skin, but i remember they made you feel what i couldn't give you.

you cut my heart out with a butter knife because your tongue isn't as sharp as you would like it to be. you place it on a silver platter and say bon appetit!

i hope for you my darling, my heart tastes like asphalt and red wine, because that's what's fit for dying gods.

i don't need your help. my hands are not the ones covered in crimson. yes, they're shaking, but that's because you jabbed the knife in my guts repeatedly until i could no longer process my thoughts and all i can feel was the numbing pain. it didn't hurt, only when you pierced the flesh again and again, but it didn't hurt. you threw my phone across the room and i'm on the other side, i can't call an ambulance and my blood is soaking my shirt and carpet.

all i can hear is you saying that i'm in the wrong and that i'm the one with the knife.

ouch! that hurts, your fingernails are digging in my temples and you're trying to scream hateful verses in my ears as if they were prayers. and before i knew it, i bled out on the living room floor.

yank on my spinal cord before you rip it out of my bare back. before you get my ***** crimson blood on your hands and you have to wash and bleach your dna off the crime scene.

it feels as if i'm paralyzed from the waist down because all i ever ******* do is lay around, and if i move, it aches. everything aches.

i'm begging for you to swap some bones with me because i'm tired of this soreness on my hips and thighs. please tell me you're listening.

nobody ever ******* listens to me. am i on mute? does someone have the remote controller that is connected to my mouth and has it on the lowest volume? how do i get it back and turn it up?

the static in my ears is far too loud, i bet if you said something right now, i wouldn't hear a thing. wait— did you say something?

i'm in love with a boy whom i've decided to call apollo because ****, he's a modern tragedy. he's enchanting and extraordinary, i'm nothing compared to this god in human skin.

i'm nothing but delusional intoxication and hair dye, but i guess if there was something good about me, it would have to be that i love unconditionally.