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phoebe Apr 2020
you never loved me but i keep on loving you until my bones begin to ache with the apprehension and i keep on worshipping until i believe there is no other god. i know deep down, i'd put a bullet through my brain if you ever rejected me. or maybe i'd put one in yours. and deep deep down, i want to slit the world in half and make you choke on its blood because i'm choking on all this infatuation i have for you. i adore you, and the thought of you not ever wanting me is eating me alive like maggots eating a decaying corpse. i wish i could tell you how much you're ruining such a vile and rotten young girl with just one look. lick the venom off your gums, baby and get faded off my blood.
this is more of a dark poem, where i let out the other thoughts in my brain. love isnt just about the fun and happy feelings, it’s also about the rough and the dark ones too.
phoebe Apr 2020
counting the squares on bathroom walls as i sat in the bathtub with my clothes still on. this seemed like a daily routine. get drunk, cry, get in the bathtub, cry some more.

i never thought i'd end up here. wishing i was dead because of a man that had fire for hands and a blade for a tongue. i thought i could fix him, but while i was putting his pieces back together, he was picking apart mine.

the steam from the water is filling the room and i let out a dry cough, throwing my head back as my eyeliner and mascara run down my cheeks and my hair is soaked, the dye bleeding on my skin.

do you like it when i hurt, mi amour? do you like it when i cry these pretty little tears for you? you always said i looked pretty when i cried. so right now, i must be drop dead gorgeous.

hugging my knees, shaking and trembling as my grandmother knocks on the door and screams i'm taking too long but i can't mutter a sound so i stay silent

the door opens and the mess you made is revealed. my lipstick is smeared on my face and i look like a wreck, grandmother screamed at me to get out of the bath and turn off the shower. i look like a mess. at least i can reflect what's on the inside, nana.

my hands are shaking as they reach and turn off the water, but i'm still sitting there. grandmother throws me a towel and says she'll get me some fresh new clothes.

i'm sobbing again. how pathetic. all i do is cry, but you're not any better because all you ever ******* do is lie. what have you lied about these past few weeks? did you tell another girl you loved her so you can get her body into bed? did you leave her bare and exposed in a hotel room and made her have to call her mama at 4am? oh wait— too specific?

grandmother helps me out of the bath and wipes off my makeup with a wet cloth, she's telling me whoever made me feel this way is tan jodidamente estúpido!

i agree, nana. he is. he's on a whole other planet and he needs to come back down to earth.

in fresh new clothes, i lay in my bed and my sister asks me what's wrong. i can't tell her that it's him again, i told her that for the past three weeks.

i run away when i don't know what to do, so i grabbed my bag and left to a motel room. sitting on a ***** mattress, i throw my head back and it takes me back to the times where my head would fall onto the pillow from the amount of euphoria and ecstasy you made me feel when your head was between my thighs

i gag. i cry. i cough. i laugh.

at least one of us still has a heart.
phoebe Apr 2020
his lips tasted like coffee beans and tobacco, i don't know if i like the taste but if it's his, then i'll love it for days on end. kissing him is like drinking coffee, i love both.

we would run down the halls playing tag in the first hotel i got before they turned to motels. little did i know the game of tag, we've always played. i was always it, and i was always trying to catch him.

the only difference was, during the game while running around down halls, he was chasing me. and i loved how he was so desperate to get his hands on me as if i was prey and he was the predator wanting his food. he wanted me relentlessly and violently.

then he would peck my lips and run before i could catch him, and it would repeat. if only i knew that this would turn into a vicious cycle of kissing each other's lips and then running for the other to catch us. we loved the chase, but hated being caught.

he lived for rock n' roll, and ****, he was the human embodiment of a rockstar. the voice, the hair, the makeup. everything.

he told me that when he makes it big, he'd come back for me and he'd give me everything i ever dreamed of and i just had to say the words.

but let me tell you something about myself
i could never take what is given to me
yet i give and give and people just take
i could never understand how they can take
what's given them so effortlessly without feeling guilty

when he did his first sold out show, i was the first one he called to scream and exclaim about the exciting news.

“we're finally making it, baby!”

but let me tell you something about him
he was the one to always get lost in his head
almost as if he was stuck in his brain
and he only truly cared about himself and what he can easily gain

so it was no surprise that he started to distance himself from the girl he said he would marry when he got more fame and started making a fan base

i spent my nights on ***** bathroom floors behind a door, while he spent his nights on a stage or with a ******* his lap exchanging oxygen

i would pray he'd see my broken heart and would give me another night or give me another chance

but right now he doesn't even give me a second glance.
phoebe Apr 2020
am i all that you ever wanted? or has it been so long that you’ve forgotten? it seems i’m talking to an automatic voice message and listening to these dial tones while i pray for you to pick up the phone, but you’re too busy filling your lungs with nicotine while a girl gives you head

you’re so pathetic, preying on innocent girls like it’s a bloodsport. you have skeletons in your closet, but you swear they don’t belong to you.

you hide your feelings like a corpse you want to get rid of, but baby, the stain remains.

talk to me nice, darling. say those sweet words and i’ll swoon and get into your bed again, before you leave me bare in a hotel room and i have to call my mom again at 4am

endless vicious cycles of lust and hopeless wishes, i learned to accept the fact that you will never ******* change no matter how many times you say you will

and oh, how the tables have turned

you’re the one listening to those **** dial tones now.
this is a quick and angry rant poem (the less explicit and crazy one tbh) so here!
phoebe Apr 2020
i always end up being amused when people compare themselves to the darkest night and the blinding white like the marble tabletops and the ******* you snort.

i’m more of a mediocre mustard yellow and royal blue, maroon and grey. i can’t live life in extremes even if i ******* tried. i’ve learned that.

so i brew me up some hot nostalgia and let it sink into my pores, and let it create tension in my heartstrings but just not strong enough to rip them apart. it’s almost ****** up if i say it like that. i’m in a constant state of being ripped apart but not quite, i’m always half way there. i’m not worth anything to the point where the people who want to break me, can’t even do it fully.

i’m an almost human, an almost adult, almost desirable, and almost dead.
i’m drowning in the almosts, and it’s snuffing out my spark. it’s almost pathetic. i’m just fixating on everyone that neglected me.

and i’m rambling, i like rambling
i also like christian anthony
but i can’t do him.
at this point
how do you free yourself from the almosts?
or do you let them soak through your decaying skin? tell me.
phoebe Apr 2020
choke down the cherry cola cough drops into your throat with diluted acid from the saturn’s rings she adorned you with. they told her she had venus’ kiss in her irises, and you have the cosmos running through your moon dust veins.

let the calories in the stardust graze your melted coarse organs as you choke on your fester words.

she spun you into the withering web of burning rose petals and expired prescriptions.

oh god, how you thought you were the hurricane but look at how she made your insides into a liquid mess and fed them to your demons.
only people close to me will know why it’s titled that, but here’s this!
phoebe Mar 2020
i really am struggling with my writing and inspiration. please give me ideas of what to write about. it can be anything.
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