loving him was like hurtling myself in the ******* sun.

i knew it was bad for me, i knew i shouldn’t have done it, but i loved him until my bones began to ache and my skin began to flail. i couldn’t stop until eventually, i grew accustomed to the heat. so much, that i felt like i couldn’t ever be cold because the thoughts of him kept me warm. i remember when he held me for a little longer than a few seconds and i felt so warm inside and all over, and when he let me go, i could still feel his touch tingling my body and i swore to god that i was doomed.

he was beautiful. no, he is beautiful. and beautiful people tend to make a fool out of me. he had a face that could exhibited in every art museum but his beauty was not only skin deep. his beauty was evident in the way he smiled at me like i was the only one in the **** room when it was crowded. his voice was laced with honey as he said he looked like the sun, but **** he’s right, he is the sun. brightly beaming and i’m ready to burn.

so i should have known that i was going to end up here. writing these to him while he’s living his life in colorful indigos

and if i could see the future in the sky like i did in his eyes, i would’ve known we’d end up star-crossed.

i’m too far to feel you
but i still remember your skin
and how it felt

the way it felt against my palm
and the way your hair went through the cracks of my fingers

i don’t see my face in your heart anymore
and i know i’m the last thing on your mind
you only call me when you’re drunk and alone

you told me you’d rather be in los angeles than sit with me in texas and try to fix the things that were falling apart

i still feel you lying next to me and i feel like running as far as i possibly can but i know everywhere i go, your ghost will follow

i’m choking on the ghost of you
while you’re downing a bottle of liquor
and pinning a girl to a mattress.

he had a moon tattooed on his arm because he loved the night

he told me i reminded him of the sun and he was ready to burn

but i don’t think he meant it because when my flames ignited, he was the first to run

or maybe those ashes on the floor were his.

the neighbourhood is playing in the background and you’re downing a bottle of liquor while i sit on the cold wooden floor with my knees to my chest

you were on your third bottle and i kept watching them pile up
you loved to ruin your body because you said it made you feel as if you had control.
you wanted control.

i think that’s why you always held my hand.
not because you loved me and wanted to
but because you felt as if you had to
in order to keep me in line

i watched you put another pill on your tongue
as your head went back.
i can’t stand the sight of you sometimes
and it makes me want to down that same bottle of liquor to ease my bitterness towards you

but if i did that
you’d call me a ******* alcoholic again.

this handsome devil had a way with my heart
he had a personality of a sly serial killer
and it wasn’t surprising when he had my blood on his hands

he told me that he’d give me the stars if i wanted them, the moon, and even the sun.

handsome devil always knew what to say to get me into his bed
he knew how to touch me to make me beg for more
he knew what he was doing when he pulled down my sundress

he called me angel who didn’t deserve to be corrupted by him, but somehow, he went back on his word. i’m now bathing in my sins.

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.

i can only imagine what it would be like to be in the hands of a god.
maybe the closest i'll ever get to heaven is when i'm standing next to you in front of a coffee shop and we're about to have an hour long conversation about the meanings of the world and what we plan to do with our lives. and if i'm being honest with you, (i'm never honest) i'm scared of the future. i'm scared of what happens next.

you said let the rest come easy, but easy for you to say, you have something going for you. you're the human embodiment of success, the embodiment of euphoric nature that i crave to feel.

i wonder what it's like to be touched by a god
can your finger tips graze my shoulders until they run down to my hips? can you touch me all over because i want to feel holy.
i've been feeling sick ever since i found out you exist.

i tried telling my best friend at the time that i was hurting and my heart was ready to explode, it felt as if my lungs were giving up and i knew i was going to slit my wrists in the bathtub sooner or later with my clothes still on.

he laughed in my face and told me there was nothing wrong with me. i stood there in silence, trying to accept that my own best friend didn't believe me when i said i was falling apart. i cried myself to sleep that night and woke up in my own saliva, it was disgusting.

my best friend told me he loved me to death and would do anything to protect me. he tried kissing me one night and things haven't been the same since. he makes me want to wrap myself up in barbed wire and drop myself off a high cliff, falling hard onto the ground.
but if i tell him that
he'll say
i'm
just
fine.

i wish i was normal.
i wish the chemical imbalance in my brain didn't control every move and thought that i make. it seems as if my disorders are written across my forehead and my colored hair is a sign of my illness. but last time i checked, i thought if i dyed my hair, the chemicals in the dye would seep into my brain and give me a spare of serotonin.

i mean, it works. for a few days at least. then i'm back wishing i was dead and praying for a solution. i never ******* pray unless it's for my own benefit. i should probably find my peace because i thought i had it.

i told myself i wasn't going to write this because i didn't want anyone thinking i'm a lost cause. but maybe i am. maybe there is no hope for me. i'm happy, genuinely happy, don't get me wrong, but i'm numb too. undeniably numb.

i don't care about what people say, i don't care about their feelings. i don't care.

i may be a water sign
but ****
i feel like fire.

it feels as if my brain is melting
does that make any sense?
you're standing right in front of me but mama says you're not there
how can it be?
i've seen you since we were toddlers
we took our first steps
lost our first tooth
our first day of school
what does she mean you're not there?
i've seen your friends
you've seen mine
what does she mean you're not ******* there?
i'm going to sleep this off like i always do
i'm in bed with you
but mama says you're not there.

you called me persephone for the first time when your tongue made a home between my lips and thighs

you told me i’d stay; chained to the hell you called your feelings until my legs snapped in half and my arms wrapped around you for support. but you never mentioned if you’d catch me.

you told me i was meant to love you
and i was never supposed to walk away
you told me the ruins we called our bed, were to never be escaped.

you called me persephone for the last time
when i grabbed my phone and walked out the door and into my mama’s car

you said persephone and hades would be forever
but oh, my hades, i no longer want to live life in darkness
i don’t want to taste the charcoal in my throat and choke
you no longer have control over me, my hades.
i’m ready to be set free.

you claim that there is golden power dripping from the edges of your fingertips
you can make me beg for your touch
that you’re a god, and the man above is just a pretty delusion for us to hold on to something wholesome and sweet

i laugh at your tales
because in my mind, you will never curse me like you did those other girls
we’re both immortal when we’re together
the devil and his mistress
two angels that couldn’t redeem well enough

i like to think that i’m special to you
but we all know when you promise me something
you have your fingers crossed behind your back

i’m wondering if michaelangelo has finished the canvas painted on your body with ink, because my lipstick stains just don’t do the trick anymore

your hands are not golden
they’re charcoal
and you’re making me filthy

you remind me of the sun
burning and brightly beaming
but if i get too close, i’ll simply
melt

but i was always the one to take risks.