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phoebe Apr 30
this love of ours had always been a lie. a fabricated story that had gone too far and twisted our hearts in more ways than we were ready for — more than what we could ever afford. with fleshy gums you ask me why does this hurt so bad and i tell you it’s only to make it fair — passing out in midnight hues, i tell you i love you despite knowing the ache in my chest with each syllable i bleed only intensifies and i crave nothing more than to be swept in between the cracks of your winter undertones and to be left in your ruins. you tell me you love me despite the crushing of your windpipe making the echoing of sobs erupt bitterly in your chest cavity, the flames that rise in your belly make you want to itch at it yet you yearn to be set ablaze.

because i asked you with fleshy gums of my own, why does this hurt so bad and you look me in the eyes and tell me its only to make it fair.
Apr 30 · 222
phoebe Apr 30
you’re not allowed to miss me.
not when you had me in between the lines of your palms so deep i could not find where you stopped and i began — to the point i merged within your being — you don’t get to miss the spine shudder i gave you now that you are left hollow and seeking solace elsewhere — craving the one thing you failed to give but loved to take

you cried wolf so much — ripped out far too many hearts to feast on that you forgot to guard your own, the security system only being a thin layer of your pride

you are not allowed to miss me
because once i finish drinking your blood, there will be nothing left of you to dissolve in my shadow.
phoebe Apr 30
there’s something wrong with me. there has to be — because how else would i have been able to look into your eyes, touch your soul, and taste the warmth it lacked? how could i stomach you so easily yet still want to purge you up like bad liquor? you never were quite right, but that’s okay. because somehow, that’s just what i liked.
getting into a healthy relationship, you start to see how bad the past was. i wrote this (one of many) after processing a relationship i had before my current, realizing how toxic it was, how in denial i was for the longest.
Apr 5 · 76
romanticize me
phoebe Apr 5
i beg of you — romanticize me.

when my bones get heavy, and my eye-bags darken — romanticize the way i still slide my hands into yours and allow myself to melt in your embrace, no matter how much it aches to breathe. no matter how much more i crave from you but cannot do. the pain turns into pleasure and this pleasure is pain.

romanticize the lack of words i attempt to create, to express in my own fashion when all i can do is show through repeated phrases that make me more machine than human.

that is all i am — all i can be
but please romanticize me.
Mar 24 · 502
phoebe Mar 24
i’ll never be sober from you.

intoxicated by your fermented words, i know i’ll always drink up your breath as if it is an antidote waiting to be crushed into my lungs.
Dec 2022 · 52
folklore avenue
phoebe Dec 2022
sometimes i wonder if my trauma is still after me. i sit in my bed and try not to count each chipped paint mark on my wall by two’s and how many knots in my stomach that tightened in the last hour, i wonder if my trauma is still alive even after all of those years ago

i fall like the autumn leaves, the same ones that crunched under my shoes when i was thirteen, what do you do when the music finally stops?

you could start it over and replay the same record or you could put in a new one, they say old habits die hard but mine keep showing up at my doorstep like old family coming home for the holidays, except they overstay more of their welcome and never like to be put to bed.

maybe the punch line is that i don’t really know when to stop either, that i don’t like the feeling of my heart not being in my own mouth. every time i get an option to put in a new record, i put the old one back in, even if it’s damaged and has too many faults.

i wonder if my trauma likes to be held, because when i was fourteen, i refused to be touched at all.

and i can’t help but wonder if my trauma ages along with me, because sometimes i still see the same little kid with guns for hands staring right back at me wondering who the hell i am.

i like to think that soon i’ll grow tired of that record and put in a new one, let it play out and have myself enjoy new music for the first time again, and then when it dies, i can give it a proper burial and move on to a bigger label

and maybe i’m capable of doing so right now,

but my trauma likes to sit at the edge of my bed & play that same **** record as a theme song of my wake.
phoebe Dec 2022
“will you just hold me?… please?”

you hiccuped due to the amount of heaviness you poured out that night, sniffling and begging for me to open my arms to invite you in for a sense of comfort i knew you craved but were always too prideful to ask for. here you were wanting to be cradled like a child, and i answered the call. my arms felt like they were only pushing your broken parts together again for just a moment as you dismantled under my touch — falling limp and cold, face buried with soft whimpers, you were a broken child in a grown man’s body.

you clutched my shirt tightly, knuckled into your fist until they had turned white — you begged for me not to leave you like your dad did. if your own father saw you as unworthy and left, that meant anyone could, right?

you lifted your head to grab my face between your cold shaky palms and pressed your salty tear stained lips onto mine with a delicacy i haven’t felt from you since—i hold onto this memory too much than i probably should.

i hold onto it because i know this was the real you. the real person behind the facade you carried with you for years since LA.

i knew you that night
until the next day i didn’t.
phoebe Dec 2022
and i had been feeling more hopeless than i had ever felt romantic with you but i constantly tried to convince myself that it was okay because hey, at least i felt something, right?
phoebe Jul 2021




phoebe Jul 2021
in your arms, i find warmth.
i find 90s grunge band posters and fairy lights entangled on the walls with the scent of burning incense that has been lingering in the air around my nose for quite some time—a sensation of bliss between my cupids bow & chin when the sun touches my swollen lips with her soft & delicate ones—how does one tell the angel of the clouds to bring a storm down?

i find a remedy in our tomorrows
and a home in our forevers.
four years, more to go.
phoebe Jul 2021
maybe I’m just out of metaphors.
or maybe you’re just too good for them.

i tried listing the ways i could describe our slow motion romancing, but my tongue is always left with a dry taste on the surface. i tried naming artists that brought me to my knees but they could never compare to how you bring me to them today. no creative suites are worthy to be grazed metaphorically with your name in between the syllables.

maybe i’m trying too hard
or maybe i’m not trying enough.

the glass is half-empty and my phone has been lighting up with missed calls from my muse, where have you been? where did you go? will you come back? i tried ringing my creativity but she left me with dial tones.

i can’t sit here and say i never thought about running away from you. i run away from anyone that gets close enough to brush against my rib cage towards my heart, i never liked the way their hands felt. iced and reeking with their desperation. maybe I’m just too tired of the same old thing, maybe i’m just really stuck on you.

maybe, the metaphors weren’t on the page
but in our yearnings for each other to turn around and taste the eclipse.
phoebe Jul 2021
you don’t know me anymore
and truthfully you never really did.

you knew the parts i painted with my wrists but never the ones i created with my wretched heart that you repeatedly squeezed too tight and had me clean up the mess.

and if i’m being honest, i never really knew you either.

we both had a fantasized version of each other and what we desired each other to be, only to have reality sink in years later.

i was always five steps ahead while you were taking the fast lane to get further, never fully meeting our destination and mark.

the last time we talked, you apologized for the way you were and that you’ve changed

but if i learned anything from you,
it’s to never trust a wolf with no teeth

because they never know when to stop.
to the girl i once called a childhood friend.
Jul 2021 · 484
phoebe Jul 2021
my hands clung to any happiness i could achieve so when you came in swinging, i felt the rush of adrenaline in each and every part of my watery veins—they pumped with yearning and that’s all you ever made of me. a ghost wailing for its own vessel but to only be left hollow in a grave throughout the afterlife brim.

i always screamed too loud at night and i know you learned that you’re the reason why i can’t sleep on my left side for too long. but if it makes one of us feel any better, i cannot drink my coffee with four sugars without remembering how you always did things the same amount of times. never more, never less.

and if it helps you sleep better at night, just know, that i can’t.

my insomnia has been coughing up blood more and more as the days go by. the bedroom gets more suffocating and the comforters have gotten more tight. your name is still the same on my phone but you told me to lose that ages ago. (news flash, wide eyed watercolors never looked good on me.)

we both know the truth of what happened that night but you cannot risk your reputation to save my life.

because after all, only one of us have a soul
and everyone knows it isn’t you.
Jul 2021 · 744
take me away - lash
phoebe Jul 2021
it was june or july or august
everything i could never say carved itself my esophagus, the words that would never escape – you made sure of that. one hand wound around my throat and the other cradling her blushing cheeks.

she slips away but your grip only tightens.
fingers scraping – my flesh beneath your nails as i learn a new kind of silence. just a little longer, i’m almost gone. trapped like a bug encased in amber but when those wilted wildflower eyes meet mine, you know i’ll always forgive you.

my lips flicker like a flame as i wonder if i’ll slip away too.
of course not & you like that. push on the middle of my windpipe, crack it like a glowstick and watch my lucid acid purge from my throat in neon technicolor – you do it in a way where i’m both alive but running through the afterlife in white gowns & red stained feet

you recite those wendigo apologies while they look in your wildflower eyes, you purge those auto repeat explanations and how it will never happen again – but we both know it will. your testaments are all folklore, but i always keep reading it.

you lick the blood filled sorrows into my skin and i forgive you.
and i always will because daddy always showed that when a man loves a woman, he hits her.
more of a vent work that i decided to share. feel free to give your thoughts and opinions if desired! sending love **
phoebe Nov 2020
these broken bones do not need another broken home. the rattling underneath my skin is not a wailing sound crying for help. i will not beg to be wanted. i will not beg for a love that feels like home only to be accused of trespassing.
phoebe Nov 2020
i. he tells me that the iron in his bittersweet blood pumps just for me but the corybantic taste of gun metal on his plump heliotrope lips bears the names of other young lemon balm girls

ii. he runs his tongue over my bloodied lip and bitten flesh as a sugar-coated pristine apology leaves his own because love is only a blood sport for this arcane and the only way he knows how to love is to ****.

iii. he mixes vintage cyanide and coconut water inside of a wine glass while in the driver’s seat of his ‘69 fastback and leaves the blood orange sun rays to seep into my warm undertone skin that is slowly decaying in the passenger’s seat, waiting for his essence to bleach my bloodstream with his carboned deception.

iv. he sews bruised begonias and sullied belledonnas between the crevices of my teeth and leaves me with phantoms that will rip out every cuspid in my mouth; i will rot with the wailing of the weeping woman. he tells me that i am his favorite cryptic artwork throughout the history of sacred retellings.

v. he burns out his corojo cigars onto my ashtray glass skin and watches how it pops, crackles, and melts into my safety pin bones and grow tumor cells within the cracks of my peach mimosa ribcage until i wither to smoke and dust

vi. he sharpens his teeth with a razor blade and licks up the flames of my soul with his serpentine tongue. he will swallow me whole like an acid tab and offer the same one to the next girl with a sharper spine.

vii. my body is his confession booth, wrapped in all of his sins like barbwire. he is absinthe mixed with satiating sunday sins who kisses gospel into my thighs and i fall to my bare knees for a devil with the framework of a god.
oh hi! long time no see!
Aug 2020 · 40
mother tongue.
phoebe Aug 2020
he plays a sweet symphony—
touches as soft as silk
cherry stained kisses like
remedies to my mouth

he reads my skin like poetry
and whispers about dissolving into our skin—
je t'aimais,
je t'aime,
je t'aimerai.
Aug 2020 · 74
phoebe Aug 2020
i love you the first time
i'll love you the last time
dame tu cadena y dame tu corazón
because i'm your poet on fire
and you're my royal blue singer
i love you forever
i'll love you forever
i wrote this a few days ago, this was obviously heavily inspired by lana
Aug 2020 · 60
phoebe Aug 2020
burning sensations on ****** tongues
( come on baby, light my fire! )
silky fingers slide into my throat and make me
purge a sweet haven for you.
( jesus christ, you’re a mess. )
your mother always said not to mess with fire
but here you are playing with my matches.
Aug 2020 · 46
we don't have to talk.
phoebe Aug 2020

Aug 2020 · 61
please be naked.
phoebe Aug 2020
your lips touch my ear / breath on my skin / making mine hitch /
goosebumps on my body / you whisper love prose / paint me in golden strokes / i will come undone for you / your name is stuck and clogged in my throat / i’m not choking  on you / i’m choking on us / we’re fiery beacons of light / i will come undone for you / i feel fireworks exploding in the pit of my stomach / i wish i could stay here / stay with you forever /
isn’t that part of our purpose? / stay with me / stay with me in the morning light.
Jul 2020 · 62
phoebe Jul 2020
your lover is a forest fire and she keeps
you warm all throughout the winter.

she lights, you burn.
she fades, you yearn.
does it ever get tiring
to love something so volatile?

my lover is the gentle breeze of spring
the serendipity of summer
and i’m not ashamed to say i love her.

she nourishes,
i grow.

Jul 2020 · 43
phoebe Jul 2020
my lover came to me in a form of a musician.
he sang melodies and loved being on stage
but he didn’t love me.

my lover came to me in a form of a musician.
it was no surprise that he turned me into history blues.
Jul 2020 · 41
love was never enough.
phoebe Jul 2020
i can see your silhouette against the lone silver frame of
the island moon. even your veins are paper mache, and there’s an
ache in my heart like you left your fingerprints all over my chest and
kept me from breathing properly. it’s fun to watch: you’re a scraped kneecap.
a kid who won’t take off his training wheels, spring in the desert.

you can see: everything is special in my eyes only if it’s
in relation to you. if i am the moon then you are the stars, lending me your sheen.
Jul 2020 · 32
dear muse.
phoebe Jul 2020
two years later,
do traces of me still
hide in the pages of your worn-out
song book, the same way i scatter pieces
of you in the crossed-out lines of my poetry?
phoebe Jul 2020
how cliché

a drunk getting into bar fights
at 3am
(he cant punch what’s
really bothering him)
in the well-lit street full
of people trying to find comfort
underneath the moonlight’s weeping tears.
phoebe Jul 2020
your vampire teeth
likes biting on what’s not yours
so you afford a fleeting ******
between a descendant tableaux
and your rosy cheeky maiden who you
****** the life out of

and when you’re done
you rest your head on my shoulder.
Jul 2020 · 31
liquor washed.
phoebe Jul 2020
if one day your
liquor washed mouth
would be as generous and kind
as my fingertips,
my heart would not find
salvation in other bodies that aren’t yours

my tongue and lips are too forgiving
of you and you do not deserve it

so drink up, liquor mouth
that’s all you ever do
Jul 2020 · 46
i don’t like darkness.
phoebe Jul 2020

hey! long time no see! today’s my birthday so i decided to pay a visit!
May 2020 · 31
summertime sadness
phoebe May 2020
he is the scrape of knees and knives
the clawing of fingernails on marble columned spines with the bones breaking down into dust

he is the scaring of a fresh wound that i inflict on myself so i can feel something and he is the stinging tears i cry, holding cyanide underneath a serpentine tongue.

he is the rawness in my chest and throat
from screaming for him to leave me be

but he brings me love
and dilutes my blood
with salt water
phoebe May 2020
meet me anywhere under the sun!
i’ll be waiting for you in a white sundress.
i’ve been waiting for you to come home.
we can share a strawberry and drink sweet honey iced tea in bottles
we could talk about how you captured the sun in your bare hands and swallowed it whole!
are you waiting for me? are you waiting for me, my love? because i’m waiting for you. it's all i do.
May 2020 · 220
body electric
phoebe May 2020
let our radiant warm bodies unfold between the bedroom’s white sheets and sink into the only religion we know— lust; hoping it revives us from our past sins.

we drench our messy souls in kerosene
so that when the fluorescent citylights
touch our fruit sap skin, we can burn tenderly
and call it afire love! we dance in old hotel rooms and paint each other’s bodies with technicolor beats and map each other’s anatomy and build pavements of small towns from it so we can finally stop telling ourselves that we’re lost souls.

our hearts vandalize our innocence and youthful skin in each other’s name dedicated to these serene days that we will never forget because i heard that’s what lovers do.
May 2020 · 40
my dear lover
phoebe May 2020
i met the love of my life in a dream.
we ate fresh baked bread on a floral bridge
that was over a running azure lake that had all kinds of water creatures below the surface, and i told him he was the one for me. “aime-moi” i said before we were in front of the eiffel tower. he kissed me with his pineapple juice lips and i got drunk off the feeling. his words were almost as enchanting as the scenery and the moment, i told him “estoy enamorado de ti!” and that’s when he disappeared in a cloud of peach hue smoke.

so please, loverboy
if you’re reading
let’s go back
May 2020 · 34
bigger than these bones
phoebe May 2020
i look at him and it’s so simple.
i love beautiful things and like to romanticize
fingers pressed to sienna skin that’s stained with vermilion. i sigh. unfolding in the corners of his eyes. “stop!” i’m trying to say. “this is too much!” i feel my whispers release into the ears of silent walls, they echo right down to his core and make him shiver. “i mean it!” i scream before the sudden pause. i cant help but weep.

it’s such a shame
that we think we’re bigger
than our bodies.
May 2020 · 64
bleeding nirvana
phoebe May 2020
let me write you love notes
i think about how i’ll carve them into the flesh of your cheeks, maybe with a smile
because if you’d just let me tell you about the way it feels when i see you come alive in the darkness, eyes blazed, love taking over your sun lit soul. we could dance on the mattress of the hotel bed while listening to nirvana and i can tell you how about the cards and how they lead me to you. i like your face, it’s quite enchanting. i think i saw it in a dream once.
May 2020 · 78
he is art.
phoebe May 2020
there was salvation in his smile.
an undeniable warm feeling
that would trickle in your crimson veins
like cold tears on radiant burning cheeks.

he looked like one of those crafty handcrafted
statues in those expensive-looking art museums. you can’t help but admire him and his scenery. god could return on earth in a
mortal body, but all i will see is my apollo.

golden honey hair and fresh water hazel eyes— eyes that could bring you to your knees in one simple glare

sun kissed bronze skin with rose and sword tattoos, my oh my, he’s blessed with michelangelo’s paintbrush! he’s a painting on god’s favorite art wall!

all i see is him.
all i see is art.
May 2020 · 88
honey and poison.
phoebe May 2020
baby, come get drunk off my sins.
i’ll whisper your holy name with words
from the bible in french and kiss your scars
before letting you ******* honey mixed with poison.
phoebe May 2020
tell me, my love, how did you rip off the warning labels on your body so i could be easily fooled? tell me! tell me!
you're exhaling chemicals and i'm inhaling them
the nicotine that fills your lungs is making them feel like they're going to explode, and you hold onto my shoulder for comfort

you claim you're better on your own
but i slept with you in your car because you were fist fighting demons on highway 90

so, baby boy, tell me how you ripped off those tags that were supposed to warn me about you? tell me how you got your friends to be quiet! tell me! tell me!

you're face to face
with death
and i'm about to shake his hand.
May 2020 · 38
watch it burn burn burn!
phoebe May 2020
worn out faux leather jackets for lean shoulders; tattoos with meaning; tattoos with none; smirking lips glisten whiskey and salt; slender diesel-smudged hands wrapped on a bottle, waist, throat.

wispy smoke veiled sick brown eyes
nicotine, gunpowder, or maybe just you
your fiery breath
in the haunting brisk of autumn

pain and pleasure in semi-darkness
behind locked doors
floral perfume oil with the rotting nostalgia stench and bitter tobacco melting through
one match made in heaven! set the world on fire!

mess in a mess; flesh and soil
my funeral congregation of saint skies
you mumble an urban prayer, throw a gardenia
in the dirt, flicker of the flame. let it burn!

ashes, ashes, she shall fall down.

when the bullet burned my heart
did your senses sizzle with satisfaction?
it won’t be the first time
my body gave you pleasure

and i’m sure it won’t be the last time
when pain excites you
phoebe May 2020
i’m slow dancing in a burning room
and my faults are on full display
as the smoke fills my tar black lungs
the song is getting louder and it feels
as if i’m entangled with the ghost of who i used to be

these may nights are lonelier
than they once were
it’s as if they’re telling me
“here’s the knife!”
before jabbing it in my insides
where they know it hurts the most

i look for my soul
but i don’t know where it’s gone
where did i bury it?
can somebody tell me?
— i hid my feelings so well
that i forgot where i buried them.
May 2020 · 64
she cried wolf last night
phoebe May 2020
you will not go on like this into the night!
i will rip the fascination and souls out of the moonlight; romanticize the way you reach your hand into the dark like the way you philosophize putting your hands onto a lover who cannot fathom between a tragedy and a fairytale.
phoebe May 2020
i draw planets on my wrist
outlined with the ink of a sharpie
my fingers are numb when i put my nails to my teeth; i smile anyway.

we tumble onto couches and beds
i sing you a song about ghosts and dancing
staring up at your ceiling and talking about
tomorrow’s destruction

my lips are tinted red from you biting down on them and my lips are glossed with tangerine ***** (your voice is murmured as you tell me you love me while i play with the lighter. i tell you the truth —i’m suffocating— you tell me to go to sleep)

your hands twist my skin
into hearts and stars
(we call it on the bottle, if it lands on you, i’m
yours. on me? i’m out the door.)

self destruction is the new mouth watering fantasy, we make ourselves bleed just to feel something.

(but baby, i’m so bored with all of this.
red wine spills onto my white tee shirt
and i hate the way it stains
but i still drink with you anyway)

your lips and guitar must be lonely tonight
while you drive to the gas station to buy ***** to drown yourself in, the bruises on your knuckles aching while i lay in bed listening to track number five on the mixtape you made me.

( and we still make ourselves bleed
but this time it’s for fun )
phoebe May 2020
memories do not always soften with time
like these ones i carry on my spine
sometimes, they grow edges, like blades
some memories pierce.
ghosts don’t haunt us; it is us who cannot let them go. (i am telling you now: let go or be dragged)

i stay up nights upon nights with madness filling my ink veins
ugly grief is the price we pay for love
how quick we are to run back to those who hurt us and fight ourselves for their redemption

i saw his soul with my dark eyes
and held it in my bare hands
i loved it, oh, my, i adored it

i still do.
phoebe May 2020
i am alone on my bedroom floor
the carpet burns my calves and the runny nose and eyes
i can feel the moon closer than ever as if it’s waiting for a big kiss
it looked like a crescent keyhole, the other side being a realm of light. being in the dark never felt so unsettling, i forgot how lonely summertime is.

i remember i told you i wanted to live amongst the stars and sleep on the moon
you smiled at me and said
“i would love that too, but won’t you get scared of living in the darkness without seeing the light?”

oh but darling, whom are you to speak? you’ve been surrounded and consumed by darkness all of your life. what’s a little less moonlight going to do to you?

maybe summertime isn’t so lonely.
maybe it’s just me.
maybe it’s always been just me.

filled with rage, laced with shame.
disgust fills my weary bones
this cannot be!

i would die to be myself again
i would die to be myself again, with you.
May 2020 · 27
earth velvet
phoebe May 2020
he held more curiosity
in his electric dark eyes
than most people did
in their entire body

but he came and went so often, my darling, i did not think love was practical for us. it was a dream! more ridiculous and risky than all of his noble adventures combined!

i hid my deepest feelings so well
that i forgot where i places them

dear my lover
go on! i have a new adventure for you!
etch your roads in my molten bones
burrow for those jewels of my love
you’ll find them somewhere near
the arteries in my heart in the oasis of
a desert

that’s where i will wait for you, my love!
under the shade of a palm tree
dipping my bare foot in azure waters
sparkling under the eastern sun

come find me
i’ll be waiting

(i can’t wait for you to tell me
how you killed two birds with one stone)
phoebe May 2020
“better to die standing than to live on your knees.” you remarked

lawyer? no.
doctor? no.
you wanted to be revolutionary.

you wanted to be the dawn
when all the stars in the sky fade
into one.
you were red all over, a deep crimson
with passion and rebellion
i wanted to taste your sweat, your blood,
oh and your crybaby tears.

but all i have is this portrait of you, my love
(but everyone else does too!)

oh, my lover
the man with twinkling eyes
the ink michelangelo blessed him with
the terror bloodbath he bathes in

you did not become a revolutionary
you became the revolutionary

so i will try to stand
what if
i’m on my knees
for you?
phoebe May 2020
you spoke often of the
horrible headaches and hunches
of your childhood

singing lessons, fever.
tattoo ink, stuffy nose.
loud voices, blurry vision.

(perhaps because you were
too much for your own body to

they called you many things
beauty, devil, and a poet.
but you only wanted thing—
to be a musician of fine arts
to leave your handprint on the world
the ***** and the girls!
oh my! what a world!

angelus dulce! hear my call!
sole lover of my house and heart!
i do regret to inform you all
‘‘twas more than the song of angels
and saints that tore us apart.

(i dare to say
that some days
i still hear him sing)
May 2020 · 2.2k
lovesick! lovesick!
phoebe May 2020
for a writer to be lovesick
is my only required ethic
in creating a work of heart

so when i skimmed your
saint kissed mouth
and moonlight eyes
indeed my first thoughts were— ah! art!

there it was
cupid’s finely-poised dart!
draw, aim, fire!
o, so sweet, a sinful desire

lovesick! lovesick! lovesick!
i wish to write you a work of art, angelus dulce!

you smiled
you whispered with ferocity
“love is an illusion, chèri.
but illusion is the first of all pleasures”

and at that moment
i dipped my body in your delusional paradise
and praised the saints for giving me the ****** wine to drink

illusion is the first of all pleasures.
phoebe May 2020
“it was love at first sight, at last sight, at ever and ever sight.”

when electric eyes meet dead ones
the whole world pauses as the dead gets
shocked back to life! she has electricity coursing through her veins, and it gave him a shock of clarity! his eyes were fiery, they held souls of the living and the dead. oh my, he looked like death! she saw no life in him, but she swore she could breathe her air into his maggot lungs. she watched him. she watched him close. before big arms wrapped around a small body, a chin resting upon a head. he told her she was beautiful! oh so magnifique! his touch was imprinted on her for days!

the day they both felt their souls intertwine!
light of his life, fire of his *****.
May 2020 · 85
gods & monsters.
phoebe May 2020
in the land of gods and monsters
i was an angel looking for salvation
and he had the medicine i needed
he made my blood bleed gold rivers
and my heart pump love songs

in the land of gods and monsters
i was an angel looking to be adored
liquor and love
life imitates art
if i get a little prettier, can i be your baby?

in the lands of gods and monsters
i was an angel.
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