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 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.
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.
I. YOU CAN FEEL IT IN THE ATMOSPHERE, TEARS OF MY PSYCHE FOR YOUR SOL
II. HANDS RISE AS IF IN WORSHIP, LA LUNE SLIDES ON MY TONGUE & DOWN MY THROAT LIKE A TROPICAL JUICE
III. YOU EMBRACE THE STARS, I EMBRACE THE CLOUDS
IV. WE SING AN OFF-KEY MELODY FOR THE MORNING THAT RISES
V. WE SING AN OFF-KEY MELODY FOR THE MORNING THAT WILL NEVER COME
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.
you remind me of the sun
burning and brightly beaming
but if i get too close, i’ll simply
but i was always the one to take risks.
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 **
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.
SHE WILL BE LOVED.
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.
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.
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.
he stood in front of me with his dead eyes, arms wide and a smile so big that it reached ear to ear. holding me into a tight embrace, he whispered how beautiful i was.
but darling has a serpent tongue that i couldn't see before.
his fool's paradise is dripping from his fingers while he plays the harp on my ribcage
parasite boy promised me his soul
and begged me to make him golden.
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.
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.
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.
“please kiss me until i can’t breathe!”
“show me the afterlife
show me the forbidden fruits that eve tasted
show me the eagerness and the aching pain that you feel in your chest
hold me for eternity throughout this lifetime
we can forget about heartbeats
because they’re so painful to feel
we’re just taking breaths to stay
we can count stars instead
you can taste the stardust on my tongue if you’d like
we can go to mars and slow dance until our feet are nothing but ash
can we be in love until there’s nothing left?
let’s lose everything there is to have!”
“please kiss me until there’s only an us.”
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.
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.
you feel too little
and i feel too much.
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 really am struggling with my writing and inspiration. please give me ideas of what to write about. it can be anything.
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.
now it’s 3am and you’re
calling me up again
going on about the **** you
wish you said
the words slur
and the music in the background is louder
this is when i learn
you only call me when you’re drunk.
a drunk getting into bar fights
(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.
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.
it’s my soul
it isn’t yours anymore.
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.
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
he smelt like cologne and regret
but tasted like cherries and cream
every time we kissed, i had a new memory
our first kiss.
eager lips and touching before he got me into bed, and took what was mine. i woke up with aching between my thighs as he told me he loved me while i laid there wrapped in silk.
our third kiss.
it was in a tour bus. everyone was loud, but i could still hear my heartbeat. his breath was shaky and i felt it on my lips before he pressed his on them. his brothers and friends cheered us on.
our eighth kiss.
this is where things got tricky. we didn’t kiss to love anymore, we kissed for lust. he stopped kissing me as an act of care and affection, but started as a way to make me beg for his touch. he knew how to get me eager and ready for him, and he took advantage.
our last kiss.
it was rainy, and i was sobbing as he screamed things that were aching my heart. he was walking out the door when i grabbed him and gave him a final kiss. that’s when i tasted the cigarette ash and liquor. something that tasted bitter.
he no longer tastes
like cherries and cream.
me looking back at my past with my past lover, hoping this could help me get over him. if you’re going through a rough time with a lover or even a friend, just know you’re not alone! and i’m here if you need to talk!
and i’m still waking every morning, but it’s not with you anymore.
i’m no longer waking up to smudged eyeliner and mascara, with an arm wrapped around my stomach, tugging my back closer to a chest as i hear steady breathing
it sounds calming when you say it like that
but if people only knew what happened an hour prior, they’d be calling it chaos and no longer ‘relationship goals’
that’s what people called us.
but i don’t think endless fighting and make up *** could ever be relationship goals.
we showed everyone what we wanted them
to see, but behind closed doors
we were falling apart
i’m no longer going to sleep every night with ace bandages wrapped around my wrist and your warm breath going down my neck as you tell me it’s gonna be okay
i’m going to sleep with my cats and telling my nana that i’ll see her in the morning because i know for sure i will
i’m waking up with a smile on my face with my own embrace
i’m no longer waking up with heartbreak.
she pulls out her marlboro pack cigarettes and takes the slender cancer stick out and puts it between her lips
sparking the lighter, she throws her head back and wonders what all went wrong with her and her hades.
the bitter nicotine was filling up the emptiness he left inside of her hollow chest when he ripped out her heart and crushed it into a liquid crimson mess
she couldn’t pinpoint where things went wrong, but she knew things went downhill a long time ago. if she focuses, she can still
hear the rolling of his suitcase when he left her in that **** motel at 4am.
4am. it’s always 4am. and now she’s trying to **** some air into her heaving lungs when the clock hits 4’o’clock because all she sees is his silhouette.
he was always a moment too big for me, everyone knew that. he was magnetic and electric, and my heart and entire being couldn't contain such a man as magnificent as him.
he was always torn with choosing me and his dreams, but i guess he finally had enough and decided to burn the bridge that connected us to each other.
sometimes i still find the ashes of the bridge's remains on my shoes and clothes from when i tried to get to him. i'm just speaking in metaphors, but no matter how many of them i use, they will never show you how miserable i truly am.
remington leith is and will always
be the bittersweet death of me.
yes, that’s his name. the man who broke my heart. but anyway, hope you enjoyed.
there's a divine boy who is the personification of a greek tragedy.
he has heaven in his eyes and gold for bones.
he finds himself tangled and drunk off my fermented words
his head thrown back in ecstasy and delusional paradises.
a soul so electric, it gave me a shock of clarity
holding his name on my tongue feels hot and sinful
i couldn't contain it
( but i should've know that every tragedy ends the same
there's a reason they're called tragedies
i mistook the hellfire in his eyes for the heavens
and now i'm melting from my wings )
you have moon dust in your veins
and i want to taste the cosmos!
take my body away
toss it onto the pile
of all your rag dolls
i'm just a vhs tape waiting
to finally be used and wanted.
you are a human blood bath
filled with destruction and wars
you taste like redemption
and i'm wondering if all the dying gods
taste the way you do.
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.
he was warm and his torso was wrapped with moonlight cologne, sweat & ink. he’s a filthy boy who loves being bruised up by innocent girls who don’t know any better, my hands are on his chest and my lips are touching his neck.
2. he was older. wiser. he made me forget who i was and i no longer knew myself because of him. but i loved him. so i got used to it.
3. i guess you can say he taught me how to make all of the pretty boys cry in euphoria and cry tears of neediness.
4. he had fingers that felt like acid, but also felt like a god putting me back together again after breaking me. his words cut me like a blade, but he kissed my wounds.
5. he didn’t love me, but i loved him. he claimed to, but i knew better. he was older. wiser. rougher. i was too soft for this man, but i got used to it.
i’ve been writing a lot of poetry in this kind of way (numbered) so you’ll probably be seeing a lot of poems in this format.
the smoke started to follow you
and this was expected
because smoke does follow beauty
and you're constantly surrounded by it
with the lit end of your cigarette
the slender cigarette is resting between your ******* and you inhale the nicotine that is living in your lungs
sometimes i want to rip it out of your mouth and squish it with my the tip of my boot
but instead, i stay put because only you can make death look so marvelous.
cut me with the petals of your favorite flower
let your fingers glide gently on my skin and carve the letters of your name into my flesh
drench me in your favorite perfume so it becomes my permanent scent
the one you adore and look forward to when you see me
there's blood staining my teeth and gums
i wipe it off and it stains my chin
but you still think i'm beautiful
so cut me with the flower petals
and drench me in your favorite perfume
while you wash the blood out of mouth
and carve your name into my flesh
because i finally want to be the one you adore.
if you understand the meaning behind this than props to you! because everyone i read this to, didn’t understand haha
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.
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.
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.
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.
this is a very personal piece of work that i was afraid of ever publishing. let me know what you think!
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
there was a warrant for my arrest not too long ago
it was all over the news, and i couldn't help but laugh. why would they put that out? my body standing amongst the blood-stained carpet. they say i'm a murderer.
body found, they found it still in it's clothes in the bathtub but they could still see the mutilation. the place looked horrendous. i knew there was only just a matter of time.
it seemed like those crime series where each episode gets them closer to the killer, but with the way these scenes are being handled, they can't find dna on the body.
they can't find the ****** weapon. all that's there is the trail of blood from the carpet to the bathtub from the victim. out of all places, why did they choose the bathtub? they could've gotten help.
you see, you ask yourself these things because it's ******* logic. i asked myself these things too before my head went under the water.
she was listening to the songs he put on the playlist he made for her at 4:23am in an oversized *** pistols shirt, barefoot in the kitchen with tears streaming down her cheeks as her hips swayed, a white mug in between her palms as the dark black coffee fills the emptiness he left inside of her, and the clouds of light grey smoke fill the air and replaces the aching silence in her head.
cigarettes and black coffee as food for the ones hungry for love.
you have winter in your veins
and i know at point i lived for the glacial temperatures.
i lived for the ice covering my bones
and you filling my body up to the brim with your filthy mistakes and careless words. how much do i have to pay you to hear you say those three little words again?
i keep replaying the vhs tape to our movie even though i always know how it ends.
i know how it ends, yet i watch it like a deer watches the headlights because i long for the familiarity that was once us, even though it makes me want to purge my guts out until my throat is strained and scratched.
i got drunk off your finger-crossed promises that the light at the end of the tunnel was right ahead and we needed to keep our head up. i sipped from your cup of honeyed words as if your delusional paradise could quench my thirst.
i’m slowly breaking down and distinguishing the pronunciations of safety and comfort, and they no longer sound like your name. they don’t sound like your name at all.
all you ever did was visit. you never stayed. my heart and ribcage was a home to you inconsistently inhabited whenever you feel alone and weak. but when the time came to renew the lease, you left me to sit fully furnished with your bad intentions; all the weight of your baggage that you were tired of carrying on your back was unloaded onto me. i reached my full capacity a long time ago, but you were blind to see that i was overflowing.
i would rip my lungs out if it meant it would quiet my screams that cry for you
i bite my tongue because i know my words never meant anything to you.
when i walked away from you, i left behind a universe filled ecstasy and unwanted come downs.
and i always tried to make you sure you were safe and had something to hold onto so you wouldn’t go flying away
but i guess you loved being high more than the firm grounding i put you on time and time again.
we found comfort in the chaos
but i’m no longer your lovebird
i’m ready to be set free from my cage for good.
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!