"I'm sick of pretending that you're not killing me. That I don't feel the ghost of your lips lingering on my skin. I'm sick of wearing you like a cologne and trying to cover you up with my coffee and my cigarette breaks. And I'm tired of pretending like I don't see you on the streets. Always calling out to me, telling me you are home. Telling me you are safety and comfort and a bed not made of ice.
I'm sick of not being able to sleep anymore. Pretending that I'm not scared to close my eyes because I might not open them again. That I might not want to."
-Nathaniel MarkHim (-V)
/If sadness was a person, what would you say?

"Do you ever get tired of it? That roller coaster love of yours I mean. Do you pray that maybe, just maybe it would end? Does it keep you up till 2AM thinking about the broken dreams and broken beds on a Tuesday afternoon? Maybe you love it. That roller coaster love of yours I mean. Maybe you love the bite marks on your neck and fists on her jaw and the cigarette burns she gave around your neck. Maybe it’s chained you to her. And maybe you don’t want to go because you’ve forgotten how it felt without this. That roller coaster love of yours I mean."
-V

“You’re afraid that when the lights go off the darkness will swallow you whole so you try to make your mark in the world. Desperately hoping someone sees you and you get your fairytale love the movies all promise. And you’re gone so far out you’ve forgotten that you can’t swim and now you’re left drowning in a sea of bodies that smell of aftershave and way too many cigarette breaks.”

/hint: you are long drives and even longer hair and a smile that can light up the world **

The wisps of smoke in the air,
the hazy vision from the short-lived high.

The cheap thrills on the road to nowhere,
drunk off stolen ***** from the cupboard of your house.

The pulse of your heart in beat with the music,
the remedy of your depression coursing through your veins.

The unfeigned laughter and guileless smiles,
this is what it means to be part of the misguided youth.

Oh baby, what have you done? You were a body filled with forest fires and I was always afraid of the cold. Oh how your lips placed cigarette burns on my chest and oh how they kept me warm all through the night. Oh baby, your kisses were like ***** and it burned my throat on its way down. Your matchstick hands would find my paper skin and we’d light up like the 4th of July.
Oh baby, how we lit up the entire sky; but 2 years have gone and you with it and I can’t fall asleep without feeling the burns from your touch.


Oh how I played with fire and wondered why I got burnt
-V

Let me tell you about my best friend. He is a trigger, pointed right at me. He is the last moment before dusk - a crisp line of color amidst a wide stretch of grey. With exotic lips, lush with an obscene shade of red-pink. Stout sturdy fingers feed into the wrist upon which I tug so that he is forever hurdling towards me. His limbs are animated by hesitance and laughter. his every pore a perfect seal. teeth like ivory, used delicately to inflict a pain pleasantly. His mind is an etch-a-sketch, a single line of thought expands into an organized madness. he is a man of many sounds, all of which tell you something about him - he is eager, sincere, boyish, enigmatic, pure. eyes alive like two magnetic coils, sizzling like a heated brand. he is more certain of the flicks of his tongue than the movement of his body and this speaks to his priority.  I've never seen a man more willing to love imperfect things. a patron saint in doc martens. he is ever unintentionally the accumulation of these things, to which the sum is incalculable.

I'm scared of what you might feel
If you truly looked into my eyes
And saw the little devil
That sleeps within me
So don't look
Pretend you don't see
Instead only notice the sweet angel
I pretend to be.