Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
 Feb 2021 neth jones
Tess
11:11
 Feb 2021 neth jones
Tess
11:11 he asked me to make a wish,
What do I say,
All that I ever wish,
Is here,
In front of me,
His eyes pierce in mine,
I can't control my instincts,
He kisses my head,
In a tender move,
Clutches me tight,
Against his muscles,
And said,
I WOULD NEVER EVER LEAVE YOU.....
YOU ARE THE BEST THING THAT HAS EVER HAPPENED TO ME.....
 Oct 2020 neth jones
kylie
you let him in;
peeled back the layers
of your skin and
showed him your bones

you thought this would
be easy, but he is not
gentle;

he takes your ribs and
breaks them apart as he
builds a home inside your
sternum

[he is no longer the breath
you exhale; he never leaves
your lungs]

he keeps you up at night;
you pray and he does not
answer and you realize that
you are so tired of all of
this

“how do you **** your god?”
you ask

[you get off your
knees]
 Oct 2020 neth jones
kylie
cataclysm
 Oct 2020 neth jones
kylie
DON'T YOU LOOK AT ME!

i am ravishing, but i am ruinous.
my bones are connected by chaos,
my muscles by vengeance, my
teeth by blood—i am not a sight
to behold, i am a watercolor left
to rot.

the gods gaze upon me and hang
their heads in shame, in chagrin,
in white hot resentment. i am
medusa with peony lips and a
treasonous grin—there is beauty
in this cataclysm even aphrodite
cannot touch.

DON'T YOU TOUCH ME!

destruction can be found in the
hell between my hips, in crevices
where you do not belong. please,
stay back, or i will feast upon the
warmth in your chest, the grace
on your tongue, the light that's
in your heart.

DON'T GET TOO CLOSE!

but you kiss me anyway and you
taste like reparation. oh, my baby,
i cannot get enough. you wilt and
wither under my touch and i carry
you across galaxies.

you invite me to taste you and i
swallow you whole instead. i can
learn to live with the guilt in my
throat because it's more bearable
than feeling completely

alone.
 Oct 2020 neth jones
kylie
pygmalion
 Oct 2020 neth jones
kylie
pink plush lips against my clavicle
breathe into me a life that i never knew
before you
— galatea
 Oct 2020 neth jones
kylie
you have dealt with her damnation for far too many centuries. one day, you dare yourself to reach up and stroke her obsidian cheeks with tired, burnt fingertips. you look into her sable eyes and search for what they used to be—two bright citrine stones, young and benevolent, disappearing behind her honey-glazed grin as you wander over every mountain and through every desolate valley that graced her naked anatomy—but that girl is gone now, isn't she?

you breathe her in and she spits you out. she laughs as your skeleton crumples at her feet. she picks up your tibia and uses it to pluck the dead souls from her teeth, all except for yours. [even in this dark red light, she looks nothing less than holy.] she tortures and berates you, sets fire to your skin, yet she refuses to pluck the stars from your irises—tell me, boy, why does she still let you shine in a world shrouded by despair?

sometimes her touch isn't scalding against your flesh, sometimes you don't flinch when she runs her sharpened claws down the length of your spine. sometimes she presses greek tragedies into your tongue—you cannot tell if she loves the taste of desperation, or the fact that she still brings you to your knees.

you cry because you love it, too.
 Oct 2020 neth jones
kylie
he is a tattered heart with blood-stained teeth. he needs you to be silk sheets and a pink sunrise, but you are neither of those things. rather, you are canvas constructed of guilt and hot desire. he ruins his ****** hands down your neck, your *******, your thighs. you learn to love the taste of all the hurt he's caused because it's

all for you.

he needs you to be a proper woman, strong and dignified with rose petal cheeks and a bounteous womb, but you are nothing more than a glutton, consuming every spewed whimper born through impatient fingers grasping at his royal bones. you dig your nails into his flesh, you burn constellations into his back, you make sure his eyes are closed.

you are nothing that he needs, but you are everything right now. you wear the revelation like a drunken king adorns a crown: with pride, with arrogance, without feeling its weight. you straddle his waist and sink onto a throne made for a worthier queen. there is red hot blood in his veins, golden ichor in yours—you are not of the same world. the stars rattle when he breathes your name.

they die out when he considers how you are not the one they should be burning for.
You are died.
But I feel nothing.

Recently, I haven’t felt something,
If it were a ******, I’ll be suspect,
Maybe this isn’t the grieving expected.
I feel the sun is brighter than before,
Grief empty and happiness adored.

Sickness commanding over, I’d cried credibility
When death guttered you down in the ground.
All my grieving was fully paid and done.
For my late grand-aunt. At age 93 she still had a lot life and joy within her.
Next page