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 Feb 2015 Nicole Mock
Amanda
You make me feel pretty,

delicate as fairies, a bit cheekier than usual

in an old faded grey -stretched by the tumbles of the washing machine and dulled by the sunshine- t-shirt and old boxer shorts.
There is a beauty in being at home, laughing on the carpet, not giving a **** about how you look.
Hihihihi lovelys!
xo
 Feb 2015 Nicole Mock
adlne
I can't fathom
how anyone could
ever love me
with the thoughts
that constantly
haunt me.
022715
 Feb 2015 Nicole Mock
Arcassin B
By Arcassin B , creep & patty m

AB
Is it the stems,
Or the leaves,
Telling me,
To tie a noose around the ceiling fan,
Steping near the area,
Try to Contain it,
But I don't really think I can,
Devil got his hand tugging my ***** ,
Playing rebound,
Telling me to forget it all,
With like two rounds,
I don't wanna load with off into my brain,
But the suspense is kicking in,
Somebody get a chair and sit me down,
I don't feel no restraint,
You won't try,
But I ain't,
About to let you take me away from the voice of god,
Begging my pardon,
But At least that's what I think,
When I go near the garden,
TCTLY
Twisting, trailing down
My hands, my arms, 
Down my chest, wrapping around my legs,
They take over.
Each little secret I've hidden all over me,
The scars, the stories, the burns,
All seen by them.

Everything I've worked so hard to conceal,
Long sleeves, long pants, hoodies,
It doesn't matter anymore.
Theyve seen it all.

Each and every scar, 
Reopened.
All the tears,
Wet again.
The burns
Bursting with agony.
But with all that pain,
Its freeing.
Everything was held inside...
But now,
These... things
They have opened the unthinkable,
All of the things inside spilling out uncontrollably.
The mistakes and fears that once made up all of me,
Its flooding out of me.
I'm feeling 
Lighter....
And lighter...
And now I'm finally gone.
PM
soulless, 
you are the reason
coldness comes creeping
deranged and completely changed

put it down
put down that gun
the bullets that you load
when did your heart turn to stone
when did you grow so cold?
Mistaken, forsaken
innocent and yet condemned
I'm judged without a jury
for the rules that your amend

put it down 
put down the knife
ease your anger 
and lingering strife
I'm not the enemy
I'm just your wife

blood it seeps so slow
no need to hurry now
it has no place to go
as it puddles here
staining my matted hair
a halo of red 
I shouldn't have stayed
I should have fled. 
Innocent and forgiving
I lost my chance of living

put it down,
put it down to caring
I didn't even cry out
when it was my skin
you were paring

Such a shame
that you turned insane
was it ***** or pills
that twisted your will 
made you want to ****
the one person who loved you most.
no matter
it's shattered
and now it's null
like the last scrambled thought
in my fractured skull. 

I grant you pardon
now freed from your 
demonic garden
what thoughts grow in your mind
are they still benign weeds
like your horrible misdeeds
that multiply over time?
You do not know what is now-a-days
would you whisper softly
   onto my skin
      with your fingertips?
You carried the scent of a heavy summer rainfall with you
everywhere you went,
dropping hurricanes from your pockets for strangers
who have only known spring showers.
I didn’t know it was possible to fall in love with a storm.
Every time your cloudless eyes met mine
I felt a swell in the back of my throat,
as if I had drank too much seawater and you just kept staring
until I began to cough up the entire
Pacific Ocean.
You told me that this is what it meant to be with you,
to be with a nihilist.
You held other worlds on your fingertips
and slipped them under my tongue,
my blood becoming bellicose within it’s own veins.
The parabola of my pupils stretched until they became quasars,
I had never known energy like this before.
Your lips twitched into a most complacent grin at my lack
of self-possession as I writhed in the rapacious wake of the river.
Everything around me shimmered
with the light of 1,000 stars
and I heard centuries of music in your laughter.
I was a foreigner in a different world.
That night we made love with the intensity
of 50 lightning bolts striking an erupting volcano
and it was the first time you told me you loved me.
It was the only time you meant it.
We anesthetized each other so much
that you became insusceptible
while I became hypersensitive.
You carved kisses into my skin
and they were wonderful
but I was starting to bleed out.
But you couldn’t even feel my nails
as I tried to dig my way into your heart.
I had never wanted to live inside a person so badly,
but you can’t make homes out of people.
You can’t make homes out of addicts.
Out of all the words in the human languages, almost is the cruelest.
                                              I almost loved you.
                                              I almost won.
                                              I was almost there.


                                              I was almost *****.

When he snuck into the room like a wolf stalking its prey, my stomach didn’t almost tie in knots.
            It became a sailor’s masterpiece.

When he laid beside me as quiet as a stone, I wasn’t almost shaking.
            I was a leaf on the San Andreas Fault.

When his long, spidery fingers began trailing down my back, it didn’t almost feel like razors.
            He cut so deep the skin began to peel back and expose every    
            insecurity that I’ve hidden away between my vertebrae.

His fingers didn’t almost dig into my arm,
            they became shovels that dug a hole big enough for a casket.

Bruises didn’t almost blossom across my skin,
            I was a primrose bush in full bloom and he was the gardener.

When he coerced himself between my thighs, I didn’t almost scream.
            Years of ancestral abuse surged through my lungs and out my lips  
            into a battle cry.

When he tried to force his hand inside of me I didn’t almost feel spoiled.      
             I was a fruit rotting from the inside out, something that no one  
            would ever want.

And when my screams finally drove him off of me, I wasn’t almost okay.
             I was paralyzed with fear and disgust and shame.

Everything I’ve ever believed in slapped me in the face as I told myself:
                                      This is what I get for liking ***.
                                      I shouldn’t be so easy.
                                      I was asking for it.


                                      It was my fault.

I felt like a butterfly, beautiful but ruined by a man’s touch.
             Never to fly again.

But the truth is, a butterfly sheds scales throughout its lifetime,          
             regenerating its wings.

So when a man reaches for your wings in attempts to rip them off
             remember that you are not what he thinks you are.

Remember that it is never your fault.
             Not even almost.
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