Hello Poetry
Submit your work and get some sparkles! Create free account
priya-deviPoems
I'll find you your answers in the bottoms of your cocktail glasses The solution to whatever keeps you up all night, I know the poison that plagues you, you know mine. I know your words are locked behind jail cell toothy smiles and smokey eyes, I know you don't remember I exist when you're not ******* me. "Get me drunk", you say. As if I'm your favourite bad influence. You love priya pressure like I'm a guilty pleasure... Like I'll teach you how to stray from pruned paths and get your hands and knees ***** and how to get stains out of cotton dresses Like I'll teach you how to **** yourself slowly Like I'll teach you to be the person your mother prayed you would never be Because you think you like *** drugs and gold toothed gangsters, you think you'll want to stick with me. I know this isn't who you really want to be. I know this isn't who we are. Our hands may reach for each other or others or paraphernalia or liquid lovers, but both know we're reaching for some thing further. Out of reach and out of our time. Out of the circle that came from a line. Out of the room when you're out of your mind, out out I need out
0
Apr 23, 2015
Apr 23, 2015 at 11:19 AM UTC
Bad Boy Ballad
I'll find you your answers in the bottoms of your cocktail glasses The solution to whatever keeps you up all night, I know the poison that plagues you, you know mine. I know your words are locked behind jail cell toothy smiles and smokey eyes, I know you don't remember I exist when you're not ******* me. "Get me drunk", you say. As if I'm your favourite bad influence. You love priya pressure like I'm a guilty pleasure... Like I'll teach you how to stray from pruned paths and get your hands and knees ***** and how to get stains out of cotton dresses Like I'll teach you how to **** yourself slowly Like I'll teach you to be the person your mother prayed you would never be Because you think you like *** drugs and gold toothed gangsters, you think you'll want to stick with me. I know this isn't who you really want to be. I know this isn't who we are. Our hands may reach for each other or others or paraphernalia or liquid lovers, but both know we're reaching for some thing further. Out of reach and out of our time. Out of the circle that came from a line. Out of the room when you're out of your mind, out out I need out
priya-devi
Written by
priya-devi
Apr 23, 2015
Apr 23, 2015 at 11:19 AM UTC
Request permission to use this poem