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I knew what love looked like in my first year of high school.
Love had dark hair.
And darker eyes.
Love knew all the words to my favourite Metalica songs.
Love always knows where he belongs.
Love read me Peter Pan.
Over,
And over,
And over again.
Love was a fool.
Love spat when he spoke.
He hated the smell of pinecone smoke.
And he never washed his hands.
Love hated strawberries.
And he hated my favourite poet.
But sometimes love moves far away.
Sometimes love can stay.
Maybe love can't.
Maybe love shouldn't.
Then I found it again,
Sitting on a bar stool.
Love just didn't care.
Love had dark hair.
But bright eyes.
Love hated Metalica.
Love had hands as soft as a babies.
Love never told me I was beautiful.
No words were ever suitable.
Love hated the taste of my mouth.
Brandy and coke.
Love drove a ****** car.
And love bought me roses.
Love could never keep his hands still.
Love was always in it for the thrill.
He hated my cigarettes.
And he never spoke his mind.
Love left.
Convicted of theft.
And love disappeared.
Slowly.
Like baby teeth.
Losing parts of me I thought I needed.
Sometimes love isn't ready for you.
Sometimes you aren't ready for love.
Sometimes it's all of the above.
Sometime you find love again.
Thirteen years after graduation.
Still as beautiful as you remember.
Like on that day in mid December.
50 shades of ****** up,
I've ventured deep within you.
...scrutinized every centimeter,
every corner,
of that perplexing cavernous mind of yours.

                              I
                        ­                fell
                                            ­       in
                                                                love


...but somewhere between "I" and "love"
I found myself stumbling into the spaces between them.
I knew you were too weak
to catch me but
those cogent promises,
that compelling voice,
how could I not succumb, baby?
I never doubted you and that was my downfall.
I stood in the gap for you,
defended you,
when anyone pestered me with pessimism.
There's this saying about....
...a log being in your eye
yet you're trying to take a speck out of someone else's;
Let's just subliminally throw the ***** laundry out.
Out of all the wrongs I've ever done,
I'm able to say,
"I never cheated."
"I never gave up."
"I was always there for you."
"I kept my promises."

kinda distasteful that you can't, huh?
tbc has been discontinued.
                                             **TheEnd.
tbc: to be continued.
it ended the way it did bc I began exerting too many emotions and the person this is directed to doesn't deserve an ounce of it.
"TheEnd" represents the end, no space in between because there isn't anymore space in my poetry or life for another tbc.
The sun rises then sets;
It's beautiful.
The moon glows then disappears;
It's beautiful.

The thought of 'Us' is bittersweet.
'Us' is ugly yet so beautiful.
'Us' is saccharine yet so acidic.


Demoralized thoughts
derived from cynical trepidation
seem to render me dazed and addled.

I've never experienced a love like this:
a love whereas i voluntarily succumb to any of your surmises,
a love whereas your wants and needs come before mine,
a love whereas I feel like i need you,
a love whereas I suffer from withdrawal
when your voice fails to reach my ear for too long,
when your skin fails to touch my skin for too long,
when the trust I so much had in you
..
..
..
seems to no longer exist.

*Would anyone savour the taste of a bittersweet fruit?
 Oct 2014 Paige Nixon
Marzanna
&
 Oct 2014 Paige Nixon
Marzanna
&
stuck my head
underwater
but forgot
to drown

i was sad
you were sad
but it didn't
cancel out

laid down
closed my eyes
but forgot
to sleep

and one day
you'll be happy
but not because
of me
 Oct 2014 Paige Nixon
Pritika
Mere concept of childhood fascinated her,
Games that her friends played attracted her,
Memories of others hinging on comical anecdotes captivated her.

Endless discussions of the 'good times' made her meet solitude,
Scarcity of happiness made her meet darkness,
Perennial realisations of sorrow made her meet regret.

She detested the way life abused her childhood,
She hated the way life snatched the chance of having memories,
She envied the way life didn't let her know 'fun'.

She regretted her existence,
For she never had a chance of being happy,
Of being free like a bird,
Of being independent and satisfied.

She was a girl,
Who grew up in the most atrocious of times,
Who faced the loneliest of nights,
She's the girl, who grew up, before it was time.
 Oct 2014 Paige Nixon
Prodigy
If life is an experiment,
where are the variables?
Are they evident?

People come and people go,
places change, people age,
And you adapt as you grow.

Feelings vary through the years,
there’s love, there’s loss,
there’s joy, and tears.

The conditions change, from time to time,
Different settings, journeys new,
no set paradigm.

And the subjects shift,
in the focus of life,
some a curse, some a gift.

Some say happiness comes from within,
but I name it the dependent variable,
changing to reflect life’s every whim.

But there’s one thing I seem to miss:
If life’s an experiment,
where’s the constant in all of this?

Is the constant life, breathing, living?

Is the constant you, existing, here?
Is the constant love, growing, giving?

Is the constant intangible?
Is it time, or place?
What is the unchanging variable?

What does humanity all somehow share?
What connects us to each other,
and throughout our lives is always there?
let’s engender a love like an elastic.

baby, let’s create a love where …
when we’re plagued and bombarded with complications
we still spontaneously recommence our conventional shape;
like an elastic.

darling, let’s make a love where…
when we fight and you say i hate you
i can gaze in admiration into your eyes
grasp your hands
pull you closer
kiss you and tell you i love you
and we’d be okay because you’d know i mean it.

my love, let’s create a love like an elastic
whereas, we’re oblivious to our boundaries
and we’re too paranoid to find out
because if we do, we just might pop.

your heart’s been broken,
mine has too;
but i promise you an elastic love is all we need
to get through.
I want to feel what you feel.
I want the tough polymeric substances connecting our hearts
to communicate with me;
vibrating whenever something is amiss.
i want to feel the pain he made you feel
i want to dwell in your suffering and swallow it
just to digest it and make sure it never comes back up.
After that, i want to be yours …forever.
- d.b.d.
180
Let not today, be the day you are hoaxed by metal amalgam coated glass.
Let not today, be the day your inner sleeping beauty,
Oblivious to her own existence, continues her slumber.
Allow my lips to kiss your soul and render your demons dead.

Let today, be the day you dispose of all those shattered glass pieces of stained fallacious images.
Let today, be the day you permit me to be your mirror,
Scrutinizing every centimeter of your body,
Showing you all the things your eyes and mirror feared to.
Let today, be the day we conquer those fears.


Let today, be everyday.
- d.b.d.
50 shades of ****** up,
let me explore you.

Allow my demons the delectation,
of amalgamating with yours.
Let’s connect our hearts as one,
as our spirits intertwine
and our demons sway.
sway to the a tuneless feeling of euphoria.
sway to sounds of two hearts,
beating as one.
yours and mine.

tbc...

- d.b.d.
Nirvana - a transcendent state in which there is neither
suffering, desire, nor sense of self, and the subject
is released from the effects of karma and the cycle of
death and rebirth. It represents the final goal of Buddhism.

My Buddhist Queen,
Will you take me to Nirvana?
Will you take me to that place?
That place where we’re unshackled from suffering?
Because right now, this is intolerable.

My Buddhist Queen,
If we’re in Nirvana
why does my heart feel so aloof
and its beats, spectral?
Why does my body suffer from rigamortis?
Why am i teary-eyed
and why did you nominate my pillows to do the ALS challenge?
Why is my room a catastrophy?
Why do my walls succumb to the savagery of my fists?
Why am I suffering?
Why do I desire?
Why is karma still existant?


My Buddhist Queen,
If we’re in Nirvana,
why do you occassionally take strolls down to hell holding my hand?
- d.b.d.
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