Reading what you wrote -
after a long enough time,
let's you read what someone else wrote.

I hold so much hatred it feels as though the taught skin layered upon my chest might rupture open,
All to reveal my ribs worn frail and thin from the boiling, thick, acid anger that gnaws at my heart

How does one extract this burning from one's chest cavity and push it out their fingertips?
I crave those red lazer beams that reflect out fingernails and bounce far off into the galaxy,
away from this broken body that contains them.


People tell me it can be done.

Just picture the waves lapping upon crusted sand, taking with each retraction the scurf of yesterday's emotions.
Imagine clean, crisp, Antarctic skylines filled with pure glistening oxygen, untainted by life's noxious fumes.


Yet still if I open my mouth I fear I may ***** up every toxic thought cloud that permeates my skull.

So blinded by thoughtless emotion and the inability to explain away the fearful behavior it produces.


So sometimes I climb back into the corner of my mind.

Sit there till my extremities are numb with the inability to feel any longer.

Sit on the world,
dwelling on every ****** life event,
til the tiny taupe toothpick castles I once so cautiously and carefully constructed,
are burnt to ash by tiny tissue paper dragons.

My world
In the light of the dark
Lies a space a door really
To a whole other world
You would think its easy to enter
You think thing it's simple
Nothing is simple in life
Nothing is as it seems
But you see my world has
It's own set of rules
Rules that are so wrong
Their right but to understand
Them its a problem in itself
Luck to all who think they understand
The time when you think you understand
That is when you are the most
Wrong
Enter my world at your own risk
If you can that is
Xoxo the mysterious girl you see in the night lieing under the moon

P.s never trust your mind
In my world your mind won't
Know the difference between
Right or wrong , day or night
My life's a secret care to enter


<3

There are a lot of things wrong..
With the way you make me feel
You make me feel like I'm taking acid
I start to feel dizzy and like I'm shooting over the clouds
Because you called me cute...

But then you take 96 hours, 27 minutes and 34 seconds to reply to a text message or phone call I left to you

I worry. And that acid trip starts to plummet and I feel like I am falling

Extremely fast. And the second I'm about to hit the ground. You're suddenly back.

And I am planted softly on the ground

In a daze. But then you're gone again.

Then. 5 months, 2 weeks, 7 hours, 52 minutes, and 8 seconds later. You finally start talking to me again.


Apologizing for breaking my heart.
For literally taking my heart and squeezing it. With the blood oozing out and my heart deflating and it literally feels like my heart has been seized out of my chest into the palm of your hand but some how I can literally feel you hurt my heart

And that very pain sends electric shocks to my brain. And I'm blacked out mentally until you "apologize"

And the dopamine in my body starts to spike and I trick myself into thinking. "Yes. It's all going back to normal, we aren't crazy" "we aren't crazy"

Yes we are

You make me feel like I will die without you. If I can't have your existence present to me. I am literally a bomb full of depression. Ready to implode into myself at any given moment.

You crush my desires into fine dust and set them in a line and snort them so you can watch me crumble to nothingness. You take my happiness with a needle and shoot it through your own veins. You take my love and put it in empty pill capsules and pop them whenever you're lonely. And you literally leave me with nothing but sadness.    

You literally abuse me like I'm some sort of drug machine. Whenever you need it. I've seem to always have it.

There are a lot of things wrong with the way you make me feel.

But what is really wrong, and disturbing..

I still love every. Single. Piece of you.

He kissed me so deeply I forgot whose air I was breathing

mum asks
why you show your poems to strangers
but not to me?

mum doesn't know
poetry is light
but it can also be darkness
sometimes it is mostly darkness
and poetry is history
and experiences
and things you want to happen
and things you don't want to see

poetry isn't always
chocolate-filled with a coat of sugar
it isn't always pretty metaphors
and nice descriptions of nice feelings

mum doesn't know
my poems can turn a little darker
twisted just like my mind

and she doesn't know
the way I love
or the way I hate
and she would surely ask
and she would surely know who and why and what
and strangers don't know
who the hell I am talking about
and they don't care
as long as they read a good piece

mum asks

I don't reply.

In the eyes of the girl who sat laughing in the corner of the room,
not worrying what the world thought about her,
captivating the world with her sincere personality,
unfolding her humbleness,
letting her guard down for all she could offer,
building no walls of defense..
letting the world watch her and clench their lustful desires on her ,
mesmerized by her inner beauty,
you quench for more of her delicateness,
sparing no innocence for her cries,
violently abusing her fragile soul,
Now what's left of her is an endless vulnerability to fear and hatred,
Traumatic  nightmares, permanent scars,
The worst part is you live everyday of your life with no slight regret,
not a glimpse of guilt,
Now she's left only with bits of herself, drying her tears every night as she pick up her leftover faith she has to painfully move on in this cruel world, without a single justice of her suffering...