words bleed from my fingertips onto the stainless steel sink
and i watch them spill down the drain
like old coffee that has sat in a mug for days.
words that have been romanticized; over used but yet slips through my lips; i cannot help myself but let regret seep through my face.
they spill into my lap and i intertwine my fingers which are touching upon the threads that struggle to untangle themselves.
i struggle to untangle them and this for some reason scares me.
it scares me that i cannot control the shaking of my hands like
a rising volcano that suppressed its screams.
it scares me that i knotted the slithering snakes in my lap and which
hisses through my ears; the echoing sound of myself could hear the fear.
and as i think further upon the words that slipped through my chapped lips, i realize that i'm a silly child after all;
unable to control. unable to foresee. unable to be loved.
i am a silly child asking for silly things.
i let the words i said ring through the air and touch upon his skin.
his bones went frigid for a second but he continued to love me.
it was then when i realized that he had a different concept of love.
we're both wearing red.
I motion her over and onto our bed.
Blood red smeared across our lips.
I keep her enticed, I straddle her hips.
I'm touching my lips.
Long acrylic nails,
for us never fails.
I show her a ***** and
she gently wails.
I lust her so much.
We ****, we're on fire
and I wonder,
which of us holds the power.
I, in all honesty is hoping it's her,
'cause then I'll continue this life
in her beautiful blur.
Poetry by Kaydee.
A girl in love with another girl.
sometimes she daydreams about life the way i do about death. it's ironic, i know: black and white aren't meant to be grey and the rumbling hum of expletives digging into mauve lips pass through like desaturated light to translucent statures. it makes everything seem sweeter than it looks. she thinks the ache feels lukewarm, just like those half-hearted smiles she gives out like presents on a holiday, and she may be right. pain is not cold, it covers your entire heart with microwaved fingers, leaving burn marks that leave chars and ashes. snaps the purple heartstrings and clumsily tries to mend it.
(i love you because you're corporeal, she murmurs, you keep me sane)
she's spider-webbed, sung gossamer and silk while her bar lines drip with ink. and she seems moonstruck—because of me she says and blooms throughout my epiphanies. fancies herself a ghost, a wisp, something ethereal that lingers on my lips like a kiss. and she lingers, oh she does. toppling from the skies and collapsing into my rib-cage, she stays, blushing rose-like and thriving. velvet and constellations of blood clots patter against her skin. it blooms like she blooms, a paint splattered canvas meant for all to see.
You were born near the warm ocean,
grew up around there,
With your clear acrylic smile
and sun-kissed blonde hair
I, the winter cold
More north than I can remember,
We met that day you visited,
a brisk chill, that December
We drank and danced,
while the years passed over
Argued and grew apart,
our greatest fears, now sober
My memories of you, once treasured
as sun deprived lands complain,
Hearing the fuzz of the static between the lines as you laugh nervously: It feels like waking up to a child who has found your acrylic paints, who is brushing hasty strokes of posey on your cheeks -
Like half-heartedly composing your poise on a river rock, holding your center, knowing if you lose your steady, you have to fall,
Fall into something that feels like first breath of air you breathe when you step off a train, knowing yesterday is gone, knowing the person you are now is ready to embark.