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OnwardFlame  Jun 2019
Game or nah
OnwardFlame Jun 2019
In the dark of the night
I brought you home
You were dressed in all black
We drank shots of malort at the end
Perhaps the beginning
I think.

When I start partying
I drink until I reach a place
Where I don't think so much
I don't feel so much
I just breathe in and out of each beat
Each tiny second.

I want to make this poem all about you
But the truth is my heart still
Lingers and wanes.

We were supposed to see each other tonight
My producer said your name so entirely wrong
I wonder if you behave the same way
You did before.

My best friend is far away
She feels eons and planets away
I reach and I reach
I reach for everyone I thought knew me best
And I hope they will reach back.

I think about the future
Men I think, think of me as a feat
A *******
I send up flags, confetti even
Forewarning I will leave
I think of another lover's fear of attachment to me
And it makes the resounding echoes to and out of my skull
That not all men feel nothing for us.

I wanted you to feel the most.

I all want you to feel the most.

I'm always thirsty
Always longing for more
Remembering
How I gave every ounce I could
I don't give like that anymore
I don't reach like that anymore
Even if in the quiet moments
I feel remorse
A longing

Because of you
And the want to be carefree don't wanna believe
Love, wannabe
That surrounds me
I don't play it back
But I'm no fool.
a  Jun 2023
a form of sense
a Jun 2023
If I can write a self love letter to myself what would I say?
What would I say?

The person who randomly cries at the push of the button. The woman so insecure the slightest thoughts of anyone or pressure or ideas drives her insane.
The entire world fears her.
She stays frozen scared.
Sometimes steps outside w the help of tequila...
Used to be whiskey. I miss the whiskey days.
Wine is a always. Beer on most.

We even went crazy and chugged malort for a week. This woman? This BOLD crazy hell of a time.. scared?
It's the liqour that helps. Helps her feel normal. You can always blame the liq.
With out shes lost looking for a sense of direction constantly listening to noises which none need to be heard.
Taking it in becoming it. Not knowing what sticks and what slips.
She is the wind blowing across the roof onto the top of the trees.
She's the bunny skipping from yard to yard.
She's the one crying all alone in the room. Sits there and bawls. All day long.

— The End —