liquid red ruby spilled on her white canvas
a shining silver next to a blue wrist
purple marks on her ,telling her grey tales
yellow pills scattered across her pink bed sheet
they say she once had a colorful personality
you could see it in her death too, tragically ..

i dont know why, but my body is craving for a beating.
a proper *** kicking if you may say!
it happens to me time to time
when i lie on my bed ,sleepless(again!)

i imagine how i would go through it
how i would walk into a bar  take a bottle of whiskey and smash it !
on the head of the first guy ill see,
which will then start a bar fight (obviously) and i will be in the center of it all..

my fingers twitch as i write this.
my  guts twist and turn,
there is a rush in my veins i cant explain
i feel like a junki looking for his secret stash

i indulge in my wild fantasy again.
picturing myself smiling through a broken jaw,
imagining blood trickling down my cracked skull..
for some reason i feel alive..

i think i need therapy, or some help..
there is saliva in my mouth and i play around pretending its blood
i give an evil smirk, i am  almost freaking myself out
and enjoying it while i do it..

oh what i wouldn't give to be beaten to an inch of my life right now
broken, shattered, in pain , anything would do..
just a fight! thats all i ask.
anything..  break few ribs, tear few tendons, give me a scar, which well tell my stories,

i am not sure, why i am like this..
may be because ill get people to finally acknowledge my existence
i am sure when most of you read through this your thoughts were..
sick, crazy, insane, attention seeker, he doesn't even rhyme!

lets go back a bit and go through the things you missed out..
i havent slept properly in last 6 months..
i have tried to swallow my loneliness mixing it with bottles of whiskey..
for so long i have stood in the shadows that i  want you to beat me up just so i know you can see me...
i want you to tear me limb to limb , crack open my skull just so i know i can feel pain ,i can feel hurt, i can feel something...
i am not numb,i am not a shadow, i am not  dead!

i wonder if the curtains talk about what we do behind their backs..
i wonder if the pillow covers complain about the  tear stains we leave on them..
i wonder if the bed feels the emptiness like i do..
i wonder if our closets are strong enough to hold our skeletons..
i wonder if the door creaks our darkest secrets out..
or do the paintings gossip about our fights..
is the dust which remains.. is all thats left of us..
is our bedroom the aftermath of what we once were...

we were puzzle pieces that fit perfectly...
but just belonged to different jigsaw sets..

she uses her push up bras to uphold her self esteem
and make her personality look perky and recognizable...

she hides the massacre of self abuse and sleepless nights,
under the thick shadow of mascara...

her eyes twinkle when she smiles, but not many know
the shine comes from the reflection of years of shattered dreams and crumbled emotions hidden in them..

her skin looks perfect from the distance but look closely,
you can see the scars left on them from the paper cuts of fashion magazines..

i wonder if the doors in the house you grew up in
started slamming themselves to save your father the trouble.
i wonder if you can remember the last time you prayed,
and if you had trouble unfolding your hands.
i wonder if your mother knows
about the collection of hearts you hide in your closet,
i wonder if she could tell mine apart from the rest.
i wonder if your shoes know the reason why
you keep them by the back door and not your bedside.
and sometimes, i wonder
if you ever think about that night when i told you,
you wouldn't need to drink so much if you had me.
but it seems like we only speak when you've got body on your brain,
whiskey in your glass,
your judgement is overcast,
and you know i'm too weak to ignore you.
i learned how to translate your texts
from drunken mess back into english.
i am fluent in apology, but i don't ask you for them anymore.
this is just how it is.
it's not enough for either of us
but ******* it we are not above settling.
so i will ignore her name on your breath,
and you will ignore the fact that this means something to me.
i always thought the first time i kissed you,
it would be on your mouth.
i just wanted to be something warm for you to sink into,
something that could convince you to stay a second night.
but i sneak you out in the early morning,
and you take a piece of my pride with you when you go.
i am left to nurse the hangover from a wine i've never tasted,
wondering how this is possible.
waiting for the next drunk call,
for the next time i get to pretend we are lovers,
the next time i get to live out the fantasy i am most ashamed of.
it is the one in my head where you want me when you're sober too.

- m.f.

So what shape is love?
Is it circular and hollow in the centre?
Vacant and vacuous.
Perhaps it's square with sharp edges.
Keep catching yourself.
Making you ooze trickling blood.
Maybe it's rhomboid,
In the shape of headless female form.
Limbs intact, a matter of balance.
A diamond of course.
Will love cut glass?
Sure it will, it's edges are fierce.
Matters not what shape it is, it hurts.
(C) Livvi