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I want to seep deep in your lungs
And breathe the air there
Clean my throat with your tongue
Lie underneath my body, all bare
Let me savour your mouth
So your oxygen can run in my blood
Bodies soaked in liquids
Nails carving the thin skins
An aroma for my desires and your sins
As we **** the essence from each other’s lips
You breathe words
That echo in my hollow bones
The ecstasy of fire slowly dying
With your ghostly moans
The hair pinching on the peels
As we pinch the pulp out of the fruits
Consume each other, nourish the souls
Listen to the creaking of the bed's woods
and from the woods, the crickets chirp
a brilliant union remains undisturbed
Zoe Mei May 9
nineteen in little more than a week:
already time slips through my fingers,

days trickling through the cracks
in the sidewalk, leaving

me rubbing my fingers raw against
seams in the parched pavement, wondering

when the rain will seep back up. I heard time
runs faster as you grow older,

an ever-tightening spiral of minutes days
decades blinks of eyes

and I wonder how I will bear it
when even now I am grasping

desperately for anything in reach,
anything to slow the locomotive

down, and all I get is red-scraped palms
from slapping past tree trunks,

arms too skinny-weak to pull, to hold any
branches as the train whisks me by

Ladouce Apr 7
I am turning eighteen yet I still don’t know how to be myself. I am turning eighteen yet I don’t want to put my dream on the shelf. I am turning eighteen yet I’m terrified to express my opinion. I am turning eighteen yet the things I haven’t done are a million. I am turning eighteen yet I don’t know how to talk to strangers. I am turning eighteen yet I’ve never been exposed to all of this world's dangers. I am turning eighteen yet I’ve never believed in myself. I am turning eighteen yet I’ve never seen the movie elf. I am turning eighteen yet I've never been with you. I am turning eighteen yet I never have a clue. I am turning eighteen yet I feel like I'm fifteen. I am turning eighteen yet I’ve never learned a routine. I am turning eighteen yet I still sleep with my teddy. I am turning eighteen but I don’t think i am ready.
I impatiently waited tables
trying to earn enough money
to keep my apartment
filled with cheap beer
and expensive drugs.

There wasn’t much else to do
in that stuffy little town
with one intersection.
The air was fine
as long as you didn’t breathe.

I watched my friends and neighbors
watch me from a close distance,
separated by a parking lot
and an eternity of sins
that no one wanted to talk about.

When I was 18,
I kissed a boy
and told him we were going
to get married some day.
He laughed at me.

I picked out a tux anyway.
It was white. I wanted to wear white.
She's wearing my jeans,
Whilst I wear her hands on my neck.
18, and emotionally drunk.
Is it cheesy to say I don't want this night to end?
Maude Laurent Dec 2020
One year over
Another gone
Faster still
As time goes on
The hope that life
We will prolong
As we listen
To death's dear song
The music plays
Bittersweet melodies
Of your 18th birthday
My birthday was on the 13th, just thought i'd put this out into the world.
Blake Nov 2020
What a strange age

Expected to grow up
Expected to change

But there is a problem
With what they request,
I’m not quite done growing
And I’m still quite a mess

They tell me I’m ready
That I have to move on

Won’t somebody tell me
Where my childhood’s gone?

What are these taxes?
Why must I move out?
If I haven’t the money,
Shall I sleep on the ground?

Nobody told me
How to accept
The loss of my childhood
As a normal event

It may not have been nice
And it may not have been good
And I might have been through stuff
That no child should

But I am not ready
To give it all up
To trade for my hours,
Everyday at a job

I don’t know how to fight it
I’m not sure I can

But at least I am finding
The person I am

At 18 I’m growing
And I’ll keep in my hand
That of another me,
The one of my Past
I am just a person who originated from a clump of cells that developed from an egg. Why am I forced to follow the rules of the people around me, what if I just wanted to be a ******* bird?
Shrika Aug 2020
I watch her.

I watch her,
as the night drapes over her window,
as the stars tangle in her hair,

I watch her,
as the chiseled imperfection
of the moon stirs her inky musings,

I watch her ,
in the uncertain glow of the dying candle,
in the torrent of tattered thoughts,

I watch her,
watching me through the silver-smeared glass,
through the pits of colourless brown,

                                      I watch her as                           
                                   ­            she slowly traces the silence,
                                                        ­           silencing the traces of him.

Capriccio Jun 2020
So scared
With unfounded fears
Filling me
I don't want to **** myself
So win back myself
My future for my greed
Focus full force
I need all 18 holes
On this golf course
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