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Myrrdin Aug 2020
I built this ending back in February,
Leaving work to make sure I didn't miss you,
Cancelling plans just to watch you live,
I can pretend I never loved you,
Yet I built more of myself on your well being,
Than I ever did on my own sanity,
When it is was never you that I wanted,
Just your love I had to prove I could earn.
I S A A C Jun 2020
Alone another night, victim to my mind
Trying to write the feelings down, scratch that and rewrite
None of the words and sentences accenting the pain enough
I am tired of this replaying movie, can it stop?
Manifest something different as the sun descends
Hoping that I can have a partner in crime to cry to
Another lonely night hoping that Clyde can save my life
Maybe not save per se but alleviate this pain
Of being stray harboring waterfalls of strain
Give me a rush like ******* but do not hurt me the same
Waiting for my Clyde in vain
Let us wait
hydonni Apr 2020
Let us cry out our names in primal need in the dark,
And kiss like Eskimos when light comes.
Let us tear into ourselves like animals through the night,
And make pancakes in the morning.
Holly Jul 2020
You are entangled
In the vines of a 
codependent ****.
It will eventually **** the life
Out of you,
but only because
You allowed it too.

You didn’t need to
put yourself in it’s path
and offer yourself
like a sacrifice in waiting
- But you like the idea that someone else has the power to ruin you in the way you are too scared to do.

You didn’t need to
give your essence over
to something that will devour
anything that moves
- But you don’t believe your worth is more than being somebody else’s emotional feed bank.

You didn’t need to
willingly wait for death
while their vines held you down
and choked on your broken pieces
- But you don’t know how to survive in a world that is not dependant on you fixing it while leaving your damage to die.

You will be consumed
by the toxins
of a carnivorous friend,
and you will sit by and watch
while they burn the world down
around you
and still offer
your bones to be their home.
pilgrims Mar 2020
...
Absolutely whimsical!
Unfathomable pockets of love
swallow our hands
Touch searching for the unknowable
Feeling solid presence passed the hidden
deep in darkness
Blood pumping inside a heart
working out

Embers cloaked in ash burn still
smoldering onward
Pilgrims of being exhumed
Flames lick the surface of expression
Exposed passions dance openly
Smoke twists as the elements wish
they were one

Hands in my pockets
return to the physical.
I am me
We are we
Lilly F Jan 2020
breathe me in like the drugs you take,
hold me like the cigarette between your lips,
dream of me like I'm the lsd you take before bed,
stare at me with your bloodshot eyes,
while you slur your words at me,
and reach out for me with your shaky hands,
I'll always be here for you
and that's what keeps me up at night,
waiting for you to come back again


© L.F.
Sophia Silver Dec 2019
We all need to learn
how to love on our own,
but *******
you made me hate being alone.
Ksh Nov 2019
There's a cigarette between my lips.
I taste the flavor, inhale the familiar scent
even before I flick the lighter to life.
There's something to be said about the difference
between the thought of smoking, and actually seeing it through.
I'd be the one to say it, but my mouth is currently preoccupied.

The first inhale is like a breath of fresh air,
which is ironic, given the nature of the vice.
But there it is -- a sweet escape, a brief release from the world that I've been in and decided that I've stayed for one second too long.
A dark, smoky finger invading my senses
as a cat grazes against your leg,
soft, but heavy; intending to make its presence known
with the gentlest touch, the murmurs of a purr.
It fills my lungs, and in a moment of hesitation
I feel peace as though, at any moment,
I could decide that I wouldn't want to breathe again.

The exhale is slow, the puff slowly escaping,
ascending to the heavens, dissipating like
dew on the grass on some mornings,
the fog that covers the skyline.
All that's left is the ghost of what was,
for a fleeting moment, an affair from the reality I've known.

And when the fire dies down
and the **** gets extinguished,
there is only what remains on my lips.
Nicotine, your name, whatever the hell it is --
I just know that it's intoxicating, addicting;
every time I run my tongue over chapped skin,
it's as if I'm chasing the very last time I've ever tasted you;
And every swig at the cold, hard rim of a bottle
makes me think of sloppy kisses on a cold winter night,
hands fumbling, nervous giggling;
of promises pieced together through incoherent moans breathed onto flushed skin;
Of empty sheets and ***** clothes,
no phone numbers to call, no names to tattoo,
nothing that can tie me to the possibility of a 'next time';
"Because there won't be a 'next time';
there can be no 'next times'."
But I guess --
I chose the wrong day to quit.

The cycle repeats, the toxicity stays,
and yet I revel in the concept of
not thinking, not planning,
just -- being.
In that moment, under the stars:
As if Time had stopped, and the sky was alight,
and I felt like I had the whole world
fit in the palms of my hands.

Because for someone that tastes so, so wrong,
you feel so, so right.
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