Penises make me uncomfortable because they have only been used against me. Uncomfortable is not a strong enough word to explain the disgust that rises up my throat, the sickening feeling that tears at my stomach and lungs, the feeling of having to retract all of my limbs into my body, or at least as close as physically possible.

I can not stand the thought of having *** with a male, but does that make me a lesbian? Or does that just mean I am terrified of the possiblity of experiencing PTSD? If I think these flashbacks are bad enough, I don't want to experience anything more.

I only date guys that resembles the man that hurt me first.

When I am in a perfect relationship, I ruin it on purpose because I am scared of commitment.

I crave the things that hurt me, like razor blades, and chemicals that fill my lungs and poison my liver. Like a firm hand, a hot flame, a brick wall; I even crave the sounds of warning that my body gives when it is slowly dieing. The white lights, ears ringing, the light headed feeling when I stand up. I crave the black circles under my eyes, the transparency of my skin, the feeling of bones. I crave the blood pumping through my veins going 70 on a road with my eyes closed. I crave self destruction.

I crave the scent of skin
And all its distractions.
The storm brewing within,
And the silent actions.

When Gods test their might,
Bring forth their glory,
Light turns day to night.
One word, one story.

Never will there be
Such craving and lust.
As when I met thee.
My heart is now dust.

The seeds of ice were set
Into the cold ground free.
Where fire met cold and wet.
Where shouts, became a plea.

She remembers his touch,
His desire to
Please.
----------------------------------------
Not for the sake of reward,
Just out of love
Love.
----------------------------------------
She yearns to feel
Him
Firmer, Fiercer.
----------------------------------------
She squirms
Beneath his
Grip.
----------------------------------------
“You don’t look
Like
you want me to stop.”
----------------------------------------
A flutter; a
Gasp.
Enough.
----------------------------------------
Release before –
She
Can’t let go.
----------------------------------------
Why do we crave?

I am 17 and I'm scared.
What if I am old and all I do is whine
I dread I'll become reckless and get drunk on beer and wine.
What if I'm playing around and I end up with a knife
I fear I'll become hopeless and give up on my life.
Will I still crave for him when I'm finer and I'm wise
Or will my mind lose interest and think of other guys
Tell me if Ill end up happy and have my dreams come true
Or will I be filled with guilt and end up mean and blue
All I know is, I'm 17 and I'm scared

You are a thief,
Cause of mischief,
All the eyes you've stolen,
and the souls you've frozen,
are proofs that your talents are golden,
A chest within my chest,
Where my heart are kept safe,
To ensure my soul stay in place,
Yet to the cove of your mercy is where it had laved,
For the sake of repentance or sympathy,
You returned it to me,
Too used to muse on your fantasy,
To you,it longs to be,
Silently,the truth had I veiled,
Though now your songs are my holy grail.