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Love is just a game, you said

and there’s a knack to playing it
that you could never teach me

however hard you tried

but then, winning all the time
would be boring

and at least I never cheated,
or tried to bend the rules

I’m not suggesting you did, my love

but you are are a compulsive gambler,
with a poker face that I have tried to navigate

with kisses,
warm and gentle, playing my own game,
the manipulative tricks of a woman

but failing, always,
to keep you from those jacks and aces

I guess love is really (a) blind

how long can we go on pretending
that we are merely playing

when our hearts are on the table?
Day Twenty Two
Sun shines bright
Like fire -
Light fights darkness
Day Twenty One
I have always been uneasy
with the phrase
“Until it happens to you”

for me, it diminishes
the sacred bond of empathy

a shared understanding
even without a shared experience

it implies that people
cannot hold your hand
in the darkest moments
of your soul
and feel your pain completely
even if they haven’t lived it

it’s true,
until it happens to you,
you won’t know that darkness,
that trauma,
that pain

you won’t see
the face of your abuser
every time you
close your eyes at night

you won’t remember
every time you
smell that smell,
hear that song,
that name,
visit that place,


but sometimes
that doesn’t matter,
if the right person
makes you feel safe enough
to be yourself again
Day Twenty
There’s no future in the past
so I carve out a path for myself
like an ancient scholar
carving lessons into stone
a path that leads me out
of the darkness
and into brilliant sunlight
I take my first steps like a child
always pushing
always dreaming
but despite it all
you are forever looking back
Day Nineteen
I need you tonight
like every night since we met,
I close my eyes and travel
across oceans and dimensions,
in search of what?
not love.
it was never love,
just an aching need
for the connection
of two broken souls,
the meeting of a shared sadness,
I move like a ghost
between the buildings of the city,
calling out your name
into the midnight sky,
no one answers.
if we never meet again
I’ll survive,
but a part of my heart
will die forever.
Day Eighteen
Agatha Prideaux Apr 2020
His
His face in my view
Brings butterflies fluttering
Then—one steps forward

His wits, prominent
Opening it as he speaks
"Drown me too," I beg

His voice so raspy
Floating on blue ocean deep
Waves all come in threes

His hands, warm and safe
Clasp mine like a safe haven
Hold me in all fours

His smell addicting
My perfume to keep me sane
Five spritz on my wrists

His neck welcoming
A feast for this hungry beast
My dinner at six

His obsidian eyes
Hold the universe in them
Seven light years close

His mouth on my own
Tastes just like **** fine liquor
Burns as hand strikes eight

His comfort's embrace
Brings this cold corpse back to life
Nine lives' revival

His own sacred prayer
Is his name incarnated
On my knees at ten
Day 16 of #NaPoWriMo 2020. Hello! I've been MIA on this site for a couple of days since I really got busy and unmotivated from writing but! I figured out that this is the only thing keeping me sane during the quarantine---why should I stop? So, I'm back!
Agatha Prideaux Apr 2020
I came to hate the cold
When I noticed that I couldn't get a hold
Of my freezing hands when they were naked and bold
In an air-conditioned bus, as one of my friends told

And I would always seek out the heat
Of his palms on my fingers when they meet
At least they keep these delicate limbs, so petite
From numbing when the chill kiss them oh so sweet

I also came to like the warmness
Of people when they hug me in genuine love and kindness
And I would keep seeking that kind of fondness
As frost surrounds me with little to no softness

Oh, how I remember the warmth of cuddling
During wet and shivery downpour in the evening
Hugging and fondling under the thick, weighted bedding
How comfortable, unlike sleep to the freezing

But then, maybe the coldness I feel
From my hand to my feet's heel
Is a reflection of the atrociousness I conceal
Just to go with this ludicrous ordeal

My soul is just too bitter, just like how I hate
The unfortunate temperature of my fate
Yet fervor is the wish of this vicious slate
Before the chessboard declares its losing checkmate

Unfortunately, things must come to an end
There's no point to try to make this encounter bend
Because it will all just be like play-pretend
Of not acknowledging the conclusion of this descend

I came to hate the cold
And when judgment day comes, with my sins uncontrolled
I'd rather burn in the pits of hell in tenfold
Than to freeze in Dante's 9th circle's stranglehold.
Day 15 of #NaPoWriMo 2020. I started this one I think yesterday? But I was so dazed from recent relapses that I didn't know how the flow would go. I only finished it today, with a proper-ish transition, this time. Long read, I know, but then the story unravels itself from the length. Enjoy! (And yes I have this condition where I can't maintain my body temperature as well as normal people do.)
Agatha Prideaux Apr 2020
You and I; we are both formidable
But then, like the thin line between its two definitions
We both live in each other's opposition

You.
You always had this grace—this delicateness and feebleness
That kind that would make anyone protect you with their lives
Not to mention the talent you were blessed at birth
The way notes would dance in accord with your fingers—how formidable

I.
My sight would always give people chills down their spines
That kind that would make you either fight or flight
With the cold demeanor I was cursed upon birth
Like how I would twist the words from my mouth.

You.
You were everything the world wanted—only more, nothing less
Can you see how their eyes would spark upon your descant?
You were a living, walking goddess upon mortals
And you were the kind of formidable one would stare in awe.

I.
I was nothing the world wanted—nothing more, only less
In how I would see the hatred in their lids at the mention of my name
I was the epitome of Lucifer incarnate, disrupting serendipity
And I was the kind of formidable everyone would want to be gone.

Us.
Yes, we are both formidable
You elegantly, I grotesquely
And the thought of us, meeting even just once
Will only be this pitiful mind's apparition.
Day 14 of #NaPoWriMo 2020. I just had this prompt based on Stromae's song "Formidable" and then started writing this, then finished in 10 minutes. I don't often write free verse, but here it is! I know, this is far from what I would usually write, but this was really a spontaneous one!
He said;

“It’s not like you have
a serious mental illness.”

and after I told him to “*******!”

I wondered if he was right

after all,

I’ve only tried to **** myself

(twice)

maybe three time’s the charm

I’ve only been bed bound
by a crippling darkness

that eats light with a ravenous hunger

I have only felt my heart
explode in my chest

with the utter certainty
that I was dying

I have only conversed
with spirits and demons

(the fun ones are the ones
that love you back!)

maybe he’s right

maybe I’m sane

or maybe...
Day Seventeen
I love that first
tantalising taste of coffee
in the morning,
deep and dark as the ocean,
and sweet as honey,

I love that first cigarette,
it’s warming amber glow
and glittering embers,

I love the silence at 4am,
the still quiet with only
the stars and the moon
for company,

I have to remember that I still love,
when my heart is so often full of hate
Day Sixteen
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