On my tongue, a fiery sensation
Burning my throat and the roof of my mouth
A pepper with an intense flame
My nerves are stimulated, even the slightest stroke is felt on my skin.

The pain of the pepper doesn’t last long.
My tongue becomes bored.
The flavorless taste is what I was used to
But tasting a pepper after living without it, made me addicted.

It happened on a date
He slipped a pepper into my sandwich
At first the spiciness was unsettling, but it soon began to entice me
Thinking he had hurt me, but instead I enjoyed the thrill.

I know it’s wrong
So many spicy things is bad for your body
It is not something I should enjoy
But the taste is engraved on my tongue, and it’s too late to quit this strange hobby of mine.

Sometimes goodbyes are the best thing that can be said,
we end much suffering from one word that changes the aspect of one's humanity.

Silence is the only thing I hear now.
It wakes me up in the morning,
it greets me when I come home,
it kisses me goodnight.
Silence even lurks around in my dreams.
But I never knew silence could be so deafening.
I don't hear the cries of joy or hope.
I don't hear the pleas for forgiveness.
Silence blocks it all out.
My world is lonely... and yet so loud.
Sometimes I'm happy I don't have to hear the lies,
but other times I wish I could hear the 'I love you's.

is it worse to cry
until your eye
bags sit above the cheekbone,
your sleeves are soaked
with salt,
and you feel an overwhelming sense of
everything all at once, left finally with
aggressive emptiness

or to sit alone in the dark
with a full head
tissues in hand
knot in the gut
broken chest bone
waiting for the tears to come,
but they don't?

let the pain and hurt
overtake everything
until you are left alone with
the numbness ;

why do i feel so empty?
could it really be
because
We lost?
or is it
more?
what did I lose?
question is
what haven't i lost yet

idek
and i am too tired to

There is a feeling of bubbles forming from my chest
that threatens to spill from my mouth,
but instead, flowers grow out of my throat
and reach upwards to the never-ending sky.

There is no way to know how I feel,
as I do not know myself what goes on
in my body, in my head --
I am but a passenger as my form works on autopilot
interacting, recharging, moving.

There is a dull pain, sometimes --
a hollow kind of loneliness that spreads like miasma,
bone-deep and cold to the touch.
On those days I'm anchored
to the bed, to the ground.
My mind knows there is nothing keeping me down,
yet my body refuses to believe it.

There is a screaming in my head
that I wasn't aware of
until I started smoking, until
the nicotine had suddenly
muted everything going on up there.

When you live in a void of white noise,
silence is what you seek.
But there is no fixed price,
no settled equivalent on what you stand to lose
for you to gain.