Cicadas hum quietly, amongst the summer choir. Locked doors, birds on their wire's. Keep from harm's way, but thorted by desire- Blinds colored gray block out humanity.
These dreams speak to me through insanity, a tv plays white noise, my mind is in calamity. As nightmares creep in through my eyelids, amid the darkness of this quiet house.
This is my Strauss- wooden floors entirely silent, the thoughts inside are violent. Recalling Baptist Hospital. No cart rhythmically on call, a nurse alloting me two pearls to swallow.
Making the sea of seretonin flow, making happiness through my body grow. Tonight, I take my trazadone no longer resembling a pearl, my toes curl. At the bitter taste, following the nightmares that make haste to follow me to bed, praying I don't wake up dead.
I'm knocking on a door when I know nobody's home but I'd rather keep knocking than feel alone again The static is louder than the doorbell sounding and everything is Pounding pounding pounding In my head and telling me that going to bed is the answer but how am I supposed to sleep when the world is churning with cancer So I'll keep standing here making noise that no one will ever hear in fear that the gift I once bled has become something you consider dead
The elder version of me that didn't know how to sleep or breathe or eat has come and gone and I'm not sleeping on the front lawn anymore I'm not staring at the grass and hoping it absorbs me to the core Instead I'm breathing and eating and sleeping but no one answers the door when I pour pour pour my feelings out on paper This new version of me doesn't shop at first class vapor and doesn't draw pain from the smoke or the poke of the disdain that haunts me like a hurricane haunts a city full of big dreams and the lawns full of greens Instead it's bliss
I'm living in a world where everything feels like your first kiss and it's magic and none of it is tragic and yet the words can't find their way to my tongue and it's like a towel has been wrung over my head because the water is drip drip dripping onto the dead words I fill this note with while I try to find some confidence to cope with the idea that I was sad for so long I could've been a brand at Ikea
But now when I try to put the happy I feel into words it all sounds a bit too sappy and I just want to convey the happiness the way I used to betray my sadness by spilling it's truths into my mouths standby poet chatter because I just want to write about the reality that matters
The likes of you I can't describe, Yet I love to eat between your thighs. The melody you spake to me Unfolds my greatest sovereignty. I crave to quaff all of your spit, And swallow every drop of it. Don't cheat me of your tasty flesh, Those bare and supple ****** *******, Your eyes that follow my firm gaze, While we kiss and lick and misbehave. I need to feel each piece of skin, Smashing girl and boy parts over and over again. It's such a treat to eat you whole; I'm obsessed with eating 19-year-olds.