Oh boy number 13
they say it is an unlucky number
and you sure are living up to it
but nothing different than the 12 others

Boy number 13
you fall asleep in my bed
like every other
no respect given
only *** driven
it is inevitable
isn't it a given?

Boy 13
don't you have anyone else's time
you could be wasting
minimal effort
I always seem to be tasting
the same pattern
I am always tracing

Boy number 13
It is time for you to leave
please
it doesn't come with ease
because I am so desperately lonely
But what my heart doesn't
my gut sees
don't be a tease

countdown to the
nearest thirteen;
life on the red
satin ribbons seem
like fairy-tales in disguise;
dress you in laces and frills
like a string puppet;
the monster under my bed
will bring you down
with my consent;
here's a world
where skin is thicker
than leather when
you hold the blade;
'tis all the same for me;
rush of cold metal
on your skin
rush of cold metal,
blood on your lips;
live and let live
but **** or be killed;
here's a hypocritical
world of love;
psychedelic bewilderment
and what kills you
makes me stronger;
i'll fill my pockets
with your memories,
your darkest reflections
are but a confused
midnight kitten;
hold still, my sprightly love
while i paint you
onto my soul;
blood on canvas.

his heart was enveloped in ice
ice i couldnt melt

his mind was enclosed with walls
walls i couldnt break

his body was a temple
temple i couldnt enter

Green dances like waves around her wide pupils, eyes lashes like curved feathers graze the top of her eyelid.

Flaming orange spirals from her beautiful mind down to the end of her back.

A canvas
Her face resembled as the flecks of freckles formed a gorgeous piece art.

Her body was as though it was sculptured carefully to put on display in greek goddess section of the museum

Sadly it wasn't
Instead her body was forcefully abused and harmed as it wasn't societys shallow idea of beauty

She wasn't tan
She wasn't blonde or brunette
Just a pale ginger.

She considered herself to be hideous

She became weak
Vunerable
Easy

It wasn't her fault
She needed the money
She lacked self esteem
And so selling her body gave her the worth and attention she never had.

Beaten
Hurt
*****

Her life was gone
The green waves in her eyes stop dancing
The lashes were now harsh lumps of dried mascara
Her beautiful hair was bleached blonde, frayed and cut.

And her body was now just another puppet to an old mans torture.