how hard can you fight
without the plot armour
that could really be useful right now

more moth holes in the sweaters
as the cost of living costs
the cost of living lives

dark lights never shut up
for a purpose they don't serve
everything for the wrong one

always leaving you with that feeling
tomorrow's going to be a really bad day

the rat is always the bad omen

We with warped minds
frolicked under those lights,
hanging loyally, still
like cold, sparkling jewels
in the humid night.
"These nights are sacred,"
I would say,
and the ripe summer air
would roar
through every vein
in our

Marissa 6d

I feel a wave of panic wash over me
As another unwanted hand grabs me out of the music and loud noise
I take a breath and push it down as I let the bliss take me again
Finding myself pressed up against the boy I had met just that night
I feel his hands slide across my waist
And I know that I will soon regret this
But I ignore these feelings as I let the bliss wash over me yet again
Taking advantage of the allusive peace I feel
Even if only for a few hours more

His lips brush against my neck
I close my eyes and savor the feeling of his warmth
Soft lips find mine in the dark
People stare
But I am lost in the calm
Their judgement cannot reach me
Under this wall I have built
Even if for only a few hours more

He grabs my hand leading me away
I am suddenly reminded of myself
As my feet plant firmly to the ground
My head swirls with thoughts
But they are soon quieted
As I bring his body again closer to mine
Even if only for a few hours more

As I walk down the dark street
I brush the bruise on my neck
My hair falls over my neck
To hide the secrets of tonight
Even if only for a few hours more

My eyes open to the light
My head swirling with thoughts
No bliss to silence them
I let their judgement take over me
As I swallow the cure
For another night of peace

Medication is a blessing and a curse
Marissa 6d

Hunched shoulders
Puffy eyes
Smeared ink
Comfort lies

Starting over
Back again
Going under
Losing friends

Lonely nights
Harder days
Popping pills
Easing pain

Messy room
Heavy sighs
Cluttered space
Muffled cries

Pretty smiles
Hiding pain
White lies

Not all days are good

Midnight queen makes her presence known
Eyes lit up like sparkling diamonds
Lips shaded red as a blooming rose
Porcelain skin and an angel's face

The world of men sits at her feet
Wars are waged for her one night
Men competing for the goddess' favor
like playing with children's innocent curiosity

The eyes of this cougar stalking quietly
Hunting for the next unsuspecting prey
Her deadly charm her most effective tool
To catch and break the young and foolish boys

There I stood looking from a far
Desires getting stronger even if I stood no chance
Accepting that she won't ever look my way
And yet there she was, staring through my soul

God, my awkward smile and juvenile heart
You shined like starlight in my eyes
Heartbeats in maximum overdrive
When you lace your fingers into mine

Pent up desires taking over
Love bursting like a broken dam
Surging forth into each others' embrace
Raging like storms on a collision course

Making love like the torrid summer sun
Fiery encounters burning all trace of innocence
You, who consumes all the oxygen in my lungs
Whose kisses are my elixirs of eternal life

Stronger than vodka, yet addictive like wine
You embody my deepest, darkest desires
You are a dream and a nightmare combined
And yet here I am, succumbing to my desires

You leave me thirsty for more of you
You plague me day and night in my dreams
Whose every word become my life's creed
Whose very silhouette I cannot live without

I am a slave to your mischievous desires
The goddess that I kneel to each night
I am a plaything running on your fingers
Your quick game whenever you feel bored

The devil in red and white claims me as hers
I am but a casualty in her rampaging storm
A victim who is left addicted to her taste
The plaything of a cougar whom every man desires

I've always had my eyes on older women.
I don't know why but their charm appeals to me
They're like fine wine
The older the wine gets, the lovelier it tastes.

Still thinking of a collaboration project
Message me here if you're interested

David and Victoria look great,
they've got youth to spare.
They must have good genes.
And good surgerer.

Lisa Dec 6

My type of people are the ones with alcoholic tendencies and are quick to run away when there's sign of things gone awry.
Rotten fruit in a bowl where flies go to get high.
My kind are the ones that never call you by name in conversation and skip every crack on the pavement because their mothers are still alive unlike yours.
My kind are the heartless and pathetic with a cleaver up their ass and you can't change unclean.

I am a blade of hell.
Ruthless because chickens aren't tough enough to cross the street.
To get to the other side you must stride with a puffed-up chest and nothing to lose. I'm sure you've heard this sermon in others before.
Perhaps in the filth that gathers around the sweat pockets of the homeless man in the subway. The settled dust on the shelves of your agoraphobic neighbors that collects porcelain doll heads and doesn't trust that van with the tinted windows.
The best criminal is the one that sweats while holding the knife to your chest.
Boy! does perspiration smell like the gross gasoline being expunged from a school bus. It's so vivid I can taste it when I lay down thinking about it at night and I think about it often.
My family are sole believers in justice where justice is deserved.
"God is always watching, Belly. Even when you're rolling that cheap marijuana behind the shed- don't think i don't notice." My mother would echo from her rocking chair. If he does then he's one sadistic deity if he sat and watched without batting an eye when the young delinquent that stole my money on an old bicycle ended up dead by the main sewers downtown with a shotgun wound between the eyes. Now this is not uncommon especially in the gritty parts where petty felons and gangsters hang out but it was strange altogether seeing the fucked up way justice is never served the way you want it.
I can be incredibly inappropriate most of the time and as the years go by it seems things have a habit of being inexplicably crude.  Things always go about upside down.
The friends one gathers like twigs for a fire end up burning you and leaving you as ash for the wind to swallow.
There is no pretty way to put it and you shouldn't want it in in the scent vanilla.
All the lovers that wronged you end up in miserable circumstances but what about the ones that you've wronged?
It's a circus of whose pain lingers onto the next passerby that happens to sit next to you on the bus ride home and the cycle continues. Onto innocent strangers.
They become accomplices in a misguided wrongdoing that blossomed in your teenage years but humans are not wired in the way elephants are wired. Sure, they'll never forget the damage but they'll persevere because there are other more important things to worry about. Like lions and the unmentionables that prowl at night.
You become an unmentionable for the sake of feeling fearless in towns that so often want to haunt you.
It's not houses anymore, it's entire neighborhood names that you can't visit without thinking you're going to die on the pavement while those in their houses lock the doors and inhale lemon scented surface cleaners while the ambulance shows up.
Those damn neighborhoods and the rooms that you've been in that rattle your skeleton for all the times you should have said no.
For all the times you should have called your mother instead of searching for someone to call Father.
For all the times you should have gotten fetal position on the cold tiles and feigned death and maybe they would have left you alone. Maybe you wouldn't feel like a severe kitchen knife wound. Maybe others wouldn't have to get hurt all the time and you could just be that young gun that always wanted to be fired but never at anything with a pulse.
My type of people are the ones that bask in the sunlight and don't feel guilty about it. My type of people are the ones that go to grocery stores and don't scream in the produce isle but instead hold a hand picking out cereal.
My type of people are the ones that feel okay.

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