I felt guilty kisses one by one. Continues thrill, **** at dusk. Hands found corners that shouldn't be found. But deep feelings made it appealing. The tipping point came around. My eyes drowned. Sleep, a temporary fixer that fixed nothing at all. Because when dawn came around, I felt empty and alone. Even though my body was well known by two souls.
Stand tall with a little support. look down and watch how you transport. They let you move fourth, and make life look prettier than possible. They cause you pain, and cause you to be vein. The shoe may fit your foot, but it can still make you look like a fool. If you believe that the look is worth more than your comfort, emotions and yourself, then I'm sorry to say you may be a relationship *****.
I have no where to go when I'm lonely and sad. Even my mind has no escape. Go to your "happy place". I imagine; big beautiful beaches, boats at the bay, star skies in the dessert, waterfalls and rainbows and the sun setting then rising. No, no, no! They are imaginations, they don't work. I get nothing out of this so called "happy place". They don't make me happy and from now on I want it all to be real. No imagining, my happy place should be as real as slavery, homophobia, climate change and racism.
We are told to be different. While we despise different. This is what I call hypocritical.
Different has big round curves or slim bone waists. Different has curly black beautiful hair or nice strawberry red locks. Different is expressing everything or nothing at all. We don't decide our different but we can learn to love it.
We makeup by caring kisses. They never lead anywhere and they are not meant to be. We used our time without care, I cried like it was spilt milk. Our kisses slowly lead to a break followed by more careless kisses. What was supposed to fix the broken broke it more without thinking twice. And we lived happily ever after.
I don't want to sound silly, but these poems are therapy. Silly words written down seems better than a human made of flesh and blood. I don't want to talk it out and I don't want to explain why. But these poems are better than any therapist you can buy.
Crazy chaos going on in my mind, I promise one day I will leave it behind.
Slimy, sticky sea monster. I would never use those harmful words against you. I love you too much to do so. But you live underwater, so you don't hear me say that. You start listening to others and you expelled me from your waters. I beg for you to pop your head up use you pearl eyes, look into mine. All you see is a dessert, even though tears are dripping down, down, down, my gown. I dressed up just for you. Now please let me back into the water, for I am you daughter.
I hop on and off, just like my mood does. It's quite empty in sound, only the hissing of the wheels is present in my ears. I observe the flash of lights count them one by one. Making me realise that's not all I count. Life has been traced from number to number. But it's the countdown for a vacation, paradise, freedom with no walls. I wish the count would end because, my dear friend, my wish is to die even if I don't know why.
I hate the empty feeling I sometimes get when I hear your voice. I see you waiting for an answer that I don't want to give. I get angry at myself and then at you. How could you let me leave without saying goodbye. How could you let yourself let me be in this mood. Why won't you insist on me staying and talking to you. Will you please tell me to stop and love you. I need you to tell me what to do for otherwise I'm just going to be cruel. I don't want you to act like it doesn't bother you. For I see it does and I know it's because it's not normal to be like this. So hopeless, angry and empty
Hate has the same eyes as yours, brown and tender. They carry the same look as if I was everything wrong with the world. Hate has the same movement as you, slow and swinging from side to side. Careless and judged by everyone who lays eyes on you. Hate feels the same as you, burning feeling of anger but with passion and care deep beneath the skin. Hate has the same hair as you, short and greasy, which sticks to my hands as I brush through the brown locks. Hate looks like you, but I don't mind it. Because I admit I love looking at you.
Undone sentences that die between lips. Soft skinned cherry lips bitten by teeth. Searching for sweet and sour company. Pleased by pain and haunted by time. Ticking clock in the night recalling sunshine landing on hips of gold. Melting beauty upon the sheets. Mirror, mirror on the wall where's the perfect lips of them all?
Smoke from your mouth form captivating clouds accompanied by light sentenced love promises. Gruesome coughs of heart broken bones. I wish it could be you and me sitting in a tree. Perhaps a peach branch can hold us up. And you can take a bite of my fresh fruit that I kept just for you.
I'm tired. Not that tired which makes you stay in bed. But the one that makes you wish you did. I think about life and the value it has. It can be worth more than diamonds and gold. Or it can be worth less than coal. I chose the second option because I'm tired. But if I rest my life, put it on hold and let myself breath, I could make life more valuable. Yet, I wish I was in bed and sometimes I'm guilty of wishing I was dead.
I shake my head and think. Is it right? Do I really not want to? Or am I just overreacting. I should want it to be right now. Otherwise when? I bite my lips making the wrong signal. Did I ask for it? I ask myself. No I think without believing. The classic thought of blaming myself. But I should not. Should I? I wonder some more, giving it more time. I feel pulling and I feel myself say no. But nothing comes out my wet lips. And I just shake my head hoping it will come across as a no. But it took to long and he took it wrong.
On four wheels and on my knees. Warm colorful tones and cracking bones. Up in the sky and down to ****. A trip I take everyday, to feel well. Foggy windows, foggy minds creating beautiful times. Pulling the string that makes me do things which would make an angle loose her wings. She would forget to fly and then peacefully die.
Im split between two, good and evil. Sitting one each shoulder kissing my neck. Caressing my brain one more than the other. But I will not let the devil win, I'll hold on to the good. Until happiness decides I no longer deserve to be happy.
I paint over the true colors that they show me. But they blend and I no longer know what color it is. It's a mix and that is how mixed signals are created. They are not made by them. They are made by you.
I'm showing him new ways to *****. Try to forget the past lovers, especially the last. I let him bite and chew on my recipe for the stew. Let the precious events glide while I sat and lied. But I wouldn't call them lovers, as they made me numb. They would sit and stare with another affair. They wouldn't want to do the things he asks me to.
Your fingertips planted trees on me. You left a forrest full of life. But with no rain there was no healthy leafs. So the forrest crumbled. And I cut the tress down for I did not wish to have a memory of you on my body. Yet, roots of the forrest remained deep beneath my skin. And I will now forever, if I wish or not, have memories of your fingerprints.
Slam the door upon my face. Don't look, think or act. Just stand behind the door silent, and anxious. Wait for me to make a move. Let me do what you should have done. Thats the easiest way I can think of you to live a life where the sun doesn't rotate. Because sometimes doing nothing is easier than doing everything. And trust me I will do everything for you.
Bleach my heart, my eyes and my mouth. Strangle love out of me till I scream and shout. Let my skin turn red, purple and blue. Feed me till I drop dead with an apple from Peru. Scream at me, scream! Let there be steam coming out of your ears to awaken my fears. Hold me tight and whisper till your lips gets blisters. Beat me ****** roar loud. Show me that your proud of the hot heavy tears that stream down my face. They are just for you and don't bring me a tissue.
Get a job, a husband or wife. Make yourself comfortable in your own life. So they tell me or would have told me if they were still alive. But they are dying slowly by the magic pills. They are no longer there to protect and care. I no longer have devils that whisper and scream. They can do both but now they are doing non. And I can see myself having fun, not caring or staring into nothingness. Yet it leaves me in mourning to know they are about to die. Maybe if I hold on a little longer I won't be lonely and then find myself a job, husband or wife.
I question wether heaven has gates and if the Devil is their master. If his fingertips has the power to leave me out of paradise. If he will turn me down for what my mind has made me do. Is there a reason they tell me to **** you Was there a reason for this madness, this chaos in my head. I think there is but will the Devil let me in?
Hands leaving passionate marks for a crying nun that has sinned her life away. Let her pray instead of running away. Let her cry warm wasteful tears. ***** fingernails explore the filthy nuns surface. Tracing bruises and spreading pain from the spanking received for being too needy. Forming nuances of red on the prime target. Sweet syrup fingers dripping down the arms of a freshly dead man. Defeat for the nun who now is done.
Eyes wide as space staring into another face. Believe me when I say I've never felt another way of entertaining eternity. For I have come to a conclusion I no longer believe in free fun. You buy it in small doses chew it up and swallow. Come on jump down from you throne and buy another gemstone.
I'll cry you a river, so I can bath in salty, bright and perfect pain. Let me shiver from the words you tell me. Let me drown in emotional aching. Let me summon tenderness in my bones. Make me cry I said, and so the monster did. Breathing like a beast so much that only a priest would be able to save a nun like me. For I go to church and cry for my God every Sunday to Monday. What God didn't know was that crying means more than sadness to me. It means pleasure in ways that are rotten and spoiled. It means the Devils hands touch me without God's permission. Oh God, secrets are fun and thrills run up and down so much that I end with a crown. And I don't need your approval for I've done it already and I dare do it again and again and again. Till I'll make you cry and you'll be just like me. Even if you don't agree.
I won't call it a disease, I'll call it this This instead. Tired of sitting in meetings about meetings. Tired of swallowing pills stacking up bills. This is what I live with and "it must be so hard" but I'm strong. A strong woman searching to be weak. Using various techniques to dodge a flaming hot tear. Because I cannot bear watching myself crumble at the expensive of evil emotions. So I unconsciously chose This instead of emotion.
Stone-like, steel eyes biting down the sweet, polished apple. Silky smooth skin slithering on the thoughts of the tempted. Desire of the improper, cause conflicts to the conflicted. Poison awaits, with 2000 different faits.
"Moving is like dying" Empty pasts haunt the reborn body. Minds collapse and form new beautiful butterflies. The more moving, the more broken wings. The butterflies stop flying and start crying. The hottest tears for all the years. The future becomes terrifying.
Glaring light and white bathtubs. Steam and high pitched melodies. Running water spreading warmth spreading legs. Silky cloths for the freshly bathed human. Confusion and worried faces all washed away by lukewarm bathtub water.
What will your order be today? If I may. Will it be one of the plumb ones? Or perhaps a skinny fish? Do you want an English meal? Or a French delicacy? What about one wearing white? Or are you more into blue? Do you wish for one swimming free? Or one drying up with me? I can tell you this they all wish to be picked, taken home so they won't be alone.
You got me so drunk I forgot what a hangover was. Twisted lies, and the devils eyes. In between the happiness, is what I call hate. Unlike what you might think, it's what made me want you in the first place. I crave a drop of you and your face now and then when I'm not really thirsty. I search for mercy wrapping myself in the sky, going to bed, planning what I might do when you let me drink again the next time I see you.
Raw meat on your silver plate. Heavy fingers caressing my bare flesh. You cannot invite yourself if you aren't welcome. Then you used your sticky, heavy and disgusting thick fingers to caress some more. In my head broken people can only create broken things. So what if you created it you said while everyone in the cinema had melted hearts. But this is no love story more like horror. For I would not bow and you made me.