"antifreeze" poems
It's the first time we meet.
I can't get a read on that sweet summer smile, or the words that drip like thick robes of gold honey; soft-spoken and seemingly slow motion, a quite complicated question pours viscously from your lips.
You ask me, "What is your name?"
Now honestly, I considered honesty. Truthfully, I prefer anonymity, but it's considered rude to not share some glimpse of identity. Albeit reluctantly, I must decide: Do I introduce myself as "Chelsea"? Or as "A Window-Pane Made of Glass Too Thin"? Well honestly, honesty isn't always the best policy.
It's our first date -
Instead of worrying about which outfit I choose, I worry about the disclaimer I wear on my arms. I worry about the first time your gaze inevitably falls upon the self-inflicted displays of pain that dress my paper-thin skin. I worry, will you see a warning sign that reads "DANGER: Do not touch"? I wonder, will you listen?
Or will you choose to swallow me whole, a bitter pill with a list of flaws longer than the side effects of your favorite antidepressant. Do the benefits outweigh the risks, do you take a trial of me to see if I'll make you feel better or feel worse? Do you pour me down the drain when you find out I'm not good enough?
It's our first kiss -
A moment tainted by guilt that the sweet taste I leave behind on your lips is not saliva, but antifreeze. Drink me down and I'll poison you from the inside-out, and there will come a day that I'll be the taste you'd do anything to erase from your mouth.
It's our first fight -
And then our second, and our third...
The sand is slipping through our hourglass too fast, as we drag our blood-stained feet through a wasteland of eggshells and glass. All that remains is a crimson trail of mistakes, meandering back to the spotless place we started at.
It's the first time we meet, and
You ask me for my name. Silence.
Should I introduce myself as "Chelsea"? Or as "A Window-Pane Made of Glass Too Thin". If I'm being honest with myself, I go with the latter...and you'll walk away to avoid the mess that comes after.
Jul 8, 2017
Jul 8, 2017 at 2:49 AM UTC
I'm born
Airborne
Forlorn
In war torn
Discord
My ripcord
I pull for liberation
Alienation aviation
Away from a station
Of no relation
Where their elation
Lies in degeneration
The fright fair
Nightmare
In sight there
Is a right scare
But light flares
From an illuminated theater
I dive into art
To fill my meter
I consume
Darkened tomb
Screen in room
Is where I loom
Inspiration blooms
From a sense of doom
My separation reparation
That will lead to veneration
My artistic fervor
Drifted further
Drifter's murmurs
Lifted learners
But gifted murderers
Shifted girders
Of shame and honesty
To my grave of modesty
Where they prey upon me
This plagiarism
Layered schism
Cratered rhythm
Of great decisions
Now I make incisions
With repetition
And the definition
Of words stolen from me
They're all I can see
And I can't get free
Or just let it be
Consumption disruption
At this junction
I can't function
A plagiarist
****** mist
Grips my fist
Makes me wish
I don't exist
I must resist
Before I miss
My chance at bliss
They're ****** me
By aping me
Making me
Shaking trees
Of bumblebees
With rumble pleas
On humble knees
Drinking antifreeze
Nobody cares
What's fair
They bear
And share
Blank stares
Up stairs
Of artistic compromise
Integrity lost in lies
They're not that wise
I hypothesize
My baby
Caught rabies
From Hades
Now ladies
Flock to a thief
Giving me grief
Beyond belief
In my coral reef
Sword in sheath
I drown discreet
Aug 28, 2018
Aug 28, 2018 at 2:29 PM UTC
Oh son of beginners mistake
Son of pure unclean intention
Son of mothers midnight run to bar
Son of broken swan wing
Son of brokenness
Son of lack of sunlight
Son of ***** laundry
Boy of unknowing
Boy of drinking antifreeze
Boy of missing eyed crows
Boy of missing childhood
Boy of sorrow
Boy of stitches
Boy of afraid of manhood
Boy of afraid
Young God of suicide attempts
God of lying to himself that he ever wanted to die
God of lying to himself
God of lying
God of unholiness
God of shotgun misfire
God of unkempt basements
God of homeless dogs
God of death and life all at the same time
You ain't no God. You are a poser with wings and a capital letter to begin your wretched name.
You won't be happy when you die, you are split between so many titles and you do not know which to choose. You are no one. No one. You are absolutely no one.
(Say, do you know the route to the nearest bar? I'm going to drink myself open, flesh off bone, apathetic skeleton, closest thing to happy. I'm going to drink myself away from you, this world, myself.)
Aug 23, 2016
Aug 23, 2016 at 1:41 AM UTC
*He'd always leave at 2:53 P.M.
Swoosh fwoump.
It was only a matter of time,
Tick-tick-tick-tick-tick-ti*
*I wanted to be free.*
He'd strap me to a chair and whisper,
sweet stories that you'd coo to a child,
with sour breath running down my neck,
his greasy forehead pressed against my tear-stricken cheeks;
it'd deteriorate and culture in my ears.
*His scent engulfed my mind,
my body, my soul...*
He made a grave mistake,
dressing me in grimy socks,
making me dance skin-to-skin,
forcing me to kiss him, call him.
*Oh no, you see,
he should have known.*
*I betrayed his trust, I'd pay the price,
"Isn't that right, Leila?"*
That's not my name.
*"Now Leila, darling, you're going to be a good girl,
for Daddy, aren't you?"*
That's not my name.
*"Leila, sweetheart, I can trust you, can't I?
Hmm? This will be our little secret,"*
That's not my name.
*"Aw, don't tell me, dear, beautiful Leila,
you aren't scared, are you?"*
That's not my name.
I knew him well,
after a few months,
and his smell was musty,
only when I let it be.
*He always liked sweets,
like me.*
He was disgusting,
and my wrists ran red with incisions;
he'd lick them clean.
*He'd always leave at 2:53.*
*"Oh Leila, sweetheart, I expect dinner when I get back,
won't you be a good girl,
and do as Daddy taught you?"*
That's not my name.
So I did.
This kitchen was charming,
as much as his worn dining ware,
lined with cracked roses painted by Chinese overseas,
wondering when they would be used.
This was the first time I'd seen him genuinely smile,
*"You look especially beautiful, tonight, Leila,
perhaps it's the sparkle in your eye,"*
That's not my name.
He took a sip.
His glossy eyes hovered above his glass,
and his gaze drifted over to me,
in my grimy socks and brown-stained apron,
my long, dark hair drapped over my shoulders.
**Another glass,
another glass,
another glass,
glass,
sugary sweet,
sweet,
down his lips,
lips,
lips,
teeth,
throat,
liver.
He liked sweets,
sweets,
sweets,
dripping, sipping,
sweet,
sugary sweet, nectar,
cool, smooth,
antifreeze.
He'd always leave at 2:53.**
*Silence.
Tick-tick-tick-tick-tick-tick-ti-*
**2:53 P.M.
Silence at 2:00-
2:00
2:00**
*I'd heard him cry,
"Leila, Leila, Leila,"*
That's not my name.
**He'd always leave at 2:53,
2:00,
silence.
He would never leave at 2:53,
2:53 P.M.**
I left at 2:53. Silence.
Apr 16, 2016
Apr 16, 2016 at 8:28 PM UTC
You were my cross eyed Mary
I was over on the end
We used to meet clandestinely
Anywhere we can
You fingers froze antifreeze
Always a cold shock to me
My hot hand poured
Out in ecstacy
You Said ,"Set my liberty free"
Your smoke swirled around your aura
You blew into the breeze
I blew a shotgun into you
You coughed and then you sneezed
You were my cross eyed Mary
"But Mary's not my name"
As you slid in frozen fingers
I heard you drop your ring
references :
"Cross Eyed Mary" is a song by Jethro Tull from their legendary Aqualung record/cd
Ecstacy is a drug
Shotgun is to reverse a joint and inhale and then exhale blowing the smoke into someone's else's lungs
sneeze is anything snorted up one's nose
ring is a form of birth control where a plastic ring is inserted over the cervex
Feb 2, 2015
Feb 2, 2015 at 9:15 PM UTC
“Love is short, forgetting is so long.” –Pablo Neruda
close your eyes, keep them closed.
take an ice pick
and blind yourself to any reminders
of his flyaway hair or wrinkled jeans.
pour antifreeze on the memory
of the way he used to stroke your arm
before the kiss, and the cauliflower soup
he brought over when your dog was hit by a car,
and your eyes were swollen shut from crying, and
you wouldn’t get out of bed.
Keep a bottle of ***** nearby
to numb the area as you carve yourself
into a shape he hasn’t seen, skin
he hasn’t touched.
don’t breathe
until you’ve lost enough brain cells
to feel something again.
when you no longer see him in the face
of the cashier at the supermarket, when
you no longer recognize your reflection
in the tinted windows of an all-too-familiar white
sedan, you’ll know that you’ve finally done something
right.
Sep 12, 2016
Sep 12, 2016 at 6:19 PM UTC
I am here today, but i may not be tomorrow - a hitchhiker i picked up somewhere between Bennington and Marlboro Vermont
The library at Packer's Corners had
the smell of damp and old
as a lush august climbed the faded
wide wooden planks outside
and we schemed our
nightly dinner theatre performances.
The gang congregated disorderly
across the rocky garden before the (stage) barn,
plates and carafes of wine, rapt in the play.
Marti, a painter with knobby hands, salt and pepper hair,
the face of a sage and a speech impediment;
Veranda must have been a muse with her sharp
bohemian features and sleek black bob,
smelling of rosemary and musky Parisian perfume;
Oona, so young and stormy crashed about
those mountains in moods as protean
as Vermont weather and jeans
that were more holes than fabric;
Cootie, in his black goatee and the scent of
cooking oils under his mottled and freckled skin
would squint through the bugs and heat wave haze
to Marco on the pitcher's mound
scuffing his mortorcycle boots into the
sandy tan soil riddled with stones and
laughing with the reckless abandon that
waters the eyes with antifreeze for the soul
Oct 8, 2013
Oct 8, 2013 at 12:29 AM UTC
the meeting point between antifreeze and rot
undiscovered worlds in a stupid sheet of ice
i rake my leaves and ***** a flurry
from that strange backed-up faucet, my mouth.
Nov 21, 2019
Nov 21, 2019 at 5:58 PM UTC
This is super secret loving
Like when my foot accidentally touches yours over coffee
I ask if you want to play footsies
And then move my foot away to make sure
The whole thing isn’t weird
And you tell me I don’t have to move my foot
So I then rub my leg against yours
Like a one legged cricket who’s sure
He’s found the set that plays his song
Only your face turns red
And the song doesn’t play
I look to my super secret decoder
Mood ring that tells me what you’re feeling
Only if I can touch you long enough for it to change colors
So I hold your hand like a zipper
And you shake mine away like a stove linger
I half expect you to **** your finger like a cigarette burn
The ring looks like antifreeze
Caught in the glare of sunlight
With no definite answer
And I don’t know what to think
This is super secret heartbreak
As I apologize
Even though I was being myself
Like a man who never knew a mirror
Like a boy
Who wanted to say something like
You smell really good
I know I should have learned
To keep my hands
And feet to myself by now
But this is super secret loving
And the storm swirling in my super secret decoder mood ring
Is fading to green like envy
And now blue
Super secretly
I say
Let’s try this again
As you stand up to leave
After reading a text message
About how your dog died
Super secretly
I say
stay
Sep 22, 2011
Sep 22, 2011 at 5:24 AM UTC
I have this antifreeze in my veins
I have icicles wrapping around my kidneys
and you thought you were the only one with a disease
I’m ******* the air out of your lungs
and nothing has ever tasted so sweet on my tongue
and I’m just trying to breathe you in
and sometimes I’m scared I will eat your skin
sometimes I think I'll cut my eyes on the glass in your smile
they say Betelgeuse will explode someday
and yet it is the brightest star in the sky
Mar 6, 2014
Mar 6, 2014 at 8:31 PM UTC
I understand (to the best of an 18 year old's respectively limited understanding) how the heart works, and I know how manipulation works. I'm damaged..I don't think I know what true love might be like, but I know what it feels like to receive it. I know what soulful intimacy is like. I know what it's like to trust someone with your life, but I only know that because I didn't have a choice. I know what it is to lay my mind and body down in submission in the lap of a mad man, and bow to whatever he wants, because you know it's not him, but the "other guy" talking. I know what it's like to think you can save someone if you sacrifice yourself. I know what I thought was love.
I also know what it is to grow up and leave. I know what it is to turn around and bite the hand that fed me poison. I know what it's like to rip out and desecrate the heart of the one who thought he owned mine. I know what it is to be looked at like prey. I know what it is to feel the presence of hot breath on my neck, and have cold chills run down my body and have my stomach turn; legs twitch in anticipation of frantic flight. I know what it is to uproot my future-- my life, wrap my new tender roots in rough burlap, cram them into a small plastic bin, and run.
I know not what it is to stop seeing his truck around every corner. I know not what it is to stop looking over my shoulder. I know not what it is to not be in fear in my own stomping grounds. I know not what it is to not think every set of dim headlights on the dark, unpopulated roads riding too close behind me are him. I know not what it is to breathe easy. I know running away once is not enough.
I know
I know
I know
I know
I know
I knew what I thought was love.
I knew what I made were excuses for inexcusable actions.
I knew I was wrong
I knew he was wrong
I knew
I knEW
I KNEW
I knew he was poison..I didn't want to believe it..he was antifreeze..he was so sweet..honey and molasses and syrup and sap I was STUCK TO HIM LIKE A FLY ON FLYPAPER OH HOW I REGRET EVER SEEING HIS FACE OH GOD, and I when I left, part of me ripped away from my bones, and I'm bleeding out..
No. NO NO NO NO N--
He was a long, slow inhale of mustard gas; burning my lungs and cutting my breath short and sweet. Choking me. Choking me. Choking me.
I know what I thought was love.
Jan 24, 2015
Jan 24, 2015 at 5:21 PM UTC
you give me butterflies
butterflies made of antifreeze
butterflies made of fish hooks
i don't like you
i don't like you
i need to throw up
i think i love you
but i really just don't like you
because you twist my arm
with heavy wrenches
but never break the skin
and i have
a thing for blood
i guess
'cause
i'm too ******* lazy to
throw myself off a bridge
in front of a train
on fire with smoke signal
"fuck you"s trailing behind me
but who cares
who cares, really?
love is all fish hooks
in the eyes of the devil so
i'll save
the last waltz in hell
for you, honey.
Aug 17, 2013
Aug 17, 2013 at 10:32 PM UTC
Almost blue
like some stained-glass Christ
that never felt the saving sun burn
his caulked stigmata soft like
cinnamon toothpaste in the creek
bed.
Were his robes Robin's Egg, or Giotto
like the clergy wanted?
And when their fake pearl bracelets
rattled, fishing out cheap change
from brass-clasp purses,
did Christ stoop to gather
the sixty-something-year-old pennies
from in-between the arm rests
while they sifted through
the silver?
Almost blue
like a southern / western overcast
that never calls New York in advance
to schedule time to sweep up
the sky, standing on cold water flats.
Buys a Southwestern ticket straight thru,
walks past Madison marketing
her ***** underwear to anyone—everyone—,
buzzes in, third floor, apartment B-6,
but the door's locked, and the canary
curtains dance out the window like a house
fire.
Almost blue
like the Dawn dish soap
glass I neglect to rinse well.
But more like a lazy oil stream in a gas station
parking lot beneath the perforated banners
yakking in the still-cold March midday
about $12 sheet pizzas or unlimited
free coffee for $1.19 a refill.
Money better spent on a pack of Marlboro
Blues saxophone squeal by the plastic-
wrapped firewood by the almost-
blue wiper fluid and the antifreeze peaches.
Feb 11, 2015
Feb 11, 2015 at 2:15 AM UTC
have you ever felt
empty
have you ever felt
shattered
have you ever felt
wrong
9 days ago
I broke
9 days ago I decided that I wasn't worth it
I was shattered and empty and wrong
I woke up that day
I faked it so well
Laughed at work
Dressed up for a wedding
Then I sat in my hollow car
My thoughts echoing from window to window
I just needed to escape
my head
my car
my life
I couldn't fake it anymore
Antifreeze and sleeping pills
then it gets blurry
Hospital for a week
I don't want to say I attempted
because I failed
I am trying to be grateful for this second chance.
Waking up everyday
choosing to live
choosing to fight
Attempting was the most selfish
thing I have ever done
It wasn't for attention
I wanted to slip away
disappear
escape
fade
I am getting better
I am finding reasons to live
realizing that I am not nothing
I think life is worth it
It's going to get better
Aug 10, 2016
Aug 10, 2016 at 1:16 AM UTC
The President closed the post in Vologda.
There's one phone in the whole city.
On the big doors of the clinic
Boards are stuck in the fifties.
From the open windows of the hotel
The birthday girl screams.
In the shops near the station
Run by the Turks with the Vietnamese.
The traffic light hasn't worked for a while.
On him gloves clap.
Passing horse and cart.
The machine gun is under the birch.
Whether festive, or everyday,
I made my way between them.
Antifreeze, tangerine
The lantern was green and crimson.
Mar 25, 2019
Mar 25, 2019 at 9:42 PM UTC
This is not a poem of woe
I'm in the zone... the writers flow
Where I'll stop I just don't know
I can't have a cup o joe
It doesn't seem to want to slow
I'm up all night and can't let go!
Oh! Dear God. .. I ask you. PLEASE!
I'm so tired my brain might seize!
I just need a moment's peace
Somewhere where my mind is freed
My motor starts to choke and wheeze
I need some help... get antifreeze
Rid me of this poeteeze...
... I just want my vitamin Z's!!!
Oct 4, 2014
Oct 4, 2014 at 5:05 PM UTC
True love is a broken cane, duct-taped
a Barbie, head twisted back
It is silence in a crowd
clothes snagged on branches
a blindfolded walk in rush hour
the sweet taste of antifreeze
Love is the worst poetry
Love is nothing, everything
probably the only thing
Oct 29, 2014
Oct 29, 2014 at 6:17 PM UTC
today my best friend,
who lives 2,000 miles
away (on the other side
of the country to be exact)
messaged me at 2 am
telling me that she was
really really sad and that
no one was up. later when i
woke up i wrote back asking
what was wrong
she told me she drank antifreeze
and that she messaged her old friend
who ****** her over last year
and that all he did was tell her to
call an ambulance and then blocked her
and wrote a post about how he couldn't
sleep, when the girl who used to love him
was intoxicated and vomiting and sad and
dying. and she just kept laughing, like it was
the funniest thing she'd ever heard
and i couldn't stop telling her "i'm sorry"
i'm sorry i didn't have my phone
i'm sorry i was asleep
i'm sorry you live so far
i'm sorry you're unhappy
i'm sorry i can't do anything
i'm sorry i'm being selfish
i'm sorry i'm making you live
when it's the last thing you want
to do.
and she just kept telling me
it's okay, it's okay, it's okay
i'm okay, it's fine, i'll be good
and i didn't have the heart to
tell her that i knew she was
lying.
i'm sorry i love you too much to let you go.
Feb 5, 2014
Feb 5, 2014 at 1:15 PM UTC
i like the word epicenter
heard it one night all cranked out trying
to get drunk the juice like water
my nose sweating
amped like hell
wanting to disassemble the VW
bug
find what that sound was,
took apart the carburetor first,
sniffed and stood for half a second said, nah,
not the prob
looked into the glovebox
was sure the bug was in there,
a few screws later
the dashboard was on the porch
and still I had no idea what
that ******* sound was
walked in quick circles
thinking , almost,
it had to be the radiator
or a fanbelt or the tires!
Yes !
I took them all off, carefully snooted around their
hoses the perimeter of the fanbelts circumference
the radiators fins
the pressure
got to me of the tires was perfect,
had to be the ******
I sniffed down my throat went that
chemical taste like antifreeze
I took her out
the transmission
inspected her tip to toe
the servo thing the
valve body
went full bore into the
torque converter
it torqued
converted
now I was getting worried
it was the mirror was loose of course
I took her off
it was coated with a white powder
did a line straight to
AutoZone
for a mirror cleaning
fluid , they looked at me funny.
Feb 3, 2017
Feb 3, 2017 at 10:19 PM UTC
Just got back from a little trip
wasn't planned, down the mississip
started out from just one sip
of a drink I can't remember
went on down to the land of cotton
woke up really feeling rotten
I can't remember the drink i'd gotten
but, I needed one again
head was fuzzy, vision blurred
one more down, and i'd be cured
instead, now my speech is slurred
but, damn...that drink was smooth
chose to go down to the river
my brain not working, nor my liver
my eyes were closed down to a sliver
I had to find that drink
I saw a re-enactment of a battle
I didn't listen to the prattle
the armies were just led like cattle
to their deaths without a chance
I knew that I saw lots more men
than were actually there right then
my vision saw five score times ten
while there was only twenty two
I relaxed and I loved the feeling
this drink had set my mind a reeling
I feel I could dance on the ceiling
all of this from just one drink
no matter, I swore I'd behave
no comments made about a slave
or I'd be in a shallow grave
and would never drink again
I searched around for near a week
my throat was closed, I could not speak
I hadn't eaten and was weak
but, **** I needed more
i'm sure it had some blue cacao
I need to find out, find out now
i'm not sure when, but I know how
I'll go back to the start
I flew on home and went to where
i'd had the drink on someone's dare
another one of the dog's hair
and i'd start it all again
they told me that the drink i'd drunk
was just some automotive gunk
they moved it cause it smelled like skunk
and I chose to drink it down
some oil and some antifreeze
was the drink that brought me to my knees
they thought i'd die, or at least sieze
but, I guess I proved them wrong
so next time when I have a drink
I think i'll take some time to think
will I notice if it has a stink
before I choose to drink the brew
before I go some sage advice
don't be like me, at least think twice
if you want a trip with added spice
order up one drink from me.
May 2, 2014
May 2, 2014 at 12:09 AM UTC
i am
legally blind
blind like the blindness of love
when you're driving in the summer,
windows down,
breathlessly scream-singing
the warm air almost stinging
and him
sitting next to you
his smile so bright it
blinds you to reality
and he puts his hand on your thigh
and you don't think about
the germs
or any logistics
you're just
thinking about him
and what you could be
and you don't want the summer to end
but you always remember
that it always
has to end
and you're blind in that car
unable to see the future
the end
anything but him
and the road
racing towards you and then
flying away
and the trees
chasing your car
without slowing
or stopping
and you're blind about the past
ignoring everything telling you
this won't work out either
because it's gone
puffing out the exhaust pipe
draining like the antifreeze leak
you've never bothered to fix
i am legally blind
i can't always see everything
and i realize that
but
when i'm with him
i can see everything
so clearly
i forget to remember
i can't even
see
Jan 30, 2018
Jan 30, 2018 at 2:02 PM UTC
She never really thought she would do it.
She never really thought she would be sitting here with a bottle of antifreeze in one hand and sleeping pills in the other.
Shaking
Debating
Panicking
She got to this point
Destroying herself
Suffering in silence
Hiding her mind
Hiding the cuts on her arms
She feels so selfish but she can't care
She has always destroyed herself
But now shes destroying others too
She hates herself
Anxiety
Note
Death
Tells people
Don't worry worry don't don't worry okay don't I'm fine fine fine okay I'm good
If this doesn't work
Life
Disappoint
Hell
****
But if it does
Done
Disappear
Alone
Empty
She doesn't know what is going to happen
She has now been sitting here for 2 hours
On this mountain
All alone
Phone off
Her mind is killing her
Chug
Gulp
Water
It's done
Now she just has to wait 3 hours
Anxiety attack attack anxiety who will find me it's going to hurt
Acute kidney failure
How she's dying.
She is crying
Crying
Vibrating
Questioning
Turns on phone
Phone on
Call someone
Someone anyone anyone
She wants to die
But her family will hate her
Her family will be heartbroken
10 texts
4 missed calls
Wait crying bawling
Her asking
Why can't I just disappear?
Why can't I slip away with no one knowing?
Why do I exist?
Why do I hurt everyone?
I wasn't thinking think
I was freaking freak
Call
Someone
Now
No
No
No
No.
She whispers to herself
"I just can't do it anymore"
Wipes away a tear
Reclines her seat in her car
And falls
Asleep.
Jul 27, 2016
Jul 27, 2016 at 12:36 PM UTC
the bartender poured
a double of something
"drink this," she said
"just don't smell it,
and definitely don't sip it"
her light eyes looked at me
and for a moment reminded me
of what I wanted to forget
I downed the shots but
they never made me feel better
I briefly contemplated my options
a one-way ticket to Manchester
or drinking on-sale antifreeze
my silver jacket buttons
holding cold in their heart
I took a drag from a cigarette
dangled it between my fingers
"I don't even smoke", I laughed
my words hung in the air
like a foreign object out of reach
and it smelled like you
watching ashes and smoke
getting lost in the crisp air
Jan 23, 2019
Jan 23, 2019 at 10:42 AM UTC
I miss you
I miss you like hell
My chest aches in physical pain
The sadness
Its fiery cold grip
It been two year
Two freaking years since I had a taste of your lips
Sweet like antifreeze
I'm trying to remember what made you so special
How I ended up loving you with ever beat of my heart
I said goodbye to you
I regret not holding on harder
You were poison
But you were full of exitment
My figures brushing your skin was enough to send sparks flying
I have some one now some one I love
Someone who is my whole world.
So why do I crave you
Why does it still hurt
Dear John please tell me
Dec 8, 2016
Dec 8, 2016 at 2:08 AM UTC
i dreamt i was shot in the throat by a man who loved me.
he cradled me gently, nestled beneath his quilted wings
in the dim lampshade light of a Scottish hotel room
when he put the steel in the notch above my clavicle.
i dreamt i was shot more frequently in my younger years
by an older man with jagged stubble and antifreeze eyes
and a chilly smile, but the man who loved me was sun-soaked.
my mother often tells me my throat turns red when i touch it.
Oct 7, 2016
Oct 7, 2016 at 10:18 PM UTC