"convulsing" poems
Faces morphing
Colors changing
Hearts convulsing
Ceilings spazzing
Hands shaking
Reality vanishing
-
What
is
anything?
May 1, 2013
May 1, 2013 at 10:08 AM UTC
Winter break my boyfriend and I Drive downtown.
He buys incense
lets me pick out my favorite smell.
Coconut.
We get in the car
he lights a stick and hands it to me.
The smoke flipping over in the air,
rounding like winged bats.
I breathe it in as he turns the car wheel.
Twist the scents
between my fingers,
watch as the air fills with
pipe cleaner smoke.
Wiggling,
Convulsing.
The next week my
Ex-boyfriend decides
he loves me again.
Pulls me over at a party,
beckons me to sit on the stairs.
He tells me he loves me
through drunk tongue
and I watch the wooden panels
begin to twist and curve,
tug at my tattered limbs
until I am sitting.
He pulls my arm towards him,
asks me to love him again,
asks me why I don’t.
I think of the incense
as he pulls me closer,
the delicate flips of smoke,
the moment only a smell can give you.
I breathe in and can taste the coconut,
he pulls me into him,
the coconut smell,
our two bodies,
his lips singing to kiss mine,
but I think of the coconut.
Breathe in,
twist my fingers,
leave.
©DelaneyMiller
Mar 5, 2014
Mar 5, 2014 at 10:18 PM UTC
Can't seem to stop it.
Keeps Flowing
This gushing salt water,
these quick uneven breaths I take
like I am drowning and I'm just trying to get enough oxygen,
maybe if I could stop the shaking,
maybe if I had a nice clear nose,
I could have laughed.
But I didn't.
Can't seem to stop it.
Keeps flowing.
I lay here on the concrete,
and I cannot even see straight,
let alone think straight.
Can't seem to stop it.
Keeps flowing.
I cannot conclude on whether
these are happy fantasies,
sad fragments of memories,
or a mixture of the two
that is making me feel this way.
Can't seem to stop it.
Keeps flowing.
The concrete that supports my convulsing body
is soaked.
Every time I try to stand,
I hear a loud crack,
and find myself
cuddling with the concrete once again.
Somehow it stopped.
No more gushing salt water.
I still lie here with my silent, piercing cries.
With my writhing body.
With my nose and its trickling stream.
I must not have any water left to let cascade onto the floor.
But for some reason,
I cannot disjoin myself from this cold floor.
Cannot stand up.
Once I finally build up the courage,
something shoots me down
again
and
again.
May 4, 2014
May 4, 2014 at 5:19 AM UTC
‘it’s possible to love her
even after all of this’
pills
needles into arms
spoons with burnt bottoms
passed out on the floor
drooling
skinny
starving
convulsing
i knew when you
lied about being over it
you were still skinny
i saw the needle marks
in the crook of your elbow
i saw the spoons
in the back of the drawer
i knew when you
made me go home so soon
your dealer was also your affair
your husband, your ex lover
your ex life, the opposite of living
you’re dying
you are dying and it is your fault
and i have run out of empathy
yes it is a disease
yes it starts as a choice
yes
you were depressed
but you still
you.
you said.
“who cares i want to die anyway
who cares i’ll ruin my body
my brain my
relationships
my life”
the hope has left your eyes
what’s it like to look up to a destroyer
what’s it like to love a broken woman
what’s it like to watch the progression
the regression
the walking backwards
one step forward but if you say
“just one more time”
it’s 5 steps back
10 steps back
20
30
the cut is deeper
the scars are darker
and you are gone.
what’s it like
to admire an addict
to be denied what you had
to be ignored
questions go unheard
“where have you been?
is everything okay?
i miss you.”
you see the inevitable
you hope it turns out different
you hope she is the one in a million
to miss a ruiner
to cry over the loss
to realize that
you distanced yourself for this exact reason
it is sickening
and you ask
“what if”
but “what if”
isn’t
“what is”
so you vow to never go down that path
so you pray you will break the cycle
so you progress
one step at a time.
Sep 5, 2018
Sep 5, 2018 at 9:07 PM UTC
Anxiety is not a feeling
As some of you may believe
You wouldn't be alone
Because plenty of people place it in the same category as
Sad, angry, elated
But one of these things is not like the others.
You see, anxiety is everything and nothing
All at the same time.
Anxiety is when no matter how spacious the room is
It seems to be getting smaller
Until you can see every intricate detail on every wall
Each corner touches your skin
And flattens your chest
As it rises and falls
Your breath is getting short until it stops
And then you become as functional as a corpse
After all, isn't that what you are?
Anxiety is
When your love stands over top of you
Watching your diaphragm as it rapidly pulsates
Wishing he could hold your hands as they sweat profusely
Wanting to breathe life into your convulsing body
But instead, he cannot even grasp the concept
Of why you are not alright.
Anxiety is
Accepting that your reality is not truly real at all
And deciding to realize that people wish they could fix you
But understanding that they don't know what to do
And you don't either.
Anxiety is
Learning from all the
You're blowing things out of proportion's
And
You put to much pressure on yourself's
When you begin to have these panic attacks
In which you feel like death in imminent
Over trivial things.
Anxiety is
Being with people who love you
And still getting bursts of loneliness
That ignite and explode inside your pores and underneath your skin
The blood flowing silently through your veins reminds you
That you are all alone.
Anxiety is
Relating each and every thing you do
To how you are not adequate
And how you must take charge of everything.
It influences the things that tell you
"Make yourself throw up"
And
"Skip that meal today."
Most times, you shoe it away with every particle of strength that you have
Other times, you are not so lucky.
Anxiety is hard to personify
But it is.
And as I muster up the courage in my soul
And the hope in my being
I realize that those things need not be stored
Because I use them every day as I fight this battle.
We are all waging wars
Mine just happens to be against
This thing that is so intricately woven into the chemistry of who I am.
It is a part of me
But it is not all of me
And my voice is louder than this sickness.
Nov 2, 2014
Nov 2, 2014 at 10:23 PM UTC
My brain is confused
My brain is confused
My brain is confused
My brain is a broken record
Repeating things until I comprehend
I lost my favorite sweater
Man that was my favorite sweater
God ****** that was my favorite sweater
This is where I tear apart my room
This is where I throw things
This is where I start to yell
This is where I cry
And cry
And cry
I am so ******* stupid its just a sweater
This is where I move on
My brain is confused
I look at life like it's a movie
I don't need to worry about school
My degree will just happen
Love will just happen
Life will just happen
Then I freak out when I remember my life isn't scripted
My brain is confused
I'm happy that I'm sad
But I'm angry
about being happy that I'm sad
I cry when I'm happy
I cry when I'm sad
I cry when I'm angry
My brain is confused
Nobody loves me
But I have a friend who will hold me till I can breathe again
And I have a friend who will talk me down from suicide... Again.
And I have a nephew who thinks I'm his world
And I have a father who gives me money for food
Even though I haven't asked for his care for over a year
But nobody loves me
My brain is confused
I don't remember last year
I don't remember last night
But I feel like I remember tomorrow
My brain is confused
My vision is blurry
But I can see my thoughts
With open eyes
They stand in front of me
They talk to me when I'm lonely
And I know they aren't real
But my brain is confused
I want to dance all night
Even when I'm stuck sitting up in bed
So my mind races
Batman
Cookies
Unicorns
I want my teddy bear
I want a hug
I want love
Now I'm sad
Now I'm scared
Now I can't breathe
I need to move
Its 2 am but I need to move
I need to move
I can't
I can't breathe
I can't breathe
I'm shaking
I'm trembling
I'm convulsing
But I'm moving
I'm moving
I can breathe
I can breathe
I sleep
I wake up at noon
Tired
Exhausted
Zombie
I don't want to move
I don't want to move
It 4 pm and I still haven't ate
Its getting dark and I still haven't moved
Now its 2 am and
My mind races and
I need to move
And I rinse
And repeat till I comprehend
But I won't comprehend
Because my brain is confused
My brain is confused
My brain is confused
Nov 10, 2014
Nov 10, 2014 at 1:21 AM UTC
There is a mineshaft
in my chest -- my heart
scales down the lines,
dropping into my stomach
graceful, a trapeze artist
descending from above
There is a tranquility
here, a blinded heaven
scarring across my eyelids
This ghostly skin
shakes me awake,
screaming ripping
like paper between
the sheets, I am stuck
with a glue I never spilled
The lotus unfolding
back and forth, a
sick dance twisting
in front of me,
the memories in my
head convulsing
like they're trying to
restart my heart,
I always knew
the end would be
brighter
than the beginning,
the candlelight
of my birth
painting pictures
I'll never get to see
because this heart,
it weighs me down
a death I never felt
roaring in my chest --
And this waterfall
will never
reach
the pond.
Mar 20, 2012
Mar 20, 2012 at 11:25 PM UTC
Did you feel that? There was a tremor through my skin,
A tingling sensation, coming from within.
The vibration of music, rippling with the bass;
I always thought the game, was all about the chase.
But now that I’m here, I feel the music chilling down my spine;
And all that I can think of, is how to make you mine.
But my eyes just can’t seem to focus, with this eruption of feeling,
They say that music is feeling, but it’s through the magic of hearing.
They might be right, but these needs have moved to physical healing.
See I’ve suddenly got tunnel vision, and it’s toward you that I’m steering.
My hands are getting clammy, but my vision is getting clear.
All I know right now is that I need you; I need you closer than near.
Closer than close, close to touch,
I need it right now, and I need it so much.
Did you feel that? It’s a tremor through my skin,
This tingling sensation, coming from within.
The vibration of music, now tickling my bass,
Sometimes the game we’re playing, doesn’t require the chase.
Just a touch, just a kiss, just a small simple stroke,
You’ve got my body convulsing, craving to be choked.
Breath’s getting shallow & emotions dripping thick,
These pills that I’ve taken, have given quite the kick.
See my frequency is rising, and I think yours is rising too,
So I’m watching your body, and I’m waiting for your cue.
Did you feel that? There was a tremor through my skin,
A tingling sensation, coming from within.
The vibrations of music, weaving in and out of the bass,
I now see the game that we’re playing, was never about the chase.
Aug 30, 2013
Aug 30, 2013 at 5:25 AM UTC
Near a town of history untold
Where everyone knows each name
Wooden behemoths - obliviously old
Each unique but each the same
It was meant to be a perfect day
Of tranquility through the trees
Instead, the sky is brood with grey
And the leafs flow as they please
Alone, in nature's splendor spilled
In a rainy wilderness, seldom seen
The birds and insects grow suddenly still
In a spread silence of the green
Like eyes embedded in your back
You sense the stare of something sour
The mood hurries to horrid black
As you quiver into a cower
In bending branches blended
Creeping in creases - camouflaged
Nature's imbalance to be amended
In the forest's full mirage
Witness a terror appearing
Frantically floating from afar
Emerged in echoes and vaguely veering
Black, bleak and bizarre
A malevolent, monstrous maw
Snarls of hunger, habit, and hate
A malodor of meat, reeking raw
A violently increasing heart rate
From frozen still to fearfully shaking
You are manically mesmerised
Your pupils promptly dilating
As you and the beast lock eyes
Your meaningless attempt to run
From a stride to a collapse
The beams above crown the sun
As the twigs around you snap
A soar of pain as you hit the ground
Chest cavity cracked open
As you faint, you hear the sound
Of a language never spoken.
Gutted and gargling gore
Eaten by nature's nightmare
Convulsing on a forest floor
Indifference chokes the air
It's just another perfect day
Of tranquility in the trees
The rain has stopped, the leafs still sway
With the cooling, comfortable breeze
Jan 31, 2018
Jan 31, 2018 at 3:46 PM UTC
(Scene 1)
Everything was all in slow motion after getting the call
Preparing myself for what it is I will witness next
Suddenly I find myself slowing my walk to a crawl.
I read it over and over through the graphic text
Precised detailed instructions with vivid accounts
Chapter nineteen was written in words that were perplexed.
In the protective cushion of my mind
A hidden secret that is buried deep starts to come alive
Am I awake or am I am asleep?
So confused for I'm beginning to think,
When I dream is it real and when I'm awake is it a dream?
I now feel something starting to trickle and secrete inside me
In the base of my skull I feel the pain.
A pine cone shaped gland is now convulsing and quivering
It causes me to dream at night and it always showed me the truth
It gave upon me the gift of prophesy
and all the answers to life's many mysteries
also in my transformation it turned me into a clever soothsayer.
Why me, why was I plagued?
I know it will happen for the last time in my life
A pleasant and peaceful journey it will take me
As soon as I give up the fight and race through the dark tunnel heading to the light.
An imaginary horror movie now begins to play
Given me visions of what I will see before the end of the day.
I know where I am going; I know what I am going to pick up
Yes I have a clue on just what I am getting into.
A dog whistles sound I hear the constant ringing in my ears
I always see the vapors around my face
Drifting like smoke in my peripheral sight I see them all dance.
I'm I hearing voices in my head or am I going insane?
In an instant blink I am catapulted into a cold room
Thirty nine bags deep in there frozen slumber they laid
No matching numbers with tags could be found
Through another set of double doors I enter
Exposing another four all sprawled out on silver tables.
My eyes now become fixed on the bizarre hollow sight
Of the one's with the harvest of their spongy matter.
Absorbing all the sights and smells
I now found what I came looking for
In a rush to see what’s in my grab bag
I race now to get him out the door
and to stop stepping on with my new shoes,
All the blood that is upon the floor.
To be continued.......
(SirCARSr. 10-24-12)
Nov 8, 2012
Nov 8, 2012 at 12:17 PM UTC
i thought that discovering who i was
would come as a relief.
i thought that (as foolish as it was) i would live
in a world of bright lights and love,
acceptance and home.
but no.
it came in the form of a trial of the heart, held by the conscience.
it came in the form of hatred and fear,
towards myself and others.
it came with a world of danger,
a world pitted against my being.
it came with guilt,
convulsing inside me, giving me bad posture.
it came in the blood running down my
arms, my legs
it came with pain.
it was Pandora's box: The Sequel
and in the place of hope was joy.
but I can't allow myself to feel that yet.
Jun 14, 2021
Jun 14, 2021 at 7:10 AM UTC
Earnestly convulsing,
because I'm so **** bored.
I've never had a seizure,
but I imagine they're like this.
Leg spasm...
Flailing arm...
Thrashing head...
Bite my tongue...
Against the floor...
Sit up and spit up a *** of blood.
Of course it's not a real seizure.
Just trying something new.
Aug 28, 2012
Aug 28, 2012 at 2:16 AM UTC
I think Grandpa Stewart developed a stutter
from years of being interrupted.
I've never heard him get out a whole sentence
on his own, without Grandma cutting him off
before tonight. He hobbles over to the kitchen
where I'm doing dishes after dinner.
Expectantly, I look up into the ***** windowpanes
of his old, gray eyes,
his hands are shaking and lips quivering.
When he talks, it's like a secret, and he
tells me, struggling over sequence and syllables,
stories of being a volunteer firefighter. Days
he was the strongest man anyone knew.
He stopped a flaming tractor trailer, once, from
running away all ablaze when its brakeline blew up.
Set his jaw, leaned into the smoke, another time,
and pushed onward in steady strides, putting out
a fire in a nickel and dime store, even when
the hose pressure was pushing his line of
sweaty men backward into the street.
Where the hell is that fighting man? I look
at the hunched, wrinkled one before me and remember
the panic that crippled him when
his second son killed himself 12 years ago.
Knelt down as if in prayer, begging
for forgiveness maybe, put a shotgun under his chin,
and blew his brains out, a different type of fire,
with carbon and sulfur exploding just as deadly.
They said the bullet came out his eye socket.
I don't know how they could tell.
It was a stranger in the casket they pieced together
from chunks of skull found across the basement floor.
Haunted by fires, Grandpa doesn't sleep now,
answers the phone on the first ring, paralyzed
in perpetual anxiety, yelling,
"Y-Y-YES?! He-Hello?!"
His stutters are a endless seziure convulsing
on his tongue. He's slower, he's somewhere else, he 's
interrupted and doesn't try. He's medicated
and sedated and
smothered into this empty shell of
a man, sleeping, existing on a living room recliner,
****** with colorless eyes,
desensitized to fear and family, broken
in the wake of fire's senseless destruction;
all the charred ashes left in its place.
Nov 3, 2011
Nov 3, 2011 at 12:56 PM UTC
We sit in silence,
backs crooked,
the couches' cushions caving in.
The weight of passing hours
and minuettes alleviating thinking
in a miscellaneous metronome
ticking to bring time to a heaving chest.
Stay calm,
the pain of realignment will pass.
Burdensome they may be,
burgeoning wings will free you of...
Pressure collapsing this cage,
walls torn from studs,
leaving only this skeleton
surrounding us as we find delirium
the backbone of convulsing lungs watched,
earthquake mute laughter marring the faces
with jagged faults.
The cost of cracking,
we must accept the scarring permanent.
Breaks unplanned infirmities,
alone, our time line disrupted itself
and the heavens came,
tumbling down.
In silence,
we lay, arms barring
our escaping words.
Eyes overstep boundaries,
slipping through the gaps,
a second moment of
clarification fractures restraints
whilst beguiling brainstorms
sparked our interest.
Our tongues meet,
shyly.
rubies placed upon your breath
slipping against molded clay.
In sapphires
you and I hold nighttime
reflections of passion
contained in coal, waiting.
Ivory runs my length,
bending to ecstasy, breathing
shallow, asynchronous, failing
to find it's end in persistence.
In night
the danger dropped us, longing
that dusty light beaming down on
the show, Act 2 is
the comedy. Off.
Parallel parabola line diamond reflections,
allow for recall with brushed fingertips,
horse hair undertones realigning smiles,
abstract the paintings of today,
of yesterday, stealing away tomorrow
in a previous reiteration of our variant
indifference.
The wings of the demon opened
in symbolic solace, fell far
across this burning emotional
harbor, aflame
in angels' suicides.
We've fallen, taken knees to grace,
whispering eulogies the waves applaud.
Sands wash away to cupped stone
palms, caressing the troubled banks lost
in time. The blood washes away,
momentary marks, brown,
stained, it passes.
Demons foreshadow.
In their shade we are seen
falling into broken arms, sinew
stitched through hearts, still healing
strength gives way.
Our tongues meet
shyly,
this reunion a mistake,
now locked, staying stilled while
attempting apologetic phrasing.
We sit in silence,
backs crooked,
blank walls and barren recounts
crashing in.
Aug 19, 2012
Aug 19, 2012 at 2:32 AM UTC
on the night my uncle died, i prayed for the wrong person.
between the tears and the telephone static, his name was muffled, and i spent all night trying to save somebody who wasn't in danger.
and if god is real and a properly placed prayer can save a life,
then i am a murderer.
i was twelve. this poem isn't about me.
every poem i write is about me
(introspection is a nice term for narcissism),
but not this.
my uncle was fifty. he was a good man, gone too soon. it always seems like everybody is gone too soon,
i think when people die, everything that was bad about them is forgotten.
it eases the guilt of the living, i guess.
this poem is not about my uncle.
this poem is about my cousin.
my cousin found his father that night,
in a heap on the floor, convulsing.
he was 8, and he was bringing his father upstairs to tuck him in.
this poem is for matthew, who has difficulty speaking for himself,
because he screamed enough that night to last the rest of his life,
and maybe it's hard to dig up words without digging up memories.
this poem is for abandonment issues that will never have a chance for closure, and for the nightmares, and for two years of sleeping in his mom's bed to make sure she wasn't leaving too.
this is for too-young-to-understand, for every he's-just-gone-to-sleep.
young does not mean oblivious.
this is for every guilty thought that he will ever have. this is a poem to say that you couldn't have done anything. to say that you couldn't have known, that you couldn't have found him earlier and that it wouldn't have helped.
it broke my heart when you asked me to teach you CPR.
how you knew once you discovered the body he no longer occupied.
matt, i remember you saying that his eyes looked empty.
please don't remember them like that.
you were only eight.
he was only fifty.
i hope that you dont see his ghost everywhere,
i know you might.
on the night my uncle died, i prayed for the wrong person.
Feb 9, 2014
Feb 9, 2014 at 4:20 PM UTC
Clouded mind
Cant think straight
Id do anything
To lift this weight
Throbbing head
Muscles weak
the air around me
Harbours a vile reek
Convulsing insides
burning eyes
Please let this torure end
Passing out nigh
Jun 1, 2014
Jun 1, 2014 at 8:32 AM UTC
He had his own scent
His own type of aura
It came off like clouds of dust
From within his skin, burnt sienna
He had something shiny there
Some kind of hazy dream
But if I ever asked about it
He'd say it's not what it seems
You see, my daddy was a smoking man
But I didn't know quite yet
The meaning of that phrase
Not to its full extent
I was intrigued with his eyes
And the way he spoke
I would watch forms shape
From thick, grey, and poisonous smoke
He had something earthy there
Wrapped in some tin foil
He would rub it in his hands
And trade cash for his spoils
You see, my daddy was a merchant man
I learned that on a cold night
Sitting alone in his rusty jeep
When the other men wanted to fight
My daddy looked to me
Telling me to look away
Maybe, I should have listened
It was took late anyway
An explosion sounded
It's echo ringing in my ear
My daddy on the ground
Convulsing in fear
Screaming, someone was screaming
I stop to listen
And realize it was me
My feet were moving
And I was there next to him
Trying to stop the blood
That was covering my skin
He had a look on his face
Like he was trying to explain
But every time he tried to speak
He didn't know what to say
He had some kind of waste there
The wind had scattered all around
He was too deep in this world
No way else to fall down
You see, my daddy was a smoking man
Right down to his core
Couldn't see past the nightmares
To get off of the floor
He got lost in his hazy dreams
Somehow the pain would ease
You see, my daddy was a merchant man
But he let himself get burned
He risked everything he had
And got nothing in return
He took chances with gunshot wounds
Had some silly notion he was immune
Dec 10, 2013
Dec 10, 2013 at 7:11 PM UTC
It starts out slowly
At first, you don't even notice it
You're busy, you'll do it later
But as more time passes you eat less and less
You begin making excuses
You ate a lot yesterday
You're fine.
One day, you lose "control."
The hunger gets the best of you.
You eat and eat and eat
Soon after, the tears begin pouring down.
And so you'll sneak to the bathroom,
maybe stick your toothbrush or finger,
down your convulsing throat.
You relieve yourself of the pressure, the guilt,
and the contents of your stomach all at once.
But they begin to notice.
You lose an unusual amount of weight and it all comes falling down.
You hear the words... but your ears refuse to hear..
"..nervosa"
"bulimia"
"anorexia"
Bits and pieces.
But you're fine, right?
Ana is your friend.
Sep 1, 2013
Sep 1, 2013 at 5:04 PM UTC
I see the window
gleaming in the shadow
of what is my life
a journey of wondrous
pain and delight
contrasting restraints
hold me in place
no freedom for my hands
or feet in segregation
down the basement
out of sight
crying out my
torso convulsing
thrashing ,hard to bare
faces staring some with
glee , seeing what
is happening to me
barbaric smiles that
inform they are
the mirror
image of me
my last breath
eyes can barely see
the door opening and
who is coming for me
into hands so soft
lifting me into the air
I fear my future is
in the past.
the only certainty
is the feeling of being
free at last.
(a)andrewpenman2011
Apr 13, 2011
Apr 13, 2011 at 11:17 AM UTC
This awkward silence makes me crazy. I fix my eyes on the floor, entranced in the layers of loops in the stained cream carpet. I don't blink for what feels like hours at a time, testing the willpower and the strength of my eyelids to see how long I can keep them open. My vision begins to blur and tears form in the dark corners of my radiant sea-blue eyes, and I'm not positive whether they are tears from the dry pain consuming them or from your words that hurl at me, bouncing off my skin as if being rejected by Jesus at the glowing gates of heaven, and falling to the same stained cream carpet I gaze at. I watch them crash to the floor and writhe beneath me, banging their fists on the floor, screaming at the top of their little lungs, running in circles and eating each other alive. I then begin to wonder whether it matters where the tears come from, what caused the flood down my face like water through a leaky dam built when "engineers" were merely cowboys with hammers and nails.
The look in your eyes makes me crazy; why I refrain from making direct eye contact. The carpet will suffice, at least it doesn't stare back with those eyes. Your notice of the tears cascading slowly down the soft curve of my blood rushed cheeks changes your mood instantly, and I can feel the color of your aura change as your tone drops. You apologize and I watch the words dance on the floor beneath my feet. "I'm" dances slowly in circles, a slow lonely waltz, next to my loose shoe lace in an empty section of this stained old carpet covered with conversation. "Sorry" lays flat, twitching on the tip of my shoe, convulsing almost to the beat of my heart, which I can hear pulsing through my headache. You wait for a response, a word, a few words, anything. But it seems you have taken them all already. And all the words I could say now lay beautifully still on this carpet of mine.
Oct 17, 2012
Oct 17, 2012 at 4:55 PM UTC
tell me someone will love me
fully clothed
and
tell me someone will love me
with blood on my hands
and
tell me someone will love me
shaking, trembling, convulsing
and
tell me someone will love me
when they're searching for gold and i am rustic bronze
and
tell me someone will love me
with veins ripped apart
and
tell me someone will love me
with a starved stomach and empty eyes
and
tell me someone will love me
when i am dying
and
i'm asking you
//please love me//
Oct 26, 2014
Oct 26, 2014 at 8:37 PM UTC
one
tumbled
out of the womb
convulsing
like a breakdancer
five
posed with
lights & cigarettes,
light
eight
lipstick smeared
giddily on the
backhand
twelve
bought birth control
shared among friends
pills split with a jacknife
sixteen
fascinated by
violet waves
& crystal castles
twenty-one
cancer of the soul
flask in her ribs
she moves
among suitors
like whispers of fame
twenty-two
nosering replaced
polished for the wake
croptop in the casket
Dec 3, 2013
Dec 3, 2013 at 1:29 AM UTC
Let me sweat inside you
So you can feel my tension
Let me perspire through your skin
So you can feel my convulsing muscles
And my tired shaking limbs.
Let me sweat inside you
Let my efforts run down your face
Let me puddle up in your crevices
And soak your shirt like rain.
Let me sweat inside you
Let my anxiety push through your pores
So you know how it feels to live with you
After you held my hand and stroked my arm
After we climbed to the top of that building
After we jumped that tall locked fence
After you said come share your blankets
After I slipped inside your bed
After you bent my clothes off
After you said please let’s have ***
After you promised me a day at the park
Just the two of us that Sunday
After that second night together
And you said
Haven’t you ever heard of friends with benefits?
After you confused me.
Let me sweat inside you.
Feel my body twitch.
With the work it takes trying to ignore you
And wishing that you loved me
And wondering if you ever did.
Let me sweat inside you.
Feb 1, 2016
Feb 1, 2016 at 9:32 PM UTC