Seeing your youth brawled up,
Gets the best of me.
Don't know why in this life,
Seeing your beauty.
All fixed bruises and scars,
Forced for me to care.
Poisoning white devils,
For the fallen ones.
I to rise in it all,
Till fixed seasons come.
The best of my conscious,
Luring a dark void.
Hoping to swallow me,
The best of me whole.
If only the loving demons could go away...leaving me finally alone.
m Oct 2017
We don’t use diaries anymore -
those are meant for secrets,
and we have none.
We let them spill out of our bodies,
and pour onto blank white sheets.
We swear it’s the only way
we are going to heal.

We turn our pain into poetry.
Anything that hurts this much
has to mean
something.
And even though we are desperate
for anyone to listen,
our language is in the letters
that we will never send.

We romanticize pain like it’s the
only lover we will ever know.
Love is our god and we are each our own devils.
Too fragile for this world,
ceremoniously destroying ourselves
before anyone else can do it for us.
Yet we still can’t understand why we’re so broken.
writerReader May 2015
Saguaro cactus
why do you prick me with spikes
It hurts very bad
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