picture this,
o sons of judah:
arctic shallows, a
shellbeached leviathan cordially extending
an invitation to this
everfast slowdance of heart
throb lust in the
inkwell satisfaction of knowing you bleed
india blue & bone china and the moths that got
into the tent will swallow the naphtha in time;

there are parts of you that
are never clean.
yeah isn’t that
wonderful

? mark the few drops of
tequila left & a
heavy sunrise in your
swankissed beechwood
heart;

*there are parts of you that
will not be released.

I want you to rip the messy sutures from my stitched-up heart and
I want to love you with my chest wide open.
I want the icy air to whisper across my bared arteries and scoop the black from my lungs
I want you to kiss me so hard blood runs down my teeth.
I want to taste the salty crimson on my tongue and know
I am still breathing, that
I still have a pulse.
I want your eyes to burn holes in my skin & the cauterized nerve endings to emit a single sharp scream
I need your sweaty palms to take away the sting.
I want you to wake me from this gray unending dream.
I know meteorites always hit the sun or crash to earth, but
I want our comet to blaze through the night sky for a few bright seconds before the freefall.
I will ignore the craters you'll carve from my bones.
I know
I will end up lying in a hospital bed with skin grafts and bleeding bandages, but
I want the rose-tinged words that will leak from my eyes like saline-tipped blades.
I want to slowdance with cyanide.
I want to tiptoe on a razor-littered sidewalk.
I want to swim with sharks;
I want to dip my hand in fire;
I want a gradual descent from a cliff with a tattered parachute;
I want to toss my heart into your freckled arms.
I want your fingers around my neck before
I realize it.
I want you to destroy me.
I want your smile to eat me alive.

Let’s make this our night.

Let’s kick our good habits
and grow our bad ones in neat
rows of dandelions
and ponder what marks
**** from flower.

Let's fill a jar with memories
and dash it against the ground
when it's full so we can play
with them once more.

Let’s empty our brains
like a register full of quarters
chase them along the pavement
and roll them into neat piles
to trade for pennies.

Let’s cut holes in our pockets
and fill them with time
until the last echo of
a tick splits our emptied skulls
and drains out the nothing.

Let's rob a jeweler
and give diamonds to the homeless.
Their babbles are endless
and they've earned something for that.

Let's ink our pens with the clouds
and write odes to the sea
where they meet and watch them turn
orange then red then purple then black
then dissipate with wind.

Let's read tea leaves and palms
like books written by wise
old men with wide smiles
and wider minds.

Let's blow out the city lights,
dance with the stars,
and apologize profusely
for stepping on their toes.

Let's wash our hands with acid
and leave empty fingerprints
on likewise glasses
staining breathless lovers'
heaving antipathy

Let's play to lose
and throw the pieces
about the floor when
our plan goes awry, smiling.

Let's slowdance to anachronisms
while the ether whispers
around and between us and through us,
until it settles in us.

Let's watch the clouds
from atop a sinking city
and marvel at how the water's
lovely this time of year.

Let's fall in love
and drown together
in whichever order
the universe decides.

Let's make this our night
It may be our last.

Acetone

I'm sorry I didn't
quite know what to say
when we were sitting in
the backseat
and your mind was driving you
a million miles away,
I'm sorry he broke your heart,
how dare he take your smile apart?
I know you're coated in pain,
so I'll ask it to
slowdance with my name:
Just tell me where it hurts
and I'll bandage your wounds
with these words,
I'll bury all your rage in my hearse
where my bones will
one day decay.
And I pray no one else will ever
rip you apart
because I love you and
watching you hurt
is the hardest part.

- Crimsyy

*A/N: Oddly timed updates but that's because school has began (: Please vote and comment what you think of this poem or any constructive opinions...thankyou for reading!♡

I. You wrote no manuscripts but somehow, whenever I move to inch myself over the sofa, I can feel your soft blow indent me over the edge of this quiet. The quiet disquiets the quiet – is something you would have said over *******, over lamenting the death of a lamppost outside, over wanting to be stranded underneath the awning of a dilapidated canopy of trees outside. Over the slowdance and the turntable, over Belle and Sebastian.

II. I left the faucet running just in case you were to be awakened by a myoclonic ****. It helps to hear the sound of water gushing as it protrudes calmness. I would have intruded you, but your absence first lifted into the vacuity of rooms unspoken of. I inspected the impressions left on the bed and left the tousled sheets as they were. Questions discerned. Answers disarmed. Somewhere between inquiry and certainty, there is a body hauled right out of the alarming bedazzlement. We were both gutting each other as the light from the television spilled right onto our naked bodies, stuck in a fucklock. And then I got up to the slain body of the morning.

III. I muse you over Wittgenstein – separated by a makeshift bookshelf. I felt a revulsion for slender straps for watches. The face you wore that day was white. Now you’re as pale as a July tapestry.

IV. I bought new venetian blinds today.

V. Somewhere along the steep ***** I heard the machination of an arrival. The dogs were randy outside. It must be you, approaching. I fingered the slats to reveal a little source of Sun. It was the daily paper. I have forgotten all arrivals are the same.

VI. If I were to blueprint this house with my sentiments – we would be sleeping apart. Your bed, of cold metal. Mine, of sandalwood. Erasures last longer than revisions. I know your presence as the familiar clangor of the same instruments you use for preparations are the same ones fondled. Right after the investigation, your immaculate neglect transfers itself into a sly translation of perfume from a day’s work, winnowing my faculties.

VII. I made a blueprint of this house with my sentiments – you somewhere in the outskirts of town, I deep within the suburban. I have a question for balconies I do not want to answer. At what height should be a balcony situated? What if the scrumptious fall is but elevation?  Will the intensity of the Sun pulverize the very fixated shadow on the corner of my parched shoulder? If not, should I take the balcony down?

I wanted to revise the blueprint, but no. Erasures last longer than revision – I dream of cities expunged
when the day ends.

The truth about me
is that my teeth need to be fixed
but I am too scared of the dentist.
Something about the whiteness of a clinic
and the smell of a previous patient's tongue,
makes me want to wait for dentures.
I am the kind of person,
you could bully and make cry,
to help yourself fit in.
Somewhere between society's rights and wrongs,
I paint my eyes too dark, struggle to smile in photographs
and constantly worry about getting *****, the next time I leave my house.
The truth about me
is that I am paranoid that everyone is lying to me,
that I am a potential alcoholic and my favorite hobby,
is a Russian roulette of self destruct.
I do not understand best friends, brown rice,
or how one cannot shut up about how much weight they need to lose.
The truth about me
is that I don't know how to say "I love you" and mean it.
That every time I try to build a home, it breaks.
I am a breezy sunrise, reeking of bad decisions,
sad memories with happy endings.
The truth is,
I will waltz into your life and make your skin tingle with soft kisses.
I will,
break bottles, kiss your ear, make you cry, make you laugh, run away, hike mountains, **** with your head and slowdance with you, till we mix like oil paints, smiling, and swaying till nothing at all,
exists except our whispers, and the blue-purple air that surrounds us.
Love. I am happiness, chaos and nature
and the truth about me,
is that I am not going to stay
but I promise you,
I will be unforgettable.

remember when we would
slowdance beneath indifferent
stars when you weren't backstroking
through my blood?

yea, me neither.
but that image sure hangs pretty
in a frame, right?

me,
so many questions.
as restless as unbroken bathroom mirrors.
I don't know where this is leading.

there are threads between all that,
I promise.

A tradewind transgression,
Cold dusk and despair,
Your cigarette slowdance,
Spring rain in your hair,

Fireflies in the moonlight,
Our parking lot kiss,
Still lost in that moment,
Sweet summertime bliss,

Found a home in my head,
And stars in your eyes,
We dreamed happy endings,
Fall leaves and goodbyes,

As the distance outgrew us,
Time froze us in place,
Snow fell come December,
And covered all trace.

sadness is my drug
when happiness is too much effort
too much to pay for
too easy to give up.
i inject you to feel something-
really, anything.
because you're the easiest thing to feel.
sometimes i want you.
i want to feel sadness to see how far i can go without you being too permanent,
without you flooding my system for too long.
but i know no limits,
so there is no "too long"
there is no "too much"
and there never has been.
so i acquiesce to your slowdance
i yield to the malediction that is you.
try to read your esoteric scriptures,
the ones that scream my name
begging me to sign my soul away to you.
you fetter me, like a hostage in my own body
and i let you.
it's easy to let you, especially when you enamor me with pretty words and bitter thoughts
a veneer of gentility and grace, false euphoria beyond my own belief.
stoicism was something i once valued,
but now i'll do anything to feel anything.