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cait-cait May 12
i would kill for you —
you know ,, ?

stain my white dress in red :
for
you .
                     .

blood dripping down a
knife
i would swear i never
held
.

but
they would end up catching me
of course ,

they always do —

and
the devil would sneer
,
disappointed ,

lace dress tight —
her lips curled in painted pink ,
when everything seems
so
h o t .
           .

because
               she knows
that
while
i would kill for you,
i
would never,
                       ever
die.
"well here we are again, its always such a pleasure"

i saw that funny tumblr post that said "its hotter than the devils p*ssy in here"
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.
Annelyra Dec 2017
The night you died, I was telling
someone else how fucking
annoying you are. I'd give up
the strings that hold my soul
together to spread you,
you irritant,
across my skin now.
The satin gown of hope a myth
      
            The hero's fallen to
                                                the abyss

The bloom of death, no longer risen
Our souls trapped in endless prison

        Existence the master of all masked curses
    
              A song of tragedy with endless verses

   So if dying breath comes anyway
                  What's it matter
                 How soon the day

All suns set
Some plan no dawn
They care not for those who mourn

           I wish for myself
      The blood to stop
     To soon not hold
   A single drop

So I promise you my heart for free
       If you swear
   You'll rip it out of me
why doesn't hello poetry like metaphorical Shakespearean poetry? its so pretty?
MalakF Jul 19
I feel the need to apologise for the way that I am.
I have no control, as if I was a computer programme.
I’m sorry that the slightest thing can completely shift my mood,
I’m sorry I can be impulsive and have a bad attitude.

This inappropriate anger is not intentional
and I swear to god
I know it’s unacceptable.

My friendships are a rollercoaster,
it’s practically bipolar.
One second I’m all lovey dovey
and the other second it will be as if you were never my buddy.

This is who I am and I hate it.
I’m sorry I’m like this,
I’m sorry I see no bliss.
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