"tensing" poems
The release; so powerful; sometimes to feel alive: all you need is a reminder:
His guiding hand:supplying the demands to the upper-hand, across her belly button, to forbidden; lands. Parted lips, her pink folds;dragging his hands down. Working each other: we ain’t fooling around; our bodies, over time. Dripping wet with desire.
Her reaching back; she leaned back. Over the edge; of the bed. standing ***** Picture perfect; she’s holding her breath, as he’s kissing on her neck, her breast, focused on her ****** the left. Right in my mouth. Long ponytail, pulled to the left. She is wet, under there, her underwear - pulled to the side, exposing her underhair; shaved bare, under there.
Fingers wrapped around him. Looking hard, she found it; tugging on it. Him pushing his luck got her pressing her lips against him. Pulling his belt out of way; biting his lips, he’s tensing. She, kiss as she play. looking a certaining way; tempting how she tempts him. She’s over the top, and its so overwhelming.
She’s all touched, from touching it; so fortunate, her ******* soaking wet, juices flowing. Wet spots, he’s all over it. Exposing her **** to his fingertips: with his index; middle finger next. Started working her slow, building up to raw *** Pressure building, rising her chest. She’s worked up; trying to get off. Giving it our best. Her waistline, being pumped from behind, so smooth; the finest wine. Unsatisfiable rhythm, keeping them inline. Holding onto her waist, he’s so online; bending backwards, pleasuring each other, every time. Some may come and go, but they come together every single time.
He’s feeling it: the way its feeling, feels so good - a burning sensation: her tenderness subduing his manhood; all is well, so it must good. Movement, with quickness, once his hips shifts, its motion sickness. Stroking his egos, increasing his stiffness, filling her deep. She’s clenching him, tighten, tighter. The feeling of him growing, she’s feeling him insider. Their wet bodies, skins glistening in the their fire.
Jul 4, 2014
Jul 4, 2014 at 11:05 AM UTC
My memory is full of color and passion~ No amount of time could dull it
Its as if I still have the paint brush in hand.. our movements of the sea
and this painting of my memory is still etched inside me
The air is as hot and sticky as could be
your hands slowly gliding and lightly stroking me
Kisses so hot that they kindled and leap at the ready fuel of our need
Muscles clenching and tensing as our passion grows with greed
Weakened and undone now I arch to meet his lips and tongue that now savor
tasting of my flesh and most prized possession as though it were a banquet of the sweetest of flavor
He now whispers the sweetest
of words that I have ever heard
I want to watch you enjoy and want to watch you fill up with me
As I slowly part my legs allowing him to enter and finally set me free
This memory I hold very close to my heart
this painting of my love and our beautiful art
Jun 1, 2011
Jun 1, 2011 at 9:17 AM UTC
I draw her close to my chest
With her ****** pointing out from her underwear like an arrow
Slowly removing her underwear arm by arm and kissing the smooth shoulder
As I pull the two arms of her underwear the underwear fell out of her body slowly
I can see her pointed ****** calling me for a ****
Picked up an ice-cream, rubbing it gently and slowly all over her smooth soft and attractive ebony skin
From her face to her toes(all over her body)
All her body is covered with ice-cream
And she screamed baby is cold and warm
Slowly I started giving her a tongue bath
From her fore-head to her cheek to her nose to her lips
Paused a little as I deep my tongue into her two attractive lips and hers into mine
We exchange tongues for minutes
Down to her neck, wiping all the ice-cream with my lips gently and slowly
As she started to scold
Down to her chest l **** up the cream on her chest
Holding her pointed breast as I kiss and **** her ****** slowly
She scream softly and faintly "aahh hmmm that's it baby she said"
down to her **** tommy
With my tongue going angle at a point on her stomach
I Started again from her toes **** all her ten toes one after each other slowly
To her knees
She started shaking as I approach her **** ice-creamed laps
The volume of her screams increase slowly as am kissing her laps and going upward to her tight ice-creamed *****
Her legs shakes heavily and her body started shaking
She shuddered softly as my tongue rolled over her ****
she started to scold, but moaned softly as my tongue pressed at her **** harder
she lifted her head up looking at me as I shake my head side by side with my tongue holding the **** harder
She dropped her head as she murmured "hmmmm" faintly
She started to push me away gently not that she don't want more but because is over-sensitive
I grabbed her back
While I continue to **** her deeply into her ***** slowly and gently
As she raise her head again holding my head toward her *****
Pressing my head harder towards her ***** as my tongue was deep into her ***** and my thumb press her **** and shaking it side by side
Please," she whined breathlessly to me.
"Please. Faster." I withdrew my tongue and gently took her ****
in my teeth and wriggled it back and forth quickly. Her legs
jumped and she cried out, pushing with her arms again. I
grabbed her hips and pull closer
"Oh... Aaaaaah ... I'm so close," she whined. I circled her ****
with my nose and pressed my tongue back inside her, flicking it
in and out quickly to the sound of her gasps.
"Just... Ah... Almost..." She gasped when it hit her, and her body
quickly shuddered,
She slowly dropped her head as she removed her hand on my head
So I licked at the inside of her thigh, where the *** had sound
up, and continued to clean her up with my tongue
everything tensing and relaxing for several
moments before she relaxed back into the floor,
Oct 17, 2014
Oct 17, 2014 at 10:33 AM UTC
I love how you sound
Writhing beneath me
A surprise in your voice
Your legs trembling.
The muscles in your body
Are flexing and tensing
Your hips are rising
Your breath is so heavy.
I love how you sound
It's my favorite part
Usually a quiet mouse
But like this, so raw, so untamed.
I've never seen you like this
I marvel in the moment
In your rapture of ecstasy
A hum between my own thighs.
It's exciting to see you
Let loose like a trapped wind
Blowing out wildly
Like you've never been free to breeze.
It's easy to please you
Because it pleases me
Especially when you're writhing
Beneath me.
Feb 21, 2011
Feb 21, 2011 at 5:55 PM UTC
DEAR PENPAL PEOPLE, we live for moments that will sweep us of our feets:>
And her pupils dilate betraying her detachment
She senses his invading into the crowd
She drips to her feet in confusion and curiosity
about that mysterious gleam adhering her
She tries to ignore but couldn't help
She yearns for the ocean eyes
She finds herself tensing to the touch of his gaze
that trickles a striking chill down her shoulders to her lower spine
And she melts with lust and entice
------ravenfeels
Apr 3, 2021
Apr 3, 2021 at 12:59 PM UTC
Itch Itch Itch Itch
Hate broiling
Speeding up the
Process
Itch Itch Itch Itch
Uncertainty sloshing
Around
Getting nervous
Itch Itch Itch Itch
Like a leaf
Getting eaten
By a caterpillar
Itch Itch Itch Itch
Muscles tensing
Up
Breath quickening
Itch Itch Itch Itch
To do but
Not
Doing
Itch Itch Itch Itch
Can't reach it
Still
Can't suppress it
Can't fill it
Can't anything
Itch Itch Itch Itch
Jul 20, 2013
Jul 20, 2013 at 1:14 PM UTC
Her feet float above the stage
as if carried by some unseen force.
From my view among the generally admitted
I can hardly make out the details of her face.
But those graceful movements are so alluring
each subtle step, precise, and all consuming.
She is the most vulnerable of all artists,
performing a dance that demands every emotion soak through her skin.
Each fluid movement pulls from the reservoir of her experience.
Trained from a young age to move agilely across the stage,
bearing the weight of the world upon her shoulders;
My Ballerina has more heart than anyone else on earth.
This reckless transparency, on the stage, is her glory.
Yet in the average corner of existence
this susceptibility to the sun's rays
would leave one suffering the harshest burns.
My Ballerina hurdles from one emotional extreme to another
with the cyclical tensing and relaxing of each muscle.
Feb 19, 2014
Feb 19, 2014 at 4:10 AM UTC
feel the muscles tensing there
softly hear my praises sing
raise my pulse, and pull my hair--
my body is a loving thing.
touch my neck: its hairs will raise
feel my goosebumps spread;
if your lips on mine should graze
i shall never join the dead.
but to you i'm only skin
and all my tears are not enough
to baptize me from how you've sinned
and how you took advantage, love.
Oct 17, 2017
Oct 17, 2017 at 7:31 AM UTC
I like to bite,
not overly hard,
just enough to make one wince,
perhaps, a sharp intake of breath,
showing that my bite is hard enough.
I so desire feeling soft flesh,
tensing between my teeth,
especially when rounded and firm.
Neck first, working downwards,
nipping into the shoulder,
chewing that succulent muscle,
with tight, tentative nibbles.
I am even bitten in return,
my pressure gauged by intent,
taken from the one biting me.
If teeth come hard and sharp,
trust me, then so do mine,
if they are loving and gentle,
once again, so are mine.
I work across the *******
delighting in the ***** *******
chewing drawing responses,
tongue sliding over her stomach,
lower, lower, down to the hips.
Biting very hard into thighs,
making her cry, back arching,
bringing writhing gasps to die for,
reaching her vulnerable centre,
soothing with deep, heavy licks,
tantalisingly teasing, so sweet.
Suddenly, flipping her over,
rough as you like, choice slaps,
smarting on her plump bottom,
before biting, biting, biting,
taking in every curvaceous part,
devouring, chomping, so yummy!
I part her legs, diving between,
my tongue lapping in a frenzy,
deep, deep, tasting the juice,
before rising, pinning shoulders,
entering, gliding, slowly, surely,
giving long, languorous strokes.
Hips grinding, hard and deep,
circling round and round,
momentum building, building,
firm hands gripping her hips,
flesh slapping against flesh,
as we match our rhythm,
lunging, pounding, thrusting,
exploding, on and on,
more and more, until,
we are spent, trembling,
slowing, easing.
A final twisting whip,
circling the very edge,
bringing smiles,
a playful giggle,
it tickles, so nice,
I lean forward, so good,
nuzzling, caressing,
ah, all because,
I like to bite.
©Paul M Chafer
Nov 13, 2014
Nov 13, 2014 at 8:51 AM UTC
*The wind blows hard tonight. The wind takes every bit of warmth from my marrow and doesn't bring any of it back. No, this is not an art that you have mastered exclusively, as much as that may disappoint you.
Ninety six days culminate and rot within my intestines. The feeling, well, the feeling is like **** but the images interpreted are more than appealing, beautiful I would say.
I don't stay at home anymore; I go to other people's homes and stay there because it fascinates me. It fascinates me for so many reasons, expressions, to name a few.
Keeping true to the convention of keeping true to the convention, I shed a layer of skin when I threw the old tea box full of photographs from the terrace this morning.
The air smelt of coriander and fresh mud, fresh rain. I took it into my lungs as a restatement of my existence but it felt smug and in vain when winter's wisdom slapped me as I exhaled. The pain was a harsh reminder; I was real. My face was red more from the shame than the sting of it.
The whole occurrence was organic, and the memory makes me laugh. Some say to me that I'm made to laugh easily, that I laugh like a fool. I'm a bad hand out of a deck of cards. I am dealt with. It's all in my stars.
In comparison, sardonicism has never known a friend, but I've had one or two. Most people are hopeless to me; I am unplugged.
You speak to me, you want me to be connected. You have a longing in your voice, not so much for me, but for the thought of me rejected.
I had stars in my sights the nights you ignored me and made my hands your ****** Time, and time again, you justify keeping me pressed against your window, believing every inclination is adored.
Time has passed, these creases will stay forever in my corduroys. The fragmented fire wood we never got to burn and those forgotten chapters of childhood still litter my mother's yard.
Maintaining a reserved tone, tensing those muscles in your face, for what? Try dying twice and then you will see that there is no magic, no mystery behind the way things are happening, especially here.
Happy to be hurt, ironic, the pain in my neck reminds me of you.*
Dec 12, 2010
Dec 12, 2010 at 6:33 PM UTC
Hold me tight and don't let go.
We'll start it off lets start this show,
With every kiss and sweet caress,
We will with our love express,
This feeling we don't want to end
2 become one we'll start to blend.
Feels so good lets pick up the pace,
Wish we could stop, time and space.
Moan and groan as our hips colide,
Incredible feeling so deep inside.
Tensing up our toes are curled,
Just heavenly, on top of the world
Sweet release for you and me,
Taking us away to ecstasy...
So hold me tight and don't let go,
All a feeling we both should know...
Apr 16, 2012
Apr 16, 2012 at 6:23 PM UTC
The first jump start of adrenaline shot straight thought the heart
Legs jolt with the sound of "go" leaving his mouth
Mind cleared of everything except two thoughts
in through the nose out through the mouth, win it
Legs striding wider and longer, getting more numb with every step
Nostrils flaring with every breath like a racehorse,
Inspirations of horses galloping flash as I push harder,
The thought of the fat burning, calories dissipating
Smile spreads as finish line nears, fat burning
Muscles tensing, tearing, mending, and growing
Mouth agape, forcing in air that pierces dry throats like needles
Vision blurred and hazy, my oxygens gone
That's the best part, when you feel your body shut down
Sweat dripping down my neck, speed up, WIN IT
Racing, running, exercising, competing
Next time I'll push even harder
Sep 8, 2014
Sep 8, 2014 at 11:36 AM UTC
There's something inexplicable
about the way
they make you feel
nothing.
Happiness is fleeting
but
you are your own mistake
you keep repeating.
one of these nights
might turn out right
if you keep your mouth shut
like the door you're always
finding yourself behind
with your back against the wood,
muscles tensing
as you knew they would.
Nose bleeding-
when is the last time you ate?
It took you an hour to get ready but
no one can see all your hard work
in the shade.
"baby, you look great"
is all you wanted to grace you ears
but you've got too much on your plate
and there are only couples here.
They will pay you no mind
and you will begin to feel
you might have been left behind.
you pretend you aren't hungry
because it seems more grungy.
cigarettes will stain your teeth
and smoke will spin circles at your feet
as you sway alone;
always hanging in the wings
you're looking for another drink
another triple shot
and you sink deeper into
the half-assed hope
that this will be a night
you forgot.
Just more meaningless crumbs
of these evening hours
accumulating into an unusable mass
of dried out nights
exaggerate another fight
you had with your mind-
what will you do when they call you out
for being lower than the grout
in the bathroom
baby face like you just came out of the womb
your knife is duller than
your conversation topic
you're a fake-
From a mile away can you be spotted.
Drained of inspiration
plagued by perpetual consternation
what will you sample next
on your way to a falsified elation.
Spending weeks away dragon chasing-
How long will you be on mental vacation?
They're growing impatient.
C.e.M. 12.21.2014
Mar 16, 2015
Mar 16, 2015 at 1:42 AM UTC
little lights, flame flickers
pale skinned lip lickers
red blood, warm flood
gold crown, made of mud
heart rippers, teeth gritters
white knuckled blood givers
i am a fist clenching, teeth wrenching
ear splitting, muscle tensing
junkyard liver, death giver
pale skinned lip licker
Dec 25, 2010
Dec 25, 2010 at 3:41 PM UTC
My cheeks are burning
hands freezing, shaking
My heart is beating
thumping, breaking
My mind is racing
jerking, crashing
My eyes are stinging
blurring, flashing
My body is tensing
straining, failing
My arms are reaching
grasping, flailing
My heart is beating
thumping, breaking.
Feb 2, 2011
Feb 2, 2011 at 4:10 PM UTC
I was sitting on the steps of the wrong building —
two blocks over from The Vermont
awash in gold and the noble lights of the Avenue.
I was drunk,
or, there-abouts.
Isobel was coming.
I was sitting on the steps of the wrong building,
pulling the collar of my Burberry coat against my jaw and ears;
it was November and the concierge came out to ask me
if I’d like to come inside and wait —
“No, I’m good, Sir.”
“Thank you, Sir.”
What was two blocks?
I pull out my cellphone —
“Where are you?”
“My mom’s drunk.”
Code for: “I’m playing therapist.”
I’m almost out —
out of brain cells (really?”
out of patience
out of love
out of “it”
out of time — but,
the curious thing is,
I’m never almost out of money.
I notice him when he stops on the step
I sit on.
He’s a sterling silver chain,
the thin, delicate kind that breaks with a soft tug.
He looks down at me, eyes
the colour of darkened ice,
not softened by the yellow lights
raining down from under the awning.
“Do you live here?”
“Where is “here”?”
He laughs. Smiles. “The Florence.”
He’s beautiful,
the way a poppy is beautiful,
transparent,
saying so much with his flushed cheeks
and dark eyes,
so full of life and resembling something or, someone, dead —
“Lest we forget,” whispered the corpse,
ouvert,
in the slush of Alsace-Lorraine.
He sits beside me, shoulder warm,
firm — he’s a guy, but he’s so ******* beautiful —
I want to touch him,
brush his cheek as if he’s a rose protruding
from the briar, the thorny path —
not pick him, because he’s too beautiful,
too tragic, and I don’t want to **** him; —
“Where do you live?”
He’s smoking like a flower.
I want to lie. I don’t.
“The Vermont.”
His expression doesn’t change,
remains soft, his eyes stay ice.
He looks away.
I’ll uproot him and plant him in richer soil,
I won’t be looking into ice,
no more mirror,
but, the sky after rain,
the soft fragrant grey,
so much light.
“What’s that? Two blocks?”
“Yeah.”
He rubs his face.
He has sensitive skin,
red upon contact with the cuff
of his wool coat.
“I’ll walk you.”
“Please.”
I stand up slowly and breathe in cold air
and vapour.
Out comes alcohol.
“You’re drunk?”
“I was.”
“Your laces are undone.”
“Are they?”
I look down at him,
he’s laughing,
lowering his head at my knees
and I feel something despite myself —
warmth in my chest,
accompanied by a warmth in my abdomen,
tensing.
“I’ll fix them.”
I watch him, shoulders moving under his coat,
and I imagine him higher,
on his knees and,
a little higher,
stop myself with:
“I’m not a child.”
He stops — I stop him.
He looks up;
his lashes are like glass.
“I want to kiss you.”
Apr 10, 2013
Apr 10, 2013 at 5:08 PM UTC
dark i sit
with hands
carving a bowl
holding\\chest
digging dark soil
mouth filling with thick spit
lips seeping
moist air of solstice
darkness chatters like compounding bone\\shifts
beastlings drooling
tasting it. tensing root.
sipping in(to) darkness
exhaling bounty
Dec 21, 2015
Dec 21, 2015 at 11:05 PM UTC
He was sitting in a burgundy chair, a glass of whiskey in his hand
slowly taking a sip, eyes fixated on the display in front of him
A young girl
tall, thin, brunette
Standing in a slinky dress and too-high heels
misplaced in his garish living room
Another gulp of whiskey
He knew he needed to slow down
The edges of his vision were blurring, and he didn't want to miss this
It wasn't the first, not even close
But this one was different
Something in her eyes... he couldn't look away
He shook the wandering thoughts out of his head,
not allowing his sight to falter
She stared back, not a bit of fear painted on her face
She grabbed one strap between her thumb and index finger
delicately pushing it off her shoulder
She briefly looked in the full length mirror to her left
before smoothly lifting the dress over her head
and casually draping it on a chair behind her
She tipped forward and rolled down her stockings
remarkably steady in her stilettos
She did it with grace
but with a fire blazing behind her thick lashes
He leaned back, wishing he had another ice cube for his drink
but not daring to move
She reached both hands behind her back
pushing out her chest
Thin fingers effortlessly found the clasp
and released her *******
She let her bra fall, not wasting the time
to place it with her dress
She stood, relishing in her liberation
brushing a strand of dark hair behind her shoulder
Her ******* were small but firm
sitting high and round on her chest
Her confidence condensed on her skin
and evaporated as he took a sharp inhale
He stared
and she stared back
Her fingers found the waist of her thong
slipping it off
Poised, she allowed the room and her spectator
to soak in the sight
of her fully exposed body
He sat, numb to her naked figure
and she, to his unwavering gaze
They remained like that
burning holes into each other's skin
savoring the divergence
He absorbed himself in liquor
and women
but he wasn't looking for ***
And she, she undressed herself
in front of men she didn't know
but she didn't want their money
She stood, tensing
and he gripped his glass
both hardened to the outside world
finding an escape in drugs,
each of a different kind
He finished his whiskey and blinked
She slowly collected her clothes
not bothering to put them back on
She grabbed her coat and let herself out
neither one saying a word
He sat, motionless
with the image of her etched
on the space behind his eyes
Just another scar
to become numb to
Oct 13, 2013
Oct 13, 2013 at 11:56 PM UTC
I felt your stare... stripping my soul.
Body tensing.... Heart rate out of control.
Lungs burning.
You spoke a word... I heard a song.
Mind bending... I accept I was wrong.
Blood burning.
We brushed hands... and evey cell awoke.
Body buzzing... Must relax, before I choke.
Heart burning.
Conclusion: Your Love is Fire,
and its these Flames of Love,
that I am consumed by.
They purify me.
Feb 1, 2016
Feb 1, 2016 at 1:57 PM UTC
I used to tell my mom
I'm scared
when the wolves came calling out back
but really I was shy.
was ashamed to admit
all I wanted was to be one of them
to slip into their paw prints
feel the dewy night kissing my ears
to lift my face to the wolf gods,
their bodies reflecting my dark eyes
I'd scrabble through the stale snow,
run until my lungs were scorched
I'd follow until they let me in
to touch them
feel them
lick their cheeks,
winding into their memories
with a slightly steaming spool slowly spinning,
ready to gobble them up
and replace my own
I'd yap and howl the way they do
Leap; spine arched,
into their midst
and match their moon choked tones
I'd want to be a mystery
Have those feeble humans claim they know everything
about me
but really, they’d never even scratch the surface
of the wolf who gleams like ivory
of the wolf who streaks like fiery song
pulsing through the snow
I'd want to be the invisible; you know, that thing that’s watching you
bending through the slip of trees
the thing your eyes strain to find
the thing you wait all night to see
I want to have them look at me,
the ones who think they found me first,
I want the poets
the artists
and writers
to look into my face and say
how beautiful, those eyes
how brave or fierce or wise
and I would grin my wolfish grin
bare my snarling teeth on cue
ignore their stupid human stupor
knowing what they never would
that being a wolf is better than sitting alone
inside
waiting
for them
each night
to lure me with their round raw voices
their silver heart shaped faces
their unforgiving bodies tensing
tails whipping
hammered paws sailing
like white frost oceans
the kings and queens
searching for castles
among the rabble
rubble
waves
--Lily
Dec 21, 2012
Dec 21, 2012 at 5:54 PM UTC
The hole in my chest spins with the phosphorescent white lights of my eyeballs
They go out in an instant
Reverse, counterclockwise
This house is toxic and I can't seem to shake the feeling that this black-hole feels more like home than anything I've known.
It isn't because I know you best
It's because I know you worst
And if I had learned that and never repeated the lesson,
Then my candles wouldn't be nearly gone
And my lipstick wouldn't be stained onto my lips
And I would have been asleep hours ago.
See, I have a problem with saying no.
A vortex approaches me and I'm excited, not afraid
I invite it in to my rib cage just to feel it knot all of my torso into a ball
Tensing it and tensing it until I release
Into the blade and into the lack of my senses
Tingling and wet incisions that taste like bitter mangoes and the bad nights in summer
Hot nights,
Sticky nights.
When you can't close your eyes and you can't feel your legs but the hair on your forehead could be glued on
The last time I was sent away, I had cat scratches on my hands
They're back again
My knuckles were the prettiest shades of red, black, and blue.
These appear in my head
Which might be a step toward heaven
Or what everyone tells me normality feels like.
Ignorance, bliss, and most important,
The avoidance of disappointment all together.
That's what I'm filled with.
Pens with missing parts, smudged nail polish, burning your hair, not having a family to have Thanksgiving with, knowing dad wants to die, waking up from a nightmare, being ****** into adulthood, having no money, being stood up at 3am by your ex
Darkness
The light has to be in there somewhere
Or else I don't know what I'll do.
Nov 16, 2014
Nov 16, 2014 at 12:20 AM UTC
to buy a book at half-ten with
no time wasting. go back, await
instructions ‘cause ****** will
have their trinkets, with novelty
of accented voice. and i once
would talk often of a love – let’s
separate that word from *****
often of a love, but am rare to
fall to elaboration. and through
contemplation the soul may
ascend to knowledge of the
Form of the Good, penultimate
object of Knowledge but not
Knowledge. and often writ of
this love, writ of what was to be
then and never now. never to find
affirmation in fleeting memory.
oxymoronic oblate of the mind
– this soul. attempting for attainment
of Kenosis. shambling i wandered,
rambling i wandered, and humbly
wandering on to pluck till times
and times are done. and
the dogs of this life have re-
moved dearest effects. in turn, sho-
wing the vanity in materialism.
end turn, showing futility in ret-
ention and the sun's continuous gro-
wth forcing abatement of winters’
vespers. cradling a gourd filled with
oil from the skin of ages, to reflect
micorocosms of preceived death.
those silver apples of the moon. and
when vespers return in color, when
the ground aches tensing muscles.
this love, if only the conjunctions
had been denied. perhaps by abor-
tion of if, then could have been a
block for now. these times found
oblate of memory by zealous self-
truth of the wronged past, and
humbled by skewed memory of
the hermit on unseen path for
Kenosis. unseen growth of
those golden apples of the sun.
May 15, 2013
May 15, 2013 at 10:05 PM UTC
I'm paranoid to say the least.
Mind occupied constantly with the nauseating, ****** up, but totally realistic thought that you'll stray.
Girls everywhere; stupid ugly girls popping out of everything, every mindless place you go. Every girl who was a friend before, back when I was a girls girl, is now an enemy.
The love, the "I love you"s, plagued with a painful truth.
You loved her.. And yet.
You love me.. And yet?
I'm waiting. That's all I'm doing; crippled nightly with the anxiety of whats to come.
Because I, I am not like her. And I, well I have not loved before.
And if it's true that the unloved, untouched, baby is the most helpless then so help me, I wont make it through.
And if the baby is already on the edge, floating off all the time anyway, causing rips and tears in the fragile then surely one thing might be enough, to ruin all of the unplanned plans, to break all of the already broken.
I'm breaking.
I'm ******* obsessed.
How do you undo a need that is growing day by day, how do you rewind it?
Nobody ever ******* told me. I was so excited I dove head first. Now I want out. Not totally. I just want out a bit, just a break for air, just this grip on my chest lifted. This tensing of my hands into a claw, it's not healthy.
I cannot accept that at some point, inevitably, without a ******* doubt; I will be hurt in the worst, most upsetting, most painful, demeaning way, that is so familiar to your good self.
And that's why I have already strayed from you.
Mar 24, 2013
Mar 24, 2013 at 10:13 PM UTC
Hi, my name is anxiety! This is what I do to Hannah.
First, I love making her stomach clench up so that she feels like screaming! That’s the best way to start.
Next, I start tensing up every muscle in her body so that she wants to throw a chair across the room. That’s so much fun!
After that, I make her cry. YAY! Runny mascara is a great look on her.
Then, I decide, hmm, why not make her want to disconnect from the world and hide under her bed all day? That sounds really relaxing and nice.
What happens next, you ask? Oh I make Hannah so angry and upset that she starts taking that anger out on the people around her. They all deserve Hannah’s pain, right?
Ugh, I’m tired now. I guess I’ll just leave Hannah alone so that she can feel all my actions for another two to three hours.
Thanks for your time! Maybe I’ll come hang out with you soon! ;)
Feb 4, 2016
Feb 4, 2016 at 8:19 PM UTC