my slurred words that night
were not let out for your lust
when i said no
teasing was not my intention
i was not asking for more

my mind hazy
and left contemplating
but the alcohol in my veins
would not let out more than a no
my limbs were weak
and you had full control on me

the night went on
and i finally gave in, gave up
your persistence was not fading
and time was not letting me leave

the weight of your body atop of mine
my eyes closed
i wanted to be somewhere else
with every trace your fingers left
i knew i'd scrub that part for a countless number of minutes after

my mind sober enough to know that
this would all be over soon
also sober enough to bash myself
mad for being a tease
or even tempting him

how could i be so dumb
showing so much skin
with my outfit or the way i spoke
how could i not have expected to be touched

He licks the poetry
off her lips between
each and every kiss.
He reads the words
on her skin with his
fingertips just like the
blind read their words
in braille* ~

“I swear it to you,”
“He had you in this life...
...but during the next million you’ll be only mine.”

I'm just another note, in your symphony.
Grab me by my throat, have me trembling on my knees.
You're just a chain smoker,
I'm a Pack of Cigarettes.
I cross the line & lean over, nothing I regret.
.
You tighten the strings, make another sound.
Play a rhythm, and just keep smoking around.
And with every noise, your eyes they shine brighter.
Cause the only hand you need is the one with the lighter.
.
Now your buds are on the ground.
You wonder what went wrong?
Your chords were right, & so was the tone.
.
I knew karma, couldn't harm her.
But, this time it's going down.
Cause what goes around...
...must come back around.
- **Aks, Chainsmokers & Symphonies.

Falling.
they say that it’s exhilarating
like a fast car at midnight
cheeks aching from
the grin that couldn’t be held back
warm fingers laced between
the imperfections
forgotten
and yourself
found.

But
what if the car
crashes
and cheeks become tear stained
cold hands holding your own head
heavy with thought
and memories
lost and
broken.

I suppose
I’m yet to find a
fall
that seems worth all the
what if’s.