Stanzas and lines filled
Hours to get myself killed
Only to realize I'll never fit in Cinderella's shoes
I'll never be your muse
and how many stanzas will i keep on writing until I realizw that no matter what would happen, I will never be worth someone's poem.
what if there was a lock with no key to throw away?
what if it could be sealed with no lips having a taste?
what if it held your words with no rope to tie it down?
what if it can be made with just words with no sound?
everything was built through a promise. so don't break it, because a promise is a promise and I only believe it because you're the one who made it. don't be like them, I hope to god that you're not like them. eating their words until they're full while I'm empty and broken.
She's a saint with the lips of a sinner.
She's an angel with a devilish kiss.
She's my paradise in hell.
You own every part of me,
Take my heart for it only beats to you,
Take my eyes for you are all that I see,
Take my hands just so you could hold them tight,
Tale my everything for you are all I need.
i knew that night that she owned me. the night where i moaned her name and she moaned mine, i knew it was time to surrender. i am hers as she is mine
You will think me cruel, very selfish, but love is always selfish; the more ardent, the more selfish. You must come with me, loving me, to death; or else hate me, and still come with me, and hating me through death and after.
excerpt from carmilla, joseph sheridaan le fanu (1872)
The moon is my sun,
The night is my day,
Blood is my life,
And you are my prey.
Tell me a story of how much the sun loved thy moon so much, that he died every night just to let her breathe. But why **** thyself when you can keep the moon from the skies and the stars all for yours to see? My moon is mine. No other sky shall she rise without me, no other stars shall share her sky with. Only the sun, only me, only mine.
She’s been trapped in a memory,
Missing out on a remedy,
****** up off Hennessy,
She pretends to be what her friends believe.
Up all night, she dances with the devil,
But when she’s all alone she remembers,
She’s a lost soul – a pretender.
it feels good not to wear a mask when im with her. im consumed by all these happy feelings that i forget to pretend, and i think that's why she's the closest thing i could call home.