POEM[S]!
masochist.
you know that biting
the tender skin below my
ear will always set
my hands to shaking,
and that bruises will be worth
more in the morning
than quiet whispers.
you know that the sharp snap of
your hips into mine
is never enough,
that sex feels good but the ache
feels better. what you
don't know is that i'm
afraid that one winter day
you'll shatter my heart
and when i ask why
you'll just say, "well, i know you
like it when it hurts."
at deviantART
. - by estallidos at deviantART
the tender skin below my
ear will always set
my hands to shaking,
and that bruises will be worth
more in the morning
than quiet whispers.
you know that the sharp snap of
your hips into mine
is never enough,
that sex feels good but the ache
feels better. what you
don't know is that i'm
afraid that one winter day
you'll shatter my heart
and when i ask why
you'll just say, "well, i know you
like it when it hurts."
at deviantART
. - by estallidos at deviantART
hipbone connected to the...
dear-
i'm writing you a letter
on the back of my hand
shake and shiver because sometimes
the winter is colder than i hope
you think about me every now and again
i'm falling through the pages of a book i've never read
between the lines of the shapes the streets make
me believe that you aren't as confused as i am
forgetting about poison in my veins and my heart
beats a broken rhythm
drum into submission and i watch as it dies
the black ink bleeding through my body
of water is never as deep as it seems
you've forgotten me and the way i love you
feel so cheap on my skin
i hope you remember and tell me
please
love me.
- by ohsostarryeyed at deviantART
dear-
i'm writing you a letter
on the back of my hand
shake and shiver because sometimes
the winter is colder than i hope
you think about me every now and again
i'm falling through the pages of a book i've never read
between the lines of the shapes the streets make
me believe that you aren't as confused as i am
forgetting about poison in my veins and my heart
beats a broken rhythm
drum into submission and i watch as it dies
the black ink bleeding through my body
of water is never as deep as it seems
you've forgotten me and the way i love you
feel so cheap on my skin
i hope you remember and tell me
please
love me.
- by ohsostarryeyed at deviantART
nonexistent people.
"something's wrong."
"what makes you say that?"
"your shirt is white."
"so?"
"so, it's just white. there's nothing on it- no dirt, no ink, no blood."
"i guess you're right."
"so, what's wrong?"
"i don't remember how to speak."
"you're talking right now."
"that's irrelevant."
"yeah?"
"yeah. i'm running my mouth but i'm saying nothing. i'm thinking all these things, and i can't say them. i'm sitting straight but everything is angled and i think i'm falling when i'm only standing still."
"i think you said that very well."
"then maybe i forgot how to see."
"have you?"
"maybe. i'm missing something. like something that's on the tip of my nose and i won't cross my eyes to see it. "
"cross your eyes."
"no."
"why not?"
"i don't want my eyes to get stuck."
"look at me."
"hi."
"what do you see?"
"your eyes are sad. you have a crooked mouth. your hands never touch flatly on your thighs. you look wrong, but beautiful. oh- sorry. i shouldn't say that."
"i don't think you're blind."
"i don't know. maybe i have forgotten how to hear."
"hear, or listen?"
"i can listen. i know what you say isn't what you mean, i can taste the fear on the back of my tongue when you look in only one of my eyes and say, 'no, i'm not afraid.' i can listen to the way your hands shake and your eyes dart to the left when you're nervous. but i can't fucking hear for the life of me."
"what does my heart sound like?"
"it sounds like it's crying, but sometimes like a nuclear explosion."
"i think you can hear just fine. and your sense of taste is alright, as well."
"and smell and taste are connected, right? fuck- i don't know what's wrong with me. maybe i can't feel. maybe i can't live."
"why can't you just be alright?"
"because i can't be wrong. i want to know what i'm missing, i want to know why i can't breathe."
"what are you doing?"
"controlled hyperventilation. i'm breathing, and it's beautiful. it's as beautiful as you. i can breathe and taste and see and smell and hear and feel and listen and i can't stop shaking or crying and i'm falling to pieces, but it's so fucking beautiful because it means i'm not dead."
"something's wrong."
"what makes you say that?"
"your shirt is white."
"so?"
"so, it's just white. there's nothing on it- no dirt, no ink, no blood."
"i guess you're right."
"so, what's wrong?"
"i don't remember how to speak."
"you're talking right now."
"that's irrelevant."
"yeah?"
"yeah. i'm running my mouth but i'm saying nothing. i'm thinking all these things, and i can't say them. i'm sitting straight but everything is angled and i think i'm falling when i'm only standing still."
"i think you said that very well."
"then maybe i forgot how to see."
"have you?"
"maybe. i'm missing something. like something that's on the tip of my nose and i won't cross my eyes to see it. "
"cross your eyes."
"no."
"why not?"
"i don't want my eyes to get stuck."
"look at me."
"hi."
"what do you see?"
"your eyes are sad. you have a crooked mouth. your hands never touch flatly on your thighs. you look wrong, but beautiful. oh- sorry. i shouldn't say that."
"i don't think you're blind."
"i don't know. maybe i have forgotten how to hear."
"hear, or listen?"
"i can listen. i know what you say isn't what you mean, i can taste the fear on the back of my tongue when you look in only one of my eyes and say, 'no, i'm not afraid.' i can listen to the way your hands shake and your eyes dart to the left when you're nervous. but i can't fucking hear for the life of me."
"what does my heart sound like?"
"it sounds like it's crying, but sometimes like a nuclear explosion."
"i think you can hear just fine. and your sense of taste is alright, as well."
"and smell and taste are connected, right? fuck- i don't know what's wrong with me. maybe i can't feel. maybe i can't live."
"why can't you just be alright?"
"because i can't be wrong. i want to know what i'm missing, i want to know why i can't breathe."
"what are you doing?"
"controlled hyperventilation. i'm breathing, and it's beautiful. it's as beautiful as you. i can breathe and taste and see and smell and hear and feel and listen and i can't stop shaking or crying and i'm falling to pieces, but it's so fucking beautiful because it means i'm not dead."
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