i’m a fucking mess tonight

i’m going to spend every sunday dreaming
about your silky, wet skin
and your pruned fingers,
and how you filled me up more than the area of that steaming pool

i feel empty
like an anorexic model,
only full of hope that you will come back to me.
have not you left me?
Not physically, but maybe verbally.
emotionally.
i wish you would confide in me;
you’re the only thing that can make me feel whole.
my heart is empty and my head weighs me down
because without you next to me, my pulse slowly dies down.
you’re sinking us both
and my airway feels as small as a pinhole

i crave you
and only you,
that i swear.
i feel empty
like an anorexic model,
because i just can’t stomach anything but you.

formication in my chest.
the things you utter make me squirm,
but I can never wriggle myself free of your lies.
These deceits make the candles in a static room flicker;
and it kills me to see you do this to yourself,
while all I can do is stare as an ancestor unfolds
into a Beast.
saltwater stains four pillows,
no, five,
one for each heart you are smothering.
formication in my chest.
your reflection mocks a bigot.
These griefs are not my own,
I drag yours with my arms while you criticize every indiscretion of mine;
but when you are too blind and aged
and crippled to persist,
I cease to hold your withered hand
and lift your eyes to the principle of your existence.
Formication in my chest.
young women have not the choice
to deem a mother degrading;
and young women have not the choice
of making mistakes of their own;
and young women have not the choice
to an innuendo.
but my daughter will

and I just can’t even imagine
what happiness feels like
anymore
because my skin
is so cold without you here.

BRB
still crying 

there are 52 cards in a deck,
52 things i can write down instead of saying out loud.
like how i imagine that i’m pretty when i’m kissing you,
or how i would never need medication if you were always around.
I’m out of touch with any reality that doesn’t involve the sunshine.

there are 365 days in a year,
365 ways i can imagine us in bed together.
like being hungover in the morning with coffee,
or taking advantage of our own eyes by memorizing every detail of each other’s pores.

there are 13 days until the weather forecast is clear,
13 twenty four hour days until the sun warms me up
in ways i thought i would never feel.
goosebumps, a fluttering stomach, bliss,
i can close my eyes and feel you here
casting shadows and painting a glow on my skin.

my body is frozen
and my heart stopped
and the thing i’m worried most about
is that i won’t be able to have another smoke

Once said, always said.
I will hold the past over your head.
I’ll speak my mind whenever I feel slighted.
I am hellbent on extracting all of my revenge.
Take heart, sweetheart, or I will take it from you.

We slip concealed back to the keep.
Concede to do the work for free.
We prey as wolves among the sheep and slit the necks of soldiers while they sleep.

there is no room for original rhyme left for me in any sonnet.

it’s easiest to miss the only person who gives you love.
it’s easy to become addicted.

I could relive every single moment of this past week over and over again and it would be enough to keep me happy and alive forever. I can hardly think of words to describe the sublime, quiet moments we spent together; but I can describe what it’s like away from him: all that is comparable is a lonely feeling & a bad hangover.
Maybe I get drunk off those soft, beautiful lips. Even so, they were compelling like moonshine, sweet and warm like the sunshine. I miss his mouth on me; and I already miss the feeling of his wet fingers lathering my body.
All I want is the taste that your lips allow
This isn’t young lust
this is the way we both feel and
I know we’re not as strong as we would like to be,
but we can dream of being reslilient
and perfect together. It wouldn’t be the first time a dream of mine
came true.
This isn’t young lust because I daydream about a single light when i’m alone. No sinister shadows could frighten me away from the gleaming beauty they try so hard to overcast.
Young lust is when you share a drink and a kiss.
Young love is when you kiss her after she’s gotten sick from her drink.

i’m too tired to focus on literature or sleeping, so i guess i’ll close my eyes, give them a rest from weeping.
i want to set fire to my bed and float above it and watch it burn; and watch the flame spread to the drapes, across the carpet,burning posters and pictures and all of these memories and turning it to ash. a cremation for my mind. i expected flowers by the end of it, but all i got was a package addressed to a person i didn’t know. manila envelopes must be very important, i’m not sure. i don’t know what i know or what i don’t know. and does this make sense or does it not? or does my heart still beat or do i breathe or blink or smell or grow? i just lay here on the pile of ashes where a familiar memory used to be and stare at the envelope in my hand wondering who ‘Kate Adeline’ is. i wish she would arrive and take her mail, i feel awfully uncomfortable keeping something that looks so important.

Street lights are the only things that see me for who I am. They understand more than I do. They light up in my darkest hours, that’s why they shine at night. That’s why the moon and the stars are lustrous. The sun takes over when their energies are running low. Sun stars, moon, street lamps: bright things that light up when I’m in a dark lonely cell. But if the sun rises all the time, and stars are visible when skies are clear, and street lights switch on with surging electric energy, then why must this cell entrap me with howling werewolves and the creatures of the night? There is no fluorescent bulb, only this candle they set outside my cellar bars. Since I can’t make out any open doors or windows in this asylum, I can only assume the singing souls of the departed are what makes the light & fire sway and flicker.
Flickering lights cast a sinister shadow of who I never wanted to become whilst I still had a pumping heart.

and i can’t remember ever feeling this warm, except for maybe the time on valentine’s. and i’m not sure if it’s just the liquor or if that’s the most beautiful song i’ve ever listened to. it must be something other than ethanol, since i can feel a tingling sensation in my chest as well as my hand and face and stomach and heart. and i want to stay feeling like this whenever i’m away from you. so i’ll memorize the reasons why you come home to me and i’ll sing and remember you for many sad moments in these years left to come, and that way i’ll know we’re both strong enough for this ever so passionate love.

it makes me sick because i’m the only one who really knows about this. i’m the girl with her head buried in the sand, i’m the one that no one can understand & since i don’t even know myself what’s the point in this anyway? i don’t get along with those around me, not because i’m too proud or too weak, maybe i’m not just cut out for it at all, never was in the first place. and maybe the reason we all ty to act So strong is because we fear where we went wrong, or maybe all of our life’s have been bitter and we don’t want to be afraid anymore. why should we show that pain.

i’ve kissed a hundred guys. all the same. all of them were lies and maybe i hide my pain in the way i lied back to them. telling them, without hesitation, how i Loved them and how i saw perfection in everything they did. and everything they did was a joke haha. a simple joke, a riddle that was repeated over and Over again, for every new man there was another lit cigarette. and i’ve smoked hundreds, for every day i spent with a different  person, dreamt of another reason for leaving, dreamt of too many ways of escaping, not from them but from myself, because at the end of the day that’s who you have to face, there’s no one there in that mirror, dear. only you, and the memories and all the lies you told. Are you Proud now mom? now that you’ve seen what i’ve become. you can Stay mad. at me, at the world, at every single thing you thought you deserved even though you didn’t  and you shouldn’t have hit me or my brother, or my father or anybody else, and you taught me how to do it. so now i’ve learned to kill the pain from within, i do it on the outside, here see these scars? they tell the stories of why I am who I am and I hate that I think this way but there has never been a way to escape. so here it goes: If every single boy I kissed, or girl I kissed, should ever remember one thing about me it’s that i’m sad and there’s something missing and i don’t believe there’s a way to mend something that’s missing everything. But now i know that all those nights spent alone or with someone unimportant have been worth it because i’ve found the light, and he’s there, and he’s real and he’s mine and i could talk about him all the time because it’s what I’ve been searching for for such a long time. and if I had to die today, i’d kill him first so that he wouldn’t have to go through more pain. this strain in my voice, it’s the warning sign of defeat, but do i give up now? i don’t. because that light is the only thing i can truly recall as being my home.