GalateaSometimes, she is my mistressSneaking in through my window and seducing me out of sleepShe keeps me up past sunrise, whispering sweet promises in my earSilencing me with her smoldering passion, stripping me until inspiration strikesShe makes me sing, until the sheets are slathered in a thick skin of poetrySending shivers up my spine and igniting my senses with her ghostly fingersShe is a lover and a shadow, nowhere to be seen when I wakeSometimes, she is my psychosisSuffocating and strong, I can do nothing but submit to her graspShe seethes, like a snake constricting around me until my sight blurs to smokeSlowly, she consumes me with sick reverence and searing obsessionShe stifles me because she refuses to be restrained, yet I long for her kissSevering haggard breaths from my lips, leaving me stunned and achingShe is a succubus and a nightmare, haunting meSometimes, she is my saintStifling sobs against my shoulder, shaking me until my tears start to fallShe has so much
Bad HabitsS.She always rubs her mouth,like there’s a secret she can’t say out loud.Tracing her own lips to prevent a smile, a frown, or a tear.Sometimes her real smile peeks through, but you can only see it in her squinted almond eyes; dark amber, and soft, just like that bashful grin.Sometimes a frown shows when no one is looking, followed by a wistful sigh and a simple wipe of the palm across that silent mouth, trying to push the bad feelings and words away.Sometimes tears roll past her knuckles; she fails to catch them at the source because she’s scared to wipe her eyes raw, so she brushes them away after they’ve fallen in the crook of her pink lips.She always hides her mouth,as if she’s afraid to speak.M.She never faces you completely,like you’re not worth her full attention.Averting her cold gaze, she walks with a haughty, empty stride.Even when her striking blue eyes are pointed at you, her chin is always tilted up and shoulder
.the sun did notkiss my skinyesterday, he sleptlateshowed hisface around noonand then went backto bed; theearth exhaled
sati(ate)dit's ironic,isn't it? the waythey say "hunger gnaws"like the way our teethscrape against bones.for all thecalories that are counted,you still feelempty. you aren'tbeautiful untilyou are digestingnothing but airand maybe your own guilt.that's just the wayliving is thesedays: swallowingglass shards toslice up your insides soyou can ignorethe other kind of pain yourstomach is feeling.but when people askif you're doing okay you justsmile and nod even thoughyou can't help butthink "if honesty wastangible, i'd eat it rightnow."life hasan acquired taste andsome days you'dlike to rip yourtongue out.
tencourage must be a dominant trait,for how else could you handle a pin-pulled grenadewith such delicacy and patience?
notes on a matchbook love.if I were the typeto say how I really felt,I'd tell you thatI hope you choke on your apologieslike they're arsenicand your nails are alreadystriped whitewith the poison.I'd let you knowthat I'll never be a bodyfor you to touchjust because I know that's all you want.I'll never be a fairy in a bottleat your waist.this is no storybook, andI am no myth.hear my silence,feel the cold absencerespond to your weak "I'm sorry"s.I beg you,pyromaniac,stop digging the hole,stop speaking,stop, just stop.Hush and watch the flamesengulf the image you sold me.you can tell me I'm beautiful as much as you want,but I know that it's not enough,that you'll always want more,that you've been a wolfbetween my legs all this timeand my fingers are bruisedfrom holding the leash.now every time you whisper"please be okay",I will always tell you thatI'm fine, I'm fine, I'm fine.I will forever pretend that I've grown up from you,that I've become a mysteryy
curiouser and curiouserseventeen years &still chasing white rabbits,it's no wonder i've neverbeen in love.we're all mad here;no one can find the road toyesterday.(i don't knowwhere to go)let's fall down a hole.(i'm just a chrysaliswith no butterfly wings)off with my head when itcan only imagine nonsense& clockwork hearts.give me a cheshire's smile-i want to knowwhat it feels liketo be in wonderland.
What Are You To Me?What Are You To Me?:I have walked in this world,And they have told me of kings.Of brave rulers who make the tough choices,Men of example and outstanding character.But it was then that they said,What is a king to a God?What is a mere mortal to a higher power,One who holds our fate in his hands?They said he was benevolent and kind,Wrathful and jealous, magnanimous and selfish alike.He was the perfect ideal, embodying all thingsAnd we were made in his image...It was then that I was laughed at,By he who asked this question:What is a God, to a non-believer?One who lives by the truth he sees...He is the man who acts as per his morals.He lives through his eyes and is judged by his fellows.He submits to no higher being, not a one does he fear;Comfortable with his own conscience...But all three, I beg; I ask ye this:For what is a king to a God,A God to a non-believer,And all three of them in comparison,To the madman who watches the world burn..."I
.you should haveemerged with life; yourlittle roots should haveclutched the soil in theirtiny white fists, andgrowni did not mean to trampleyou, i did not mean tolet my body killyour body
.the oaks crouch to greetme, i sit with the ferns andthe forest listens
i haven't forgottentell me, boywho is your god.do not say itis the limbsthat spread youbetween knowingand comfort;do not tell me it ishands wrapping a headboard, nor a mouthtugging your namefor salvation.i want to know who it isthat makes you lucent,bent beneath the dark,weeping,because there is no divinitylike the one that makesyou bleed
.i opened mymouth;you showedme yourteeth
.my head isthe apple and youare the worm;watch mesquirm
Marinating in the Pervading Loneliness2.37 am sounds likeclenching your jawuntil a crack shoots downinto the nerve endings.The crunch of bonesplitting and separatingand shearing painup into the naive skull,that hoped for something elseto penetrate the malaisecreated by fooling yourselfwith love, with money,with smilesand words.It sounds like biting your tongue -and that flab of meatchunking onto the carpetand violating your chinwith its copperstench syrup,that stains everybodythe same flavour of red -This is what 2.37 am tastes like.Like the only warmth is fromthat cyaniatic bouillabaissecreated by swallowing yourself:your blood, and teeth,and tears,and words.
Road SideI want to have an impactthat lasts longer than the lifeof those petrol seeped flowersplaced ad memoriam at the road side.Let my memory last longerthan the roses.
.i hear those sailorslost at sea, those white winged soulsfloating in the blue
If Winter Should Take YouThe heart of autumnpleads for one more leaf to fall.Before snow envelops it.
OSometimes I think about buyinga ring that represents foreverBut who needs golden bandswhen cold fingertips on my skindraw eternity in shy circles