I say “How’s your day?” but want to whisper “come here” You reply “it’s good” instead of pulling me near you I ask if you’re headed out but would rather be lowering myself down your core You nod yes and bite your lip but want to bite mine “Cool” I respond as I picture kissing you like our plane is going down We both exhale and I leave without listening to your eyes, yelling at me to stay
I can never stumble on the right words the dislocated ones I find, just fall and tumble out of my mouth, bumbling it's too hard to navigate word order through the fog of dizziness the tip of your tongue evokes disoriented busyness disrupts my thought process and causes my heart to erupt while my vernacular chokes
you never saw the enamored expression, my sprawled infatuation, when I’d watch your face because your gaze was always intercepted with the loving look, you paid your phone your heart never fell to the floor when my dress would because your heart was never there to drop you’ll never know how easy I would have been to please because my happiness never made your to do list you saw me the way you see your window pane, dazing past it at something much prettier
I'll seduce you with my "Daddy Issues" broken look and leave you wondering if you can't fuck the needle out of my arm I get off watching you have to think about the men that violate me (men who don't want me like you do) I want to see you die in the wake of my poor, self-generated, prognosis and bury me before I'm dead Sleeping on your chest while my self-harm keeps you awake, is the only time I feel alive
your eyes railed to mine like the collide of a train wreck becoming intertwined and not easy to tare away your intentional locked stare forces me to exhale while your smile has me forgetting, all the while, to altogether breathe I imagine the tips of your fingers; how'd they feel down my throat and the heights of intimacy I might show you, with just my bottom lip Not touching you is like pouring kerosene over an open fantasy
Shoveling all night Abandoning sleep From 4 to 5 Than 12 feet deep There she’s buried Left far behind Still though pristine And past flat-lined Wiping dead tears Off her muddied face A fucked song, gone wrong With no Amazed Grace Dirt covered he whispers Saying a vow, “He can’t hurt you again, when I’ve got you now” Her eyes open, slow To looking around Seeing she’s lost For just being found “Where is he though?” She asks so afraid The Digger, he pulls her From down where she laid He smiles and...
I wonder if maybe the universe brought us to meet to discover together, the secret to life? Than it occurred to me that we already did, back there in that hotel room. Two singles, a single soul and dismantled antique headboard. A fleeting weekend that has sustained me through dark hours and weeks to follow. Something to smile about through the pain or laugh all the while for looking into fears ugly eyes and something to...
I can't be your "Little Thing" not another day or hour. No, not even for a last song. You've broke me like a whisky binge. So, I'll walk my shame on home, where you won't and cannot be. Our last round was served and drank, long before this last call. We'll fuck in different beds tonight, wake up to something new. We were no good for each other but this goodbye, ole friend, is good.
Her gorgeous thoughts and pretty mind, a beautiful psyche and astonishing vernacular. The attractive way she deduces reasoning and seduces you with her intelligent wit. If you can't see past her lovely face, peering through her perfect body, you will miss out on all that makes her... well, indescribable.
I know what love is. It's patient and it's kind. It's cooking 3 meals a day for a grieving army. It's a perfectly timed hug, followed by a homemade cocktail. It's an 8am car ride to a funeral when you got off work at 5am. It's blowing throw a stop sign at a construction site to ensure timeliness to a service. It's 100 man hours crafting the most beautiful box the world has ever known. It's a gentle "it's ok" in a cemetery. It's the pep talk of a lifetime when morale is at its lowest. It is balancing babies and heartache gracefully. It's much needed humor in the midst of despair. ...
a mattress on your floor our chamber this apartment, our lair the street corner our solitaire venture for more be my Sid, I'll show you Nancy our bodies thin our drug seduced delusion, thinner substance induced love you whisper vacant and numb "You're what whisky lives for and food for the bottle you drink," like a strung out Shakespeare and my kinda fairy tale