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Category: Writing and Poetry
Sunday mornings, they have to be my favorite. I pull on my flats and brush off my skirt. It’s early, a sunny 8:00, and Ben should be here any minute. He likes to take me out to the diners around town. I really do think it’s the sweetest thing, I like boys who know how to treat a girl to a nice breakfast. It makes me happy, how in just the little time we’ve been together, Ben has already picked up ... » Continue Reading
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Category: Writing and Poetry
On nights that I long for you Night that become all so blue Nights on that I think of you Tell me that this isn’t true Dying isn’t what I fear Neither my fate, now unclear I imagine your warm body here Yet that alone is too severe Your voice, your lullaby Your old, sweet goodbye Shine leaving from your eyes Tears I wish I could dry It’s you who I love the most » Continue Reading
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Category: Writing and Poetry
Eat me And make me beautiful Rip my hair Pinch my skin Poke my eyes Love me like you once did Hurt me like you’ve always have As long as you make me beautiful, then I can take it So swallow me Beat me Fuck me Eat, and eat, and eat me Then spit me out on dirty concrete I’ll forgive you And kiss the teeth that chewed me up I love you » Continue Reading
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Category: Writing and Poetry
I want to peel back my skin and flesh I’ll curl up in a ball and cut through I want to feel naked and alone I’ll let my nerves cry as I do I want to be open and raw I’ll become new New and tender I want to be that Weak and feeble I’d like to be that Virgin and innocent I long to be that It hurt’s when I’m done But I do not bleed The idiot, the fool And the o » Continue Reading
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Category: Writing and Poetry
Dear God, You were right! When I read you’re letter, I really thought it could not be true That maybe, I had the slightest chance of living, a life of happiness, and purity, but you were right! And although I cried at your berating words, and cried to my secrets, None of that will matter anymore Because now, I know what I am good for John said it himself- and I’m so happy I’m so happy he thinks » Continue Reading
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Category: Writing and Poetry
Mary opened her eyes to two strange things. Two strange, familiar things One, an apron, and two, a warm-light kitchen. Both strange, for she had not put an apron in years, since Ben only bought the couple fast-food leftovers for dinner, and for the fact that this very kitchen was one she had not seen in the longest time. This kitchen was home, the home with John. Though Mary was surprised, her fo... » Continue Reading
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Category: Writing and Poetry
You are a lover that I cannot love. You are a lover that I do not want to love. Which, that statement itself confuses even myself. To a point, and to an outside perspective, there is no doubt that I do have love for you. But to me, the love I hold for you is only one to ease the aching I have in my heart, not to truly want you, and have you, but to share the one thing I live for, the one thing I c... » Continue Reading
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Category: Writing and Poetry
“It’s late, are you sure I should still be here?” Steven let me stay at his before my parents got home. My parents worked late. He was friendly, and he was trusting, so I never questioned staying here without really a given permission. It was like staying at a good friends house. Steven was 28 years old, and I may have been 11, but he was still my friend. He was nice to me. Not a lot of people are... » Continue Reading
Category: Writing and Poetry
I do the same three things every night when I get home. Sink, strip, and shed. I sink into my sadness. It’s not really something that goes away anyway, follows me dawn till dusk. Just gets much worse when I’m alone. Being alone makes me sad, really sad. All I can do is wallow in a stupid stance the moment I open my door, gazing on the room I barely clean around. It’s like the floor is one big gia... » Continue Reading
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Category: Writing and Poetry
I’ll count the days on my calendar for pleasure every day, on this day, leading up to the number I am the calendar, I am the memory Rows and rows across my sleeve Minutes are what I bleed The aftermath on the floor The days I spent waiting Punctured on my skin, grey memoirs grey into red that fades as time ahead Still resemble my growing patience My sin was overdue My sin, the highest crime I » Continue Reading
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Category: Writing and Poetry
Mary, you really have nothing to live for I know what you do when you’re alone You’re always alone Nobody else knows, but I do I know that Mary can buy ecstasy for just five dollars I know she can get lsd for just three And I definitely know she wants the seroquel She can get that only for ten And I know damn well she needs it You’re nothing but shit now Mary You sit on your ass You eat once a d... » Continue Reading
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