BlueLionEyes

I pick up my pen & choke

She stops to stare at her reflection in the shop window, lined up with mannequins and advertisements of dashing women lounging on beaches of eternal paradise. She is gazing at me, but she is looking at her stomach, brows furrowed in distress, at the way it looks in her floral top. Gently, but swiftly, her hand touches the soft curve of her thigh; the other hand grips her purse a little too tightly. She frowns: I smile. Beyond the glass of her insecurity, her thighs resuscitate me.

Old habits die hard, I think as I step into the shower, remembering the weird ways the faucets turn to scorch my back in shame. I remember my mother and our whorish ways. Always asking her second youngest daughter who she should love, to whom should she give love, to whom should she make love to? I am a lotus flower, growing from my mothers filth. Some days are better than others, some days I want to tell you the truth, that every April I want to sing and die and every August I want to sleep and cry, some days poetry froths at my lips and other days he does. I need to be raw, I tell myself every morning, don't pretend to be someone you c

The worst people make the most memories in my brain, in my soul, and years later I can still pick them out in a crowd of a thousand faces, a million memories, one similarity. My writing isn't good but I try to capture emotion, the way you used to look at me and the trembling of my heart, the touch and kiss(es) of lust and the broken hearts of dust, and even when you're just a mistake that lingers in my brain, you're still here, a broken mirror. I watch and watch and vow to never be like them, but the truth isn't gonna save me anymore, so I'm turning you into a lie. You never happened, we never happened, the summer never stammered, the tho

Your voice sounds like spring flowers blooming, born from soil that has seen too much rain, too much drought, too much erosion and not enough attention to last through the cloudy April days and heat of early summer. Tell me about the men who have stolen your innocence, the reason why you show up at work with tears in your eyes, who did this to you, who broke your heart and made you feel like you weren't beautiful enough? When she braids your hair and your eyeliner reflects the kohl of ancient queens, I stand exasperated-- O! Woman, you do not burden me, I may be young but your soul is old and I long to learn. My friend, I hope that my smil

I'm still alive, trust me, but I cannot b r e a t h e .

       I never thought that       history and chemistry       were similar subjects       until I met you.

I kissed you 14 weeks ago under the lying sun who should have burnt us who should have turned me away, and closure is a whore that doesn't know when to stop demanding the truth, because there is no true in you, you have no truth to make you true, I drive down the street and every song whispers your name and makes me believe that you will always offer your embrace, but you feel so wrong, you feel so wrong. I am attracted to this pain that eats me alive but my body won't die, my skin won't shed (and Lord knows I have been a snake to him), This shore has been flooded and the water won't drain, the anchor has been done for days and now I onl

Listen to the melody of the mushroom clouds that composes a symphony of nuclear bombs and nuclear booms as we choke on the ashes of long lost lovers and politicians.

He promised me the universe while I played in someone else's bed.