jumbled ideas of loveShe can't.She won't.No matter the reason, there's no way she does.The idea? Absolutely.She loves the idea.She cherishes itAnd feeds it to sheep,The dependent and the trustful.She never did.She never can.She never will.Her ideas of it are sparse.She has experience in pleasure,And a degree in fun.But her words are wrongHer words are untrueHer words aren't there...They're jumbled. the idea. the function of itI can't take hold.The words and letters!They don't make sense in context,But I assure you they're there.i'm losing sightof the road aheadi'm drowning in the delusions.downhill i have becomeincoherentlonelyundecipherable.i am donewith your ideasof love
ParabolaYou deserve my full attention.The curve of your forearm,And imagining it around my waistStartles and distracts me from reality,Reaching, tearing apart my linear functionAnd forming a parabola.You are the only one capitalizing my time.The shape of your lipsAnd picturing them on mineShakes and forgives the past unbroken,Rethinking, shifting away from what was once straightAnd creating a parabola.You promise me a future.The camber of your shoulders,And visualizing the position you use to laughExtrapolates and destroys the meaning of my existence,Bending, relinquishing me of this flat-line lifeAnd generating a parabola.You secure my mark in humanity.The arc of this reality, this existenceAnd picturing your reality with mineDismantles and eliminates everything I thought was real,Deflecting, deviating my own thoughtsAnd producing a parabola.
Awakening from Paralysis Your whispers in the night bring her down;They drag her down to the dungeons and take from her the crown.The crown is all this beauty had in the world,But it was after you took it that her real journey unfurled.You took her to the steaming hot bath,And watched as her back arched under your wrath.Now all she wants is to find her true love - One who will not be neglectful ofHer needs to be touched with a softer handThat will stop in an instant with a quiet command.The dream itself is totally free,But the journey is indeed sold separately,For she has traveled through tunnels of fire and sootFor coming down your chimney, no shoe on her foot.She whispers quite solemn to her pillow too roughThat she's done entirely and had enough.She reaches for her water kept next to her bed,And beats herself to death, ending with her head.Into a deep sleep her eyes engageUntil her true love wakes her from this stageOf fear and uncertainty that strains this quiet missOnly to be awa
I Have Slept With ThemI have a confession.I have slept with them. Others begged to hear about it,But I replied with vague, half-true answers.I have felt them,Warm and bursting inside of me,Until I could feel no more.But the initial ecstasyHas now been replaced by shame;I have not slept with pride in years,Not even whispered its name.I have a confession.I have slept with them -The secrets, I mean.
I'm the Bitch, Not YouYou are quite literally the stupidest person I have ever met.I am bilingual, and yet still don't possess the words to describe you.Bitch?Maybe.But being a bitch is an art;Trust me, I would know.And being a bitch would label you as a true woman,Which can't work,Because the very letter "B" lying on its side visually depicts everything that you lack.If I wished, I could poke you over FacebookAnd watch you crumble to your knees.I am the bitch.I'll correct anyone who disagrees.The maple blood that spouted from her irresistible lips has replaced the blood in my limbs,And it drips in my brain like a ticking bomb-A constant reminder of all the things you've done wrong.You need only remember that I will not forget.You will live the life of a mouse with a cat,And though you're the full-blown lesbian and I'm the unknown,You don't deserve to be the cat,Because I fucking hate you,And everyone knows damn well I'm the bad bitch with the cats.But I am also a dog,As the term 'bit