Lost soul

My soul is so far gone
That the smell of decay,
Lingers along the wounds
On my body.
There was a light that once
Shined from my heart, that has
Been obstructed with thick black
Tar spilling in from my lungs.
There was a time when my
Anatomy was filled with colors
Of autumn leaves,
wavering amongst the wind.
But now, the wind has died,
Along with the leaves it once
Carried.
And I am standing here,
Torn between living and dying;
Holding on and letting go.
And when I watched you walk
Away from me,
I swear to god I felt a knife
Cutting out the very organs,
That have kept me alive
For so long.
And now I am lying here,
In a room whiter than the
Feathers on a dove,
Watching myself deteriorate,
Without the scent of your
Breath telling me to
Never let go.
But without you here,
Without your breath and
Without your words,
I have nothing to
Hold on too.
I have nowhere to go,
And so I chose to fly
With the Eagles, to a place
Far ahead of my time,
And maybe in that world,

I can call you mine.

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Magic

“I think it’s strangely beautiful, 

The way she looks at things; 

Like everything’s made with magic

And because of that—

She became magic.”

Paradox

“You always told me I was a paradox, and how you hated that. You always said that I would hate being lazy, but all I wanted to do was sleep. You constantly complained how I hated to cook, but never wanted to go out for dinner. You used to say how the only color I own is black, but my favorite color was green and how that never made sense to you—how I never made sense to you. It’s funny though. You used to say all these words that made me feel like I was crazy and yet, you’re the one who told me you would always stay, but ended up leaving.

You became what you hated, and if that isn’t a a paradox, I don’t know what is.”

Look at me

Look at me.

Stare directly in my 

Eyes,

And tell me that I 

Didn’t love you hard 

Enough.

Tell me that
I didn’t make 

You laugh until you 

Forgot how to

Breathe.

Tell me
I didn’t stain your

Lips
in fucking

Poetry,
Or that I didn’t

Listen to the 

Demons,

Making homes inside of 

Your head.
If you can look

Directly in my eyes,

And tell me all of these 

Things—

Then I’ll understand,

Why you chose to 

Leave. 

So please,

Look at

Me. ”

Cycles

I live in cycles. For example, I’ll drink till all the faces spinning around me, blur into one—yours. I’ll do this for months, and than one day I decide to stop. So for 6 months I’ll be sober and I won’t even look at alcohol—for 6 months I’ll be fucking happy. But than, I’ll get bored and eventually I’ll start drinking again, but this time it isn’t enough. It’s a constant reminder of how you fucked me up in the head. So I’ll start turning to drugs. I’ll get on highs that will literally blow my mind. And my thoughts are conceptual and ever-changing, and the grass is blue and the sky is is green and the trees are painted in shades of lavender. And for extenuated moments—I’m fucking free. But eventually, I’ll get over the highs and than I’ll be back where I started—Seeing your face on every passing stranger.

And than I’ll realize that all of this, it was always fucking about you.

To love a poet

I can’t explain what I’m feeling, and you won’t understand. I’ve always been content with having my solitude and I’ve always had a hunger for loneliness. The thing is, I’m not going to smother you with kisses or tell you how much I love you. I’m not going to go out of my way to please every part of you that aches. Instead, I’ll probably be reading beside you till 2 am. I’ll be off in my own world, watering the flowers that live inside of my head. I will seduce you with raw diction and I will fuck you in Bukowski’s words. I will not become the woman you fall in love with. I will become your favorite piece of poetry. I will flow through your veins like lava and when you erupt in madness, you’ll scream my name. I am not your ordinary love story. I am wildfire and you’re the bark on a tree. You cannot tame someone like me—and you will grow rather obsessed with that.

You will set yourself on fire with the words I speak to you—and I will hand you the match.

His sea

“You were the salt 
in the ocean,

And the crash 
from a wave.

Your hair was 

The breeze that 

Soared with the 

Seagulls,

And your waters

Drowned my lungs,

And flooded my 

Thoughts.
I was
Atlantis,

And you drowned every

Living memory I

Owned.

You consumed

My body, 

Then left
me for
Dead.
And I cannot

Determine if 

These are my 

Thoughts anymore,

Or if they’re yours,

Because the only thing 
I can feel 

These days,

Are the scars 

On my skin—

Burning from the

Salt you left 
behind.
They say there’s always more 

Fish in the sea,

And I used to believe 
That—

Until I bathed,

In yours.”