intemperate

There’s no antidote 
for my obsession
-
it pulls my veins 
like puppet strings.

A lovesick lullaby 
that lures me to the 
brink of insanity.

It’s an addiction 
that cannot be 
satisfied– an 
endless withdrawal,
like a vampire damned by my own 
dark desire.

It’s more than 
your blood that 
I crave... 

I’m feeding on 
fantasies of you

like they were a 
feast laid in heaven,
swallowing saintly 
secrets of carnal sin.

For even the devil 
would languish in 
the flames
of this 
inferno ignited by 
the chaos of my lust.

Darling, worlds will burn 
when I collide 
with you...

Lethal dose.

I’m not addicted to drugs.

I’m addicted to his voice.

Addicted to his smile.

To his smell..

His thoughts.

No, I’m not addicted to drugs.


I am addicted

to a far more

lethal substance.

the system

I am begged for pocket change around every corner,
and in between televised scripting when the government
controls their money.
They created this system.
Why are they still searching?

the blur

I can feel my body in the shut down state.
I see the lights glimmer, right before they fade. 
I lose control of breathing, as it steadies to a halt.
And I count the seconds between thoughts,
no time to sleep.

My eyes rest with lids open wide,
blurring everything to black.
Closing ever slowly, like a curtain to the stage.

The time it takes to live, resides longer in my mind
than on paper or reality, and dreams cease to exist.

aphonic

His words were toxic,
and I slowly became a wasteland.
And for the first time,
it seems as though
I’ve run out of words...
Because I’ve always
had something to say,
but there are no words here.

Regeneration

Reclaim your mind and get it out of the hands
of the cultural engineers who want to turn you into
a half-baked moron consuming all this trash
that’s being manufactured out of the bones of a dying world.

The collection

He holds a secret collection


of magic cures behind his smile.

And somehow- every single time,

he knows just what one to use.


Like drugs dispensed
 from his lips

that feed my addiction...




I can finally breathe again.

justifications.

repetitive cycle.one you can't break.

denial. excuses. yeah. fuck you.

you've had more than you can take

round and round you spin, destructive and lethal.

on a fucked up binge of self hate.

hate for the world, you drink it away.

you're bored. here comes an apology.

justifications

pretexts

rationalizations

toxic, cutthroat, cataclysmic is your way.

with a side of suicidal takeover strategy.

everyday is dealt,

everyday has a tomorrow,

it seems you have no future,

you've hit rock bottom,

with nothing left to borrow.

forces of attraction

Indelible impressions


captured
 by the mind’s eye.


A video loop on replay.

Pause. 

Replay...

He lends his lips
 to my skin,

like he is promising this canvas,

that 
his fingers have not forgotten its color.

I have
 never felt like I
 exist more than 
I do,
when he
 touches me.

Now forever

a reference


a recollection


a fiber of memory


a permanent part of our DNA.


The most beautiful story

written in invariable ink.

An unerasable moment in time,

shared between two souls.

Pause. 

Replay...

sedation

"You don't get shit!" he said, wiping the tears from his eyes. "I would never be this way if it wasn't for you! I've never felt this way until you! It was always about a piece of ass, then suddenly, there you were, and I was in love. I've never been this in love in my Goddamn life! So in love, it fucking hurts! It has physically made me sick. You're a monster. You're an evil, wicked, hateful person. You took my life, you took it all, every last piece, and ruined me! You fucked me up. And guess what? Even after destroying me to nothing, you are still everything to me. I still fucking love you and I hate myself for that."

the now.

Time...?

Fuck time.

Whoever said it was precious,

fucking lied to us all. 

Time isn’t precious,

it's a fucking illusion.

What should be
precious and valuable

is the out of time...

is the now.

Fuck the past,

Fuck the future.

Right here,

right now,
is the only precious thing

there will ever be.

You are never guaranteed  

another fucking day,

another hour

or another breath.

simulation

we never tell people

the other half of the story.

we can’t.

there are so many sides

to people we never see.

so many sides of us

that are never seen.

in the end,

everything is an illusion

one way or another,

and it all proceeds

into darkness.

typification

He was to me,

the very personification
 of lust.


The thoughts of him


and the memories

of his lips on my skin,

may never vacate 
my mind.


This fire might rage
 out of all control.


any attempts to restrain


will only make it worse...

bottle down

I’m looking at you, and we’re a bottle down and you’re so damn beautiful.
From the veins in your arms, to the freckles on your nose, you are beautiful.
And for now you’re just a warm, sloppy poem of mine.

I realize that I’m drunk, and that we’re young and that we’re old all at the same time.
You mention something about love and something about drugs,
and I just kiss your mouth or place a hand on your thigh and laugh.

We laugh it off.

It’s early and its cold outside and we’re worried about money, but spending it anyway.

This is nice, I think.
This is okay...I think.

You bite my lips and I tell you “baby, that hurts”, and you apologize and kiss me softly.
I tell you that I’ll miss you one day and you ask me if I’m crying,
with a finger on my cheek in search for tears, knowing that no matter what, I’ll just lie.

You trust me.

the hangover

Her voice intoxicated him
while her words tasted like sweet whiskey,
but once she drove away,
he was left in a hangover
without a cure...

inescapable

No intricate words of flattery.

You have stripped me of all elegance,

and left not but raw emotion.

Thus, is the price of your kiss. 

calculations

Darling, your first mistake was licking your lips.

I wanted to bite them the moment you did.


Your best mistake was talking to me about chemistry.


Intense sexual chemistry.
I wanted to fuck you right that minute...

smart is the new sexy.


My first mistake wasn’t undressing you, though I did undress you.


It was taking off not just your clothes, but the facade you always wore.


My worst mistake wasn’t kissing and leaving marks

on parts of your body that no one sees,

but loving not just your naked body, but also your naked soul.



We are a notorious pair of sinners.

Before we burn in hell, let’s turn this bed into ashes.


We won’t plead for heaven, for paradise is already ours
.

We won’t plead for mercy.
 We won’t plead for absolution.

We won’t plead for innocence. We know what we are doing.

terminal

I was incurably in love with him.

An affliction from which,

I was sure I would never recover....

stock and barrel

A bad man will do anything for you
if you’re an angel who’s slept in the same
ditches he’s dropped bodies in.

She was so beautiful...

He thought she looked so beautiful lying there next to him. Her soft warm skin against his, under the sheets. Sweet gentle kisses between their lips, trailing down her neck. Her dark mesmerizing eyes staring into his. They had a gleam to them like no other eyes he had ever seen before. She ran her fingers through his hair stopping at his cheek. 

She closes her eyes and smiles.
He wraps his arms around her.
He breathes her in. 
He is so happy.
So content. 

He looks into her eyes and traces her face and lips with his fingertips. They exchange smiles. She whispers into his ear, "I am so in love with you."

They kiss again.

God, she was so amazing.

He wondered if she knew just how absolutely beautiful she really was... 

The the image of her that day, is an image that is forever etched deep inside his heart and will forever be in his mind. A beautiful image he will never forget..

Infiltration

Love should be so powerful,

that with every kiss

it feels as if life

is being infused back

into your soul.

And when you part,

you are reborn with a

piece of each other

etched permanently

inside, forever.

Catch me.

I wonder
 who’s arms

would I run and fall into


if I were drunk 
in a room

with everyone
 I have ever loved..?

Furthermore, I wonder who would still catch me...

Always

I love you.

I will always love you,

even with your hands around my throat or especially then.

Deep blue

She was painfully beautiful,

not like those girls in the magazines.

She was more beautiful

for the way she thought.

She was beautiful,

for that sparkle in her eyes

when she talked about

something she loved.

She was beautiful,

for her ability to make

other people smile

even if she was sad.

No, she wasn’t beautiful
for something as temporary as her looks.

She was beautiful, deep down to her soul.

overcast

i once met a man

whose soul dripped


from his fingertips 

like water.

and one time,


he spilled it
 all over my lap.

i didn’t 
know what to do,

so i turned him 
away.

whenever 
i hear the faucet 
leak,

or feel 
the tears run
 down my face,

i think of him,

his overcast soul

and how i should
 have

given him
 a towel.

write off

For me 
it was always simple
.

I wanted, I got it.  

A whispered no,

was always betrayed


by the desire in their eyes. 

false expressions

Behind his smile

He had murdered me

Ten thousand times

In ten thousand

different ways

And I enjoyed every second.

consumed

baby you leave me 
strung 
out 
on your 
love...
 
you are

the prettiest

addiction.

writers

writers will want to know who you are, where you come from, what your family was like.

we will look through your photographs
and read all of your old love letters.
we will ask you to bitch when you’re angry and cry when you’re hurt.

we will ask what that raised eyebrow meant.
what that sigh meant.
we will want to know your favorite food,
your favorite color, your favorite person.

we will always, always ask why.

writers don’t settle for your outside.
we want the insides.
we want what makes you heavy,
what makes you uneasy,
what makes you scream for joy,
and anger, and heartbreak... 

writers will take off your shirt

and read every scar,

every mark,

every soft curve.

we will turn your skin into pages

that you learn to pour your entire soul in.

we will dissect you.

every organ,

every thought,

all the way down to your soul.

consume or empower

Fucked up things happen.

They happen all the time. 

But sometimes those

fucked up things...
they save you.

When adversity arises,
you have two options,

let it consume you,

and live your days in self pity,
or fucking rise above it

and let it empower you

to do better,

to be better.

aftertaste

I want to stain your lips with my name,
and years later 
when we aren’t kissing each other, 
lovers will still taste what we had.

repetition

Robbed from your soul. 
Deprived of proof. 
 
There is no convincing you. 
 
Everything is fucked,
and whisked away from you 
like a plastic bag

escaping with the wind. 
 
You wouldn’t have be able 
to hold onto it even if you tried.
 
Despondency calls

‘check mate’  The winner once again....

the itch

When I write,
I write with blood.

Words swim in veins beneath my skin,
traveling the landscape of my body.

It’s the process of retrieving them that’s the hard part.

Sometimes they come clean,
like a nurse collecting blood with a needle.
It stings, but leaves no trace.

Other times, words itch and beg to be released.
With fingernails I dig.
Opening wounds like a soldier searching for a bullet inside an arm.
It leaves scars and empty holes where nouns and verbs used to be.

It hurts, but it needs to be written, it needs to be said.
A temporary permanence... 

crime scene

It was his fault for falling in love with my words instead of my smile. 
He was more interested in my veins than my eyes. 
And maybe that's why you look at me like a murderer. 
If this love was a crime scene darling, he'd be the only one with the gun.

the trick

Nostalgia is a dirty liar

that insists things 
were better than they seemed.

flammable

People will play with lighters

and blame you

for having so much gasoline.

They will drop cigarettes

in careless places
by your gasolined feet
and expect nothing to happen.

‘Control yourself,’ they’ll say,
‘I am not responsible for you igniting.’

Don't use my skin as an ashtray
and then blame me
for being so fucking flammable.

burn

you tasted like a bad idea,
but i was already filled
with the bitterness other people
had left in my mouth,
so i kind of liked the way it burned.

your signature

you begged to make me yours

so you gave my skin your signature

and claimed its rights.

you signed every inch

of my body with your tongue

from my soft lips

down to the scars on my knees

from loving you too much.

but darling,

you should always

read what you sign,

before you contract it,
there is always fine print.

The book.

We’re all just a whole bunch of
 stories,

but I wouldn’t mind

you
 unbinding

the spine
 of all my “one day"s

and wrapping
 your fingers around

the body of
 all that I contain

underneath 
this skin.

I would not mind

sinking
 into

the story of you,

reaching 
inside your pages,

weathering the
 edges of the words

I would not mind

being
 made a part of you.

Your name is
 already

so deeply etched into this
 binding.

I don’t think I could ever


get tired of this story.

It's become my favorite book...

the prisoner

Domination. 

Monopolization. 

Handcuffed to the bed.

Overruled

Silence baby,

shhh...not a word. 

submission

compliance

passion in overdrive. 

kiss after kiss

order after order...

And my prisoner gives in.

Scars

You have tattoos that lace your arms,

And one on your back. 

Soft lips and beautiful hands,

And a laugh that can stop time. 

Your left arm is scarred with stories 

that you carved in times of sadness. 

I remember the first time I saw them,

I traced the lines with my fingers

and fell in love with your strength. 

You are a hero for living from those moments to this one.
You never need to apologize for how you chose to survive. 

Your body is a map I know every inch of,
and if anyone else were to kiss me,
all they would taste is your name...