HisBeautifulLetdown

There are nights when I picture me sitting in your bed, curled up like a cat watching you study at your desk. The light from your lamp hitting the swoop of your hair just right so that it creates a shadow on the wall. I wonder if she notices that swoop. You told me once that she wasn’t like me. She liked to kiss in public and she didn’t get your jokes. She couldn’t go along with your random conversations and she never let go of your hand at parties. I like to think these admissions mean you aren’t happy with her. But there must be some good moments because something makes you stay. There must be moments when you look a

The night we met I was three sheets to the wind and busy telling anyone who would listen that all vodka bottles should be recycled. Protect the whales people, protect the whales. You sauntered in all dimpled grins and obsidian eyes offering to help me convince the whole party that we could save the world. Two hours later you were holding back my hair and whispering that I was the most interesting girl you had ever met and i told you that really I was just shattered glass and car crashes but you told me that was okay because you were just a broken body too. We started a romance in fast-forward filled with whiskey kisses and mary-jane dreams

Holding you is like grasping barbed wire Nine kinds of pain and it stings on contact. It may even seem like I'm being pushed away, being told to keep my distance but I know if I close my eyes, grit my teeth, and hold on for just a bit longer you will sink into my skin and once the hooks take hold neither one of us is going anywhere. Kissing you is like pressing my lips to  a lightning bolt All sizzle and charge. My skin is tingling and my vision is stuttering. My mind is telling me to pull away because this is dangerous and I am just asking for disaster but my body is relishing in the hum of electricity running through my veins a

Let's not pretend this is more than it is I won't pretend this is you falling for me again if you don't pretend you won't be gone when the sun comes up Let's just admit this is two people who once had no secrets You could read my body like astronomers read the stars and I could find your sweet spots with my eyes closed Now we're two strangers uncoordinatedly fumbling in the dark hoping for some shred of familiarity to make this feel less like desperation and more like home but it doesnt I can pull you to me and hold on for dear life but try as I might we will never be the ones We will never be soulmates or lovers torn apart by some cru

She's a weekend masochist A closet freak She wants someone to steal her heart Rip it to pieces with jagged nails and calloused fingers She dreams of skin laced with fresh pink scars and newly raised skin She thinks the most beautiful eyes are those bloodshot from crying symphonies She holds her breath driving through tunnels and prays that one day one tunnel will be one car length too long I tried to save her with soft touches, satin words, and healing embraces but her eyes lit up when my skin became mottled with green-grey bruises and my cheeks were flushed from struggling to breathe She was a raging storm thunderclapping upon every

He found her tangled in the sheets of a stranger. "What are you doing?!" he cried, his face a contortion of anguish and rage. "I'm living darling. Carpe diem! C'est la vie!" She pulls the covers over the writhing body of her young lover. Her husband backs away and cries in time to the moans of their passion. She comes out the next morning, sheened in sweat and rouged with fulfilled lust. She finds him curled against the door frame, one hand on his heart and one hand balled in a fist at his side. One lone curl falls over his creased forehead and he whimpers in his sleep. She kneels, stroking his back. "Oh dearest, we were so young when we

It doesn't count if it's just one night Kiss me once, shame on you Kiss me twice, shame on me Kiss me three times, shame on the spinning room and the way my tongue is heavy and coated with a complete inability to look into your unfamiliar eyes and whisper "No, not tonight." Tonight the air is stale and crowded with quiet utterances of phrases I wouldn't use and stories I wouldn't usually tell as I stumble about in clothes I only wear on nights when I suspect I won't remember wearing them in the first place My hands are clumsy appendages that don't quite belong to me anymore and your words are silken and turning to glittering promises fli

His hair is made of stolen butterfly wings and his skin from fallen tree leaves. He is a child of the spring, born when the sun hit the highest point in the sky and shined in ectasy. He sprang from the earth with fire in his eyes ready to burn,burn,burn with passion and life. He wishes only to experience everything before the winds of winter take him away. And I could not help but love him for his light and his life, because I had none of my own. He outshone the world until my world was only him and I could think of nothing else. He held my hand between his, his fingers like tree twigs and his palms like blanketed grass. He cal

I wish to write the intensity of my dreams onto paper for you. If only so that you can feel the fierceness with which I miss your presence and the curve of your mouth and the hard line of your jaw and the dip of your wrists. Oh how I miss those wrists.

Even as a little girl, I was a budding pessimist.  Everything was half empty - not just glasses, but people, too.  I remember loving Peter Pan as a little girl.  Not the Disney version, but the play with Mary Martin as Pan.  Every time Tink drank the poison, I felt my heart clench, first because I wanted to find someone who'd die to save me, and second because I knew she'd die.  I never clapped for Tink because I didn't believe that the little flashing light from the audience had a soul, that the little bells had a heart.  Whoever I watched the movie with clapped though, and I'd pret

Sometimes, I think you forgot me. To admit it, most days I've forgotten you, too. But sometimes a moment comes along that feels like you in my bones, and suddenly you're crashing through my veins, riding my pulse straight to my heart. And you sit in my chest, heavy and unwelcome, and it's hard to breathe because I cannot shut off the reel of memories playing in my head. So I close my eyes and count to ten, breathe evenly and steadily, tell myself that you are miles and years away. But I wake up the next morning with a dry taste in my mouth and a hollowness somewhere in the pit of my stomach and you're hanging onto me like a shadow even thoug

She felt the destruction settle in her bones. When she lay awake at night, it swallowed her piece by piece and consumed everything that she was. She lay beneath the covers with her eyes open and irises glued to the heavens outside her window, and tried to forget about the black hole that rooted itself behind her ribcage and between her lungs. She counted the stars and looked for the man on the moon while she told herself that if she kept breathing, she would keep living, and that would be enough. If she kept breathing, if she remembered to inhale and exhale in the correct pattern, it wouldn't matter that her soul was slowly turning itself in

He collects slivers of time, glittering silver seconds and glossy flakes of golden minutes in the corner of his eye They are sunspots in his iris drops of shatterglass upon his tongue and the fireworks within his chest. His breathe is just a whisper, waiting, for their incandescence to catch fire and illuminate the night with their solar flare so that twilight, shadow, and ebony are too blind to cut anything.

    yesterday you were a forgotten dream, a lost hope never regained because I was finally over you. but I've had that dream            again and I can inhale the evidence, the feel of your scent on my clothes. I want to hold my shirt to my face and watch a                                      dream come true, but I don't want to explain myself to them or    

4 days and counting. she whispered. Her eyes are still glazed and her heartbeat has slowed to the soft sound of a dripping faucet she forgot to fix last week. She feels a certain kinship with his empty apartment, and can't help but utter empty goodbyes to the rooms she learned to love so well. There's still an echo of his laughter caught in the corners. When she murmurs to herself that they always leave you emptier than before, she swears the dust across the floor and the bare walls answer her: yes. * She hates that she was just one of those things, that didn't survive the move.