poets of tumblr – Page 24

i’m still dreaming
about razor blade kisses
on my thighs
on my arms
teasing tongue
on my neck.
my first kiss
ever,
always threatening
to be my last.
the only kiss
to ever make me feel
something.

i still dream of razorblade kisses // a.s.m

ice cube
goosebumps,
kiss me with snowball
lips. melt the ice
stuck between my teeth;
melt me.
pour me in a pitcher,
swallow me whole
so i may glide past your heart
to osmotize into
your cells
and never leave.

i just want to be the water in your body; i want you to need me to survive // a.s.m

craving the structure of a rhyme
to cry out a word and find
one like fingers intertwined
the need for the steady beat
of pounding feet on dirt trails
the answers to an existence
with no right answers.

i’ve been writing in rhythm lately // a.s.m

the floor of my room is
covered in color-coded
boxes with labels
and yet i can’t quite fit
myself into one.

i am between two universes:
not quite home, not quite
ready to build a new one.
not quite me, not quite
sure who ‘me’ even is.

embracing ambiguity
was never my strong suit;
i’ll fold my body into a box
of my winter clothes
in hopes that
i will dig myself
out in
a few months.

finding me, leaving home. how can i pack my entire childhood into a box? // a.s.m

my heart hangs
from the ceiling fan; a kite
i never really learned
how to fly.
a bloody carousel
i paid too much
to ride.
an exhibit
to be displayed for the rest
of my life, my remains sit
behind plastic wrap walls
that
leave no handprints,
eternally orbiting
emptiness.

modern art bleeding heart // a.s.m

i am running
in circles from
one dead end to another
with nothing to pour myself
into but the corners of these walls
that silently scream with
termites from within.

and i’m suffocating myself
with warm whispers
in ziploc bags. little
presents; promises
that were made to be broken

by gentle arms and
gentler lips.

i am inhaling stale air.

what was once
fresh is now foul,
no longer breathable, no longer able
to sustain life.

dead (end) // a.s.m

birthdays,
thunderstorms, new relationships,
flowers blooming,
last goodbyes,
tears,
kisses,
weddings,
leaves falling,
sun setting,

first hello’s,
deep laughs that make your eyes
water and your stomach hurt,
sun rising,

long hugs,
flowers withering,

learning self love,
a small orb in a vast
universe spinning
on its axis three hundred and sixty six times
and me
learning to live
without you.

things that happen in a year // a.s.m

Do not forget that you are a flower, my love. You require both sunlight and rain in order to bloom.

you cannot grow with only sunlight: there is a reason the universe puts us through hard times; allow yourself to learn and grow from them.

You started off as an addiction with an exhilarating high, but you’ve dwindled into more of a habit.

inspired by the shins: “so affections fade away, and do adults just learn to play the most ridiculous repulsive games?” // a.s.m

well-water eyes like hands
reach into my chest to
squeeze my beating heart. to
stop the thumping.

well-water eyes like drills
tear holes into soft tissue and
grind teeth down with
sandpaper stares.

when the covers baptize me
in my own sweat,
i am not haunted
by the dead, but by the
living.

in our own
Waterloo, well-water
eyes that drown me in
their dark waves of
self-doubt.

well-water eyes everywhere,
making darkness permanent.
well-water eyes that
i have not yet learned how to escape.

your eyes are dark tunnels to the hell in your soul. i still hear their abuse in my mind, though you are miles away. // a.s.m