writings-of-a-sick-girl
Chronically {Ch}ill
| much to young to feel this damn old | a chronicle of my adolescence |
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Him.
On top of me in the dark.
His whiskey-tinged breath hot in my ear, and my wine-sweetened voice in his.
Begging him to touch me, to love me, to fuck me.
In that moment, I was the most beautiful woman in the world.
My only purpose was pleasure and I don't know if I loved it or hated it.
Perhaps both.
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He was a mistake.
The kind of mistake that only happens on the nights dripping in beer and sweet wine.
The hot, sticky nights of summer, when he was the only one who could cure your thirst.
The frigid, chilled nights of winter when he was the only one who could warm your bones and make the breath hitch in your throat.
The kind of mistake you'll think about for a thousand lifetimes
-What if?
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These years are passing by so quickly and i feel like I haven’t done anything meaningful.
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There is something a bit sensual about the sight of steam rising from a cup of tea.
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don't waste your nights writing poetry about a boy who doesn't give a damn about you
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He’s just a bit too wild for my own good, and I’ve a reputation to uphold.
-the ‘good’ girl
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i want him to touch me in all the places i touch myself late at night
i wonder what he looks like as he reaches pleasure’s peak
would he scream my name, or whisper it into my ear as we crash into each other like waves in a hurricane
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i seem to be in a perpetual state of wanton neediness
i dont know what has come over me
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if a person says that they keep their promises,
they are lying.
Don’t Believe Them.
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i lie in bed
dreaming of all the lovers i’ve never had
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I thought that was love
Hitting
Screaming
Crying myself to sleep at night because I thought he was going to kill her.
When the sun rose, pretending like everything was fine, Living my life in stony silence.
I know now, that wasn’t love
That was misery.
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I can see the stars from here. They remind me of your eyes, sparkling in the night.
-When the morning comes, they flicker out
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Sometimes I walk past angels on the street
Wings bloodied and scarred
With kisses that taste like honey and tears
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Your breath curled around me like the tendrils of a grape vine
- I think I am choking
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