i want someone to hurt me, to violate me and destroy me. i want someone to kill me, someone to mess me up so that my body matches my heart. these desires, they're all wrong, aren't they? but it's fine. i'm filthy, so i need to be cleansed. i want to show the world the hate and the dirt trapped inside of me. i feel so disgusting. i hate this. i hate this. kill me.

feel free to ignore this post

i must've been high on depression

She is my poetry in the flesh

Beautiful lines with curves that flow

My perfect page to write my words

With my tongue and my quill

Letters spill upon her from my lips

Withe each kiss

Then I write my sonnets of passion

On her secret garden so sweet

Hearing the poems of her lust

She then takes the quill

And writes her own song

pretend you're

windowless

& I'm the

unseen

an unassuming scent

of august rain

that delicately

spins still air

paints walls pink

like baby-soft breaths

between ribs &

hipbones

lah  8.9.12 ©®

You thought

Your heart was broken

But now you know it's not

It's scared

Something that hurt so deep

Always leaves a mark

A mark of pain

A mark of the past

When something so deep

Is torn away

It can't heal true

It can't heal full

Something broken

Always scars

I  got drunk off my tears 

I let the salt trickle  down my throat

and burn the callused wounds in my heart

it burned like gasoline but the feeling left me peaceful better than alcohol.

I doused the bottle down my throat and  swallowed my pain.

I went to the cupboard and grabbed a cup

and twisted out my handkerchief and let the tears hit the bottle 

I let them fall

too fast and they shatter

Now I am mess and drunk 

and spilling over with guilt

this was just accident 

I didn't mean for it happen

I just was drinking to get out of my head

I love how my mouth is left dry aching with pain

But the salt tastes so good

so why stop?

They say: "salt heals all wounds"

I am just trying to cover the wound in my heart.

Carved candle light

could not illuminate

the shadowed floor

of the well of my desire:

bottomless.

I am emptiness.

My hunger wants to pass you

and everything else

through the eye of my needle.

On the myth of sustained satisfaction:

Siddhartha says put aside your desire.

Mine is beside me,

a twin grown full form:

all arms clutching and legs leading

eyes rolling madly between all beautiful things.

I am a flytrap unfed, closing in on itself.

If innocence were a river, then I was never allowed to go swimming. I was pulled back by the hair before I ever had a chance to dive in. I never felt the icy water kiss my burning flesh. 

Unable to be pulled from depths I was never allowed to venture into, I was confined to the beach. Only able to view the kids who played jubilantly in the shallows. I often imagined what it would be like to be one of them, but I never got the chance to properly imagine the freedom they were afforded. My mind would be brought back to more horrific things. More realistic things. 

As we walked home I would glance back at the beach until it left my sight, and as the sun set I would listen as loving parents called out to their children, interrupting their blissful foolishness to notify them that it was their turn to go home. 

If innocence were a household, I was never invited inside. I was always left standing on the doormat. That welcome mat would be the closest that I would ever get to being invited into a place so comfortable. I would never feel the warmth of the fireplace that burned inside, and the flavor of the food that had been cooking all evening would never touch my tongue. 

I often looked through the window and watched children eat with their families, and talk about the trivial things that they found exciting, and I would imagine what it was that they said before being pulled away from the window by my hair. At my own house there was no food as reality was forced down my throat. 

If innocence were a person, I never got to meet her. She was a kind lady, and I gazed dreamily as she interacted with the other children that I saw. I would watch as she read stories to those children, and I would feel envy when she laughed at the jokes they told. 

When I passed by her, I would wave and I would pull a smile back across my face, but of all the times I saw her, she never noticed me. I would turn my head to look behind me as she walked passed. I would watch her wave to the child that walked behind me before having my head twisted back around, the grip of a firm hand pulling at my hair. 

I would listen to the child's laughter, and then her own as we walked in the opposite direction. I looked up at the face to which the hand that held mine belonged, but no smile was afforded to me, no attention at all.  

One day, I saw her again, though. This time the interaction I saw her partaking in wasn't as joyful as I had come to expect. She was with a young, weeping child and as I walked by I heard her comforting him. But the words she uttered were not meant to benefit the boy, as every single syllable that left her mouth had been a lie. 

She smiled impishly at me, then took the strawberry lollipop out of her mouth. The last of the warm August sun glinted on the tendril of saliva bowing between the pink head of the sweet and her slightly open mouth. It parted deliciously. A tiny swarm of shadows flitted across her tanned skin as insects intersected the space between her and the sky.

Time became honey, sweet and slow, as I sensed my friendship with Jayne was about to change. Nerves crackled and flutters teased my guts. The thoughtful mist over my eyes sharpened immediately upon her delighted laugh, half snorted through her freckled nose. 

She was looking at me in a new way. Into me. I watched her bright eyes taking me into her mind fully for the first time then down at the daisies threaded together that I’d just pushed softly into her sticky palm, and back up through the safety of her long lashes. 

Jayne sighed so deeply it heaved her recently budded chest. My stare followed her moistened tongue as it shined her plump lips. A bee bumbled by and the river babbled to my right and her left. No one else in the world existed.

Her head lifted from the slight yellow and white reflecting off the held daisies, and with her eyes, she absorbed this shy boy that sat in front of her, with a leg either side of hers; hers which were crossed with grass stained knees peeking over sock tops.

Have you ever kissed anyone, Paul? she breathed, pretending to be the confident girl she read about in stories in her teen magazines.

My pulse took my voice, until I coughed it back into action. No. Not really. I lied. Then, realising time had paused and was waiting for me to seize the moment, I added, but I’d like to. I immediately regretted the slight question mark I’d added to the end of the sentence meant to be as cool as The Fonz.

Her delighted giggle tinkled through heated air to tickle my heart, the one she now held in her pretty hands. I could see blushes creep up her neck to join their friends on her sunkissed cheeks. 

Then let’s help you out she barely whispered and sprang forward, trapping my sharp intake of surprised breath with a soft mouth that tasted of sugar and long summers. The ice of uncertainty that held me melted and instinct tilted my head so that noses no longer clashed, tongues touched then wrestled as confidence and nature took hold. I smelled the sun on her skin, her hair’s clean shampoo scent and the slight hint of sweat from a day playing together by the river.

Moving from her kneeling position, Jayne climbed onto my lap and straddled me and my young stiffness that was more sensitive than I’d ever remembered being before now. I glanced down as she started moving against me, her summer dress hitched up her thighs, showing her white knickers, a mound of secrecy I’d yet to see outside of magazines peaked in private. I saw a vertical line of darker material and a cleft, a wetter place, and my air was held prisoner in my chest.

She broke away from our kiss and huffed in my ear, her hips moving faster, her head down. My instinct was to lift my hips higher to increase the rubbing sensation through my shorts. Hair swayed in my face as she muttered oh god, oh god, almost hurting me with the urgency of her grinding, pushing material and rough seams against my aching erection.

I felt a wave build and rise through me, different to when it was just me touching myself, entirely new, making the hairs stand up all over and the world disappear around me; tunnel vision making this beautiful girl, my past friend, all that I saw. Then her bright blue eyes locked with mine, her upper lip twitched slightly on one side and then she began to judder, pushing her hot pudendum roughly against me. I tipped over the edge, and a long moan I couldn’t hold in escaped as I pumped hot wetness into my shorts. Her shaking increased then was replaced with trembles and hot, wet kisses full of spit and gleaming smiles.

She pulled her face away and held mine in her hand, squeezing my cheeks and staring into my dilated pupils, laughing as my body spasms quieted. Then she playfully slapped me. Oh, you naughty boy, Paul, uttered through a dazzling toothy grin. We held onto each other and what we had been, our sexual scents lazily rising between our interlocked bodies, and we knew everything had changed as dusk began to fall.

It's in the everyday little things—

Hiding her lighters at the age of five

Waiting alone in the car

while she tried to score

Stealing her drugs and dealing them

so you can buy something to eat

Lying to the social workers

Fearing the man you're

supposed to look up to

Not telling his girlfriend

about the other two

Hating it when the school bell rang

knowing you had nowhere

else to go but home

Switching roles with the thirty-two year old

Becoming their marionette

to pay the price for her mistakes

Knowing you're being paid in blood

and not letting it faze you

Being a freshman and needing

the love of a twenty-three year old

Being twenty-one and

it not being special

because you've been drinking

the nightmares away for three years

Telling yourself to

pour yourself a drink

put on some lipstick

and pull yourself together—

You doing just that

every morning before work

Being robbed of a childhood—

You can't lose what you never had

fragile like a thread 

unraveling in the hand of the child

an absent-minded lick of a lollipop

a carelessly handshake of a stranger 

an innocent curl of hair with her finger 

she slapped a stick of lipstick to her mouth

a curious look in the mirror

and an innocent slip of  the finger into the throat

Innocent eyes glamorized picture books,  Elmer's glue trickled onto her skin.

Scissors slowly reached the paper but turned to her skin.

Slowly the mirror in her room was replaced with a mirage.

The dolls in her room became her idols they were put onto her shelves instead of her doll house.

She used to play with her Ipad but now she plays with the scale.

She slowly drags in the cigar smoke dragging in from the neighbor boy's coat and soon drags the smell to her lips and blows it out.

Her innocence slipped away from her as quickly as she would slip her clothes from her shoulders.

A man walked up to her and pointed to her body and said you my dear are worth a shiny copper penny and she responded my fathers use to give me pennies for candy at the penny store and dragged a liquor bottle to her lips and fell into his hands.  

Her innocence trailed behind her like lost a puppy.

She tried to hold on to it with her pinky.

Her eyes lost its shine

Her smile lost its luster

and then she was nothing but a penny.