something about the moonlight

something about how every star in the sky disappeared

and made their way into your eyes

between the stupid jokes we shared

and the alcohol slowing guiding me away

from all sense of judgement

i started falling

suddenly it was just you and me

never mind our friend in my backseat

slowly passing out from one sip too many

you

me

us

somehow i found myself looking at you

longing to be with you

i took one more sip and started my own undoing

i wanted to be with you for so long

you did?

i do

you know i’ve always felt we’ve connected on such an intimate level

i’m not drunk enough for this

i was drowning in you

every part of me started screaming your name

my body trembled

aching to curl itself around you

why didn’t you tell me?

i don’t know i just kinda figured–

if you asked my answer would have been yes

i didnt even know if you liked girls

i’d still say yes

my phone vibrated in my hand

dragging me back to earth

of course it would be my boyfriend

i don’t want to get in between you guys

i love him

but if it doesn’t work out–

don’t

i want to give us a try

you reached for the bottle

i wanted to take it from you

kiss you

softly at first

then maybe–

no

i can’t

i won’t

i love him

but god look at you

you rested your head on your hand and looked at me

god i want you

your hands tangled in my hair

legs clenched around me

never mind our friend passed out in my back seat

it’s you and me

no

i love him

but god you look so beautiful

you always look so beautiful

no

you reached again for the bottle

drunkenly talking about your past hookups

my phone vibrated again

yes i love him but why must i love you too

give me one night

one beautiful night with you

your back arched

your lips parted as shallow breaths escape

if i had one night

i’d ask you for one more

then another

and another

getting drunk off of you

drowing myself in you

i love him i love him i love him

it sounds fake but i truly do love him

more than i can even fathom

but then there’s you

i love you

i love you

i love you

#love #lgbtq #her #him

As she lies there

Listening to her heart beat 

Among the banter of doubts 

She wonders 

If she can touch herself

As he touches her

Can she care for herself 

The way he cares for her

To take herself to heights unknown 

As he does 

Then he comes with kisses 

With a warm touch

Have faith my lovely

I am here 

My love is committed to you 

The fires of doubt are quenched 

What is it you think that I've done?

Is there something that which you know that I have done?

From what I can believe you aren't concerned with the bodies in my trunk, or the children hiding in my basement.

I definitely know you aren't speaking of the farm I have in my garage or the explosives that lay frozen in the freezer in the back yard.

What sins do you know that I have committed?

Have you been sneaking around my home at night?

Have you been watching my internet history?

Everything you believe you know, forget it because everything will disappear before midnight and not one single soul will believe a word that you will say about anything that you say to them.

so careless, cross legged

on a fourth-floor balcony

on the rough side of the city.

how long did it take you

to get here from the suburbs?

(how much did it take you

to leave?) you love

the nicotine sunrises and

the whiskey-sour dawns,

burning a memory of

bitter youth into your temples.

call me soft, call me wretched —

wake up to me on

sunday mornings. you are

so irreparably reckless,

selling your body on the street corners,

and you still look for god

in the streetlights.

There is a darkness about me.

You are my light and now you don't even believe in me.

You are the sun, the Aurora Borealis, fireflies dancing on a summer night.

You are a street lamp, a stop light, the xenon in my car's headlights.

You are fluorescent bulb dangling from my ceiling fan,

the single LED blinking on my key chain.

You are the flickering flame

of a candle lit in a power outage after an earthquake.

You illuminate my life

but now that you've walked away, only darkness follows me,

a black hole that sucks up and destroys any argument thrown at me.

"Hey, man! You'll be alright. She just wasn't the one.

There are other fish in the sea."

Are there?

You know, just last week, I tripped over my loneliness

and scraped my knee on a broken dream.

And not to sound like a baby but... it really hurts.

And not to sound childish but... it's kinda like a boo-boo

that only a kiss from you can make feel better. 

But truth is, I'm in agony. Wounds like this are all over my body.

See, Cupid didn't have a measly bow and arrow, no--

he had an AK and I am the victim of his drive-by.

I forgive him because he had the best of intentions but 

Damn it! I think my love for you just might kill me.

I'm not one for math, but I fell in love with your geometry.

Seduced by your angles and curves, I wanted to get lost

in your fluctuations and solve for x and y

every time you would lie down next to me.

You were more than a drug, but I was riding high;

you were my ecstasy.

I love you like there is no tomorrow

and even though I know better and the sun will rise again

with you gone, I'm not so certain I will rise again.

You were my best friend.

I could look into your eyes like two crystal balls

and see a future where I'm an old man and you're an old woman

and together we walk, hand in hand. But like 1984,

the Ministry of Truth has erased you and all I have left

are visions of me, an old man-- alone and holding myself.

They say you can kill a man but you can't kill his dreams,

just look at Dr. Martin Luther King; but to be quite honest,

you've killed mine pretty efficiently.

I love you like the glue holding together my sanity.

Maybe I'm going crazy and maybe they need to commit me

but I'm starting to feel like I don't want to leave this darkness

because it is, after all, the last thing you gave to me. 

It's like Stockholm Syndrome and I am a victim.

A cripple caught in a limbo where I'm 

too weak to live but too strong to die.

I love you

I love you I love you I love you

I love you so much, it seems, that I

would rather lay prone, paralyzed in your darkness

than walk upright in someone else's light.

we were too young to be legends but he wanted to leave his mark, so he used my skin as his canvas. i accepted. i bit my lips, plugged my ears, and closed my eyes, emptying my body of all it had to offer so it would be ripe for the harvest, ready to be coated.

his favorite color was violet. he dotted my cheeks with bursts of blue, drizzled some red in the background and let it clot. added ice to counteract the swelling as the black faded to yellow. he framed it so he was superman and i was a soundbite. his fist, my breath, speech balloons. he called it pop art.

when he wanted to keep things simple, he'd smash my teeth into a mosaic, just to kiss each piece and place them in rows and columns, rows and columns, each line etched by god. he collected the colors my gums bled in vials. he called me a stain. he would not work with pigments that had no purpose, he would not rest until my mouth decomposed to silence, until my molars aligned with the nails on the floorboards and all of my matter was squared away in boxes with walls ready to rupture.

eventually he knocked them over like dominoes and swept them to the side. cubism, he said, does not look good on you. he asked me to pose with him and i obliged. i wanted to be good for something. as we undressed, he asked me not to make a scene, told me his art was only a summary but it still had meaning, said if i thought i was more than a crude expression of reality then i was dreaming, called me a stain. he said he wished he had chosen a pigment that he didn't have to strain. he told me to detach my head from my soul and let him in, let him in, let his motifs cull. he drew his brush and began to paint, began to pant, and brushed shapes across my chest with his lips, each circle the size of my breasts, each spiral bigger than the next. he said we were an infinite pattern, an illusion.

when i had nothing left to give, he hung me up at the bar next to a portrait of a woman, bruised like a peach.

on rainy days i can paint pictures on the foggy windows;

cats with arched backs, men with dewy eyes.

i can create a world where they know me,

where i can live and breathe without hiding in lies.

on sunny days everyone calls me names,

medicated titles and medication prone.

their words like hands tight on my throat

in school, at work, at home.

i cannot get release.

he never wanted to give me love, but only touch and kiss and receive.

i spiral down in my blasted plane

spraying smoke and gas we shouldnʼt breathe.

but on foggy days i can remember his face:

he left here a hole, a blunt and a rose.

half broken and still bleeding i carry myself silently;

singing and sobbing dancing on tip toes.

Hey everyone! I have been feeling very disconnected from the Prose. Environment lately! Having been here for so long, I havenʼt had the chance to get to know a lot of the newer Prosers. Iʼd love to get to know some of you; comment something about yourself, a fun fact or a greeting, and I'll check out your writing and give you a follow! Thanks guys, canʼt wait to hear from you.

at first, you will feel like you are drowning. you will forget how to swim butterfly, how to doggy paddle, how to tread water. you will forget how to survive. for weeks, the water will live in the bottom of your lungs, stagnant, pooling until it touches the tip of your throat, then your tonsils, then your tongue. your ducts will store more tears than you thought possible. you will never drink enough water.

once you play with a dead frog long enough, you get used to the smell. you will, too. your heart will feel bloated and your chest will nearly burst every time the sun sets but you will get used to not touching yourself unless you can firmly grip your skin with forceps. wear gloves for extra protection, and get your heart out of the way.

god, the smell. your shoulders will grow stiff and your fingers will grow stuck together and you will wish you had your mother's flies for dinner, anything but the preservatives, you would slurp them off of her lips if you had to, god, please, not the preservatives. you don't want to stay longer than you have to, longer than the garter snake by the oak tree intended.

be careful with the scalpel. you will want to dissect yourself. do not dissect yourself.

when they finally debrief you, tell you they are cutting off your canals, you will float on your stomach. cross your eyes. say okay– and clip the word before it has the chance to dangle, doomed to live life as an amputee, a victim to the apathy everyone has but no one cares enough about to go see the doctor.

open your mouth, let them slash your jaw, stick their latex fingers down your throat until you are choking, and it feels like you are drowning, and you are right back where you started: the mariana trench.

they will ask if you can hear them.

you will blackout from the pressure.

when you resurface, they will tell you your chest is rising. you are breathing. you made it.

eyes barely bobbing above the water, you will choke, gasp, spit out the salty kelp stuck between your teeth, and respond:

this is the taste of air?

you mean to tell me i was alive the whole time?

they will look at you, blink, take your vitals. ask for your birthdate, tell you there’s a great big world out there with your name right on it, you’ve got a whole adventure ahead of you, slap your ass and send you off into the sea with a jar of formaldehyde, saying “drink up, kiddo, even death doesn’t offer hand-outs. you gotta work for it, just like everyone else.”