Poems and shit

Part 2 of poems and shit

Alcohol

I wait for you in vodka phone calls

Voicemails of drunken laughter

Whiskey burning in the voice that sings of a past lover

A smile laced in red wine

But I'll wait, falling asleep in your stupor

Only to find myself hungover the next morning.

Violence

The neighbor girl can hear us through the walls

The slams and the occasional yell

But we are making love in a different way

I am not thrusting into you

Rather I am trying to penetrate your ears with my harsh words

And you, dear, are screaming back at me in reaction to everything done

And finally we'll come to an unpredictable climax

One of us might leave

One might sleep on the couch

Or we'll sleep it out

Either way, we'll both lie spent either in discontent or enamored in one another once again

Butterfly

Please don't drag that cold steel razor across your tight skin anymore

I'd rather see butterflies exquisitely drawn upon your wrist, dying to fly away.

Don't let the silence fool you, because even silence has a sound

Even when you smell absolutely nothing, the air you breathe in is fulfilling, so please let me fill your beautiful lungs.

When you see darkness, you are seeing something, not just an absent and abysmal void

Just don't let go, it will be alright.

Détester - to hate

I want to hate you, for ever letting me in. For ever letting me feel beautiful and amazing. For letting me feel happy and comfortable. I want to hate you for being wonderful in every way imaginable. I want to hate you for moving away. I want to hate you for dealing with me. I want to hate you for allowing me to hold on. I want to hate you for so many reasons, but I cannot. I can only love you, just as I have done this whole time.

Veux (to want)

I wanted to be told I was beautiful and believe it.

I wanted to be held and feel like I was home.

I wanted to be kissed and forget how to breathe.

I wanted a lot of things, but most of all...

I wanted to be with you and still do.

Being with you is like having music fill my body.

But tomorrow and the day after the next and the next day after that is silent.

And I know we are slipping, for this rope has reached its final threads.

Je veux tu, mais nous sommes ne libre pas.