I want to make art for you.
I want to make art for you because you are beautiful.
Because you're simple, not in a coarse way, but in a wholesome way.
In a way like the sky or the rain.
You just are, and I wish I just was.
I want to make art for you to thank you for that.
I want to make art for you because I think maybe not enough people have.
Because you ever wanted to die,
And because I'm so glad you didn't.
Because you like storms the way I do
And you make me think new thoughts when I don't think I'll ever find any more
And because you hold a thousand people inside of you, ready to leap onto a page or seep out through your skin,
All of them beautiful and clear
(Like the sky and the rain)
I want to make art for you because
There should be art out there because of you.
Not just created by you
But created because of you.
I want to make art for you because you are another way to love someone
That I didn't know existed.

There is something beautiful about two sad people who agree to hurt each other.
Something comforting.
It is a comfort only very damaged people understand- the tacit agreement to cause pain, and to receive it.
Pleasure is for people who have what they want.
But for those of us who are starving, ours is best peppered with suffering.
Being with someone who understands that carries its own worth-
I don't want you to make me feel good.
I couldn't stand it if you did.
I don't want you to touch me gently, or ask if I'm alright, or stop to look into my eyes.
I am starving, and so are you: I want your teeth.
I want you to make me hurt. And I want to hurt you.
I want you to hurt me because I'm not him, and I want to hurt you because you're not her.
We want to see each other suffer because we are starving and we need to feel that someone else is.
Don't hold back. I want you to lower me because I'm too good for her.
Don't love me, don't caress me. Dig your nails in. Drip candlewax on my stomach.
One step down from torture is all I can stand in the way of human connection, when it isn't her.
Punish me for looking at her like a baleful puppy tonight, even as you waited in my room with your soft skin and your sharp teeth.
There is nothing you can do that will be too violent, too brutal, too sadistic.
I don't want to be loved right now.
I am too raw.
I want to be touched. I want to be ruined. Leave marks. Smear lipstick.
Lower me because I am
Too
****
Good for her.
Let this heart know on no uncertain terms that its needs don't matter.
Help me **** it. Help me pin my demons to the bed and make them writhe, and I will do the same for you.
Let's exorcise our loves tonight and banish them to hell.
Let's tell our skin that it is irrelevant.
Let's say "*******" to the things that bind us. I will cut your heart out for him.
I will kiss your scars, not to heal them but to remind you that when you put them there you fought for something, something we both fight for now.
Hurt me. Fight her. Do it for her.
Do it for her because I'm not good enough to hurt.
Do it for her because I'm TOO good to hurt.
Crush me.
You could boil me alive and it wouldn't make up for her, so at least leave me bruised.  
I will give you what you need, and you will give me what I need: not love, but contact.
Please,
Let my heart know on no uncertain terms that its needs
Don't
Matter.

There is something beautiful about two sad people who agree to hurt each other.

Do you still think I'm beautiful, darling? Because I'm just itching to mar something lovely in your name tonight.

I am surrounded by
glass walls,
covered in smudges from
where I tried to wipe
my fingerprints
away

cranberry lips masking a serpent's tongue
and the smell of burnt wood on your skin
left me hanging
like a fish from a line,
desperately wanting a taste of
something new
despite how harsh the consequences were bound
to be.
that wild side
sprouting from your bones
sent me on a riot,
and you were not willing to bail
me out
of the mess that it led to.
I must admit
I am congested
from the puffs of soot sleeping
in my lungs;
with my options becoming
limited
all I can do is smoke you out
of the remaining corners
of my body
you've managed to stow yourself
away in.



Copyright ©  2015 Alyssa Packard
All Rights Reserved

lightning sparked my brain
to life
when you touched me
and it was then you realized
you were afraid
of thunderstorms.



Copyright ©  2015 Alyssa Packard
All Rights Reserved