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 Oct 2015
Wednesday
I was strewn out over the covers on your bed.
You were criss-cross on the carpet,
your long legs straining against the fabric of your jeans.

We caught each others glance and held it as the seconds,
then minutes went by.

You were the first to speak:
"If you ever look at me like that again,
I will ****** you.
I know what you were thinking."

I laughed,then asked you what you meant;
how did you know what was in my head?

You said-
"You were looking at me like,
what the **** did I ever see in you?
How was I ever so foolish?
I wasted all my time on him ?"

And I laughed again, slowly, then quickly.

That was never what crossed my mind.

But it's what I'm thinking now.
 Oct 2015
Dexter Terzungwe
Take All of me, keep less of you.
Tried to trace your shadow with my worn out shoe.
Tried to see things through your eyes, what an empty view.
The very darkness of others’ shadows, yours, an outline was never in view.

Just when I want you in my life.
You hug me tightly and stab me with a rusty envelope knife.
Asked you to tell me if you want me in your life,
Guess this bleeding is a tale for the gathering at after-life.

Surrendered All of me and you still didn’t come through.
Now all of me think less of you.
Now all of me crave even less of you
Still funny that all of me should love you.
inspired by  Sufjan S.
 Oct 2015
Flo
Looking into the windows along the streets
Who am I?
Who is that person staring back?
Familiar looking but do I really know you?
What is really on your mind?

Tell me your deepest thoughts!
I wanna know everything about you.
What do you really care about?
What do you feel inside?

What is causing all your pain?
Who are you slowly falling in love with?
What are your greatest fears?
Will i ever get to know myself?!
This is s very odd poem. It is supposed to reflect the question of how good you know yourself. Take a moment and look inside yourself. Take the time to figure out what you feel and truly want.
 Oct 2015
Flo
Our friendship was rusted
Over this long time dusted
Without connection
Or much affection

The past times were rough
We've been through a lot of stuff
Did not know what it still was
We both needed a pause

But remember one thing
No matter what happens you can always ring
I will open the door
Will be your saving shore

My dear friend
I would never pretend
Everything I say
I truly meant it that way
This poem is about an old friend of mine. We had times, where we did not talk much. But she knows. Whatever happens I got her back. This poem is about true friendship. It does not matter what happens. True friends will always be your saving shore in times, where terrible storms are threatening to drown you.
 Oct 2015
ottaross
Come down from the mountains
In coarse weave and wool,
Come down at the break
Of the iced inky night.
Upon smoke-spouting horses
Come down to the river
And drink deeply of its cold and black.

It got here before you
Melting, tumbling, weaving between stones
Coursing and dropping without caution.
And while you lay languid
Upon meadow grasses
And the bay shuffles, hobbled,
And crops at the green,
It will pool deeply at the bend in the river
And be gone before you awake.
 Oct 2015
Dexter Terzungwe
Season of love, or so I was told.
Day of Saint Valentine, spurn my sorrow;
Dozens of red roses, bouquets of blood.
But you’re drunk as a horsefly.
Claim you’re an oldie, but only a kidult with an early retire.
Climb on the mattress pad, ruin the moment,
you could have easily slit my throat!


What’s left is only bittersweet;
I think only of the best that we could have had;
The borders we could have hiked;
And the babies that we should have had!
Now I’m cold and afraid, willing it all away.  
What’s the point of writing these poems
if you’ll never read them?
The disappointed live longer...
 Oct 2015
Wednesday
following my most intense and secret obsessions mercilessly.

you left me,
hair strewn into the creeping ivy from the window.

I love you in the same way I hate you-
wholly and with my entire being.

you are and will always be a secret.

I'm sorry that once you were loved so carelessly
you now guard your heart like
the most expensive artifact in a museum.

I'm sorry that you are the worst thing that ever happened to you.

But that was before you knew me,
before you let something evil into your bed.
 Oct 2015
Wednesday
God is a lie.
I know this because you are Jesus himself.
Suicide watch you are but a sham.
A wolf in sheep's clothing.

I love you when we are naked.
I love him when he is inside me.
******. Fall. Climb.

I love him when he is kissing me.
Open mouthed gasps fall heavy.

He tells me he doesn't want to touch me too much-
he might get attached.

I wish he was sewn into my organs,
threaded between my ribs and heart.

He tells me how he will be murdered.
It runs in his family.
Premeditated death is practically genetic.
Something in his DNA that tells others:
**** THIS.

I just wish he would strangle me.
I wish he would spill my blood like communion and eat my flesh.
A church choir somewhere in the background hums.
The bells proceed to toll.

I am not afraid of him.

He tells me of his evil..
Something that slips in when he is sleeping.
Some part of him I have only caught glimpsing through his shame.

Something I can relate to.
 Oct 2015
Wednesday
When this girl crashed her car
going over 90 mph into a ditch with no seat belt on
and the music blaring she wonders what it looked like.
The story makes people laugh now
and they always ask how it happened but don't wait for the answer, they laugh and think about her body hurtling into bushes
and the car smoking something so foul
no one from the highway stopped to help
even though it was sunny and a Tuesday.
As long as you can make someone laugh.
They all say oh, she didn't mean to.
You didn't mean to
I meant to

2. When this girl gets drunk
and takes her clothes off and kisses everyone in the pool
and then ***** on the kitchen counter
where everyone can see through the glass door,
chains around her like that could hold her back, they laugh.
Ah, classic her.
"Haven't you heard she's crazy?"
One asks while handing his friend a cigarette.
Well yes he ******* has, thank you.
Watch the show

3.
When she leaves her fiancé for the felon twice her age
just cause he ***** better, they stare.
She feels it like little red hot lasers in the small of her back.
She is used to it.
"*****"
they manage to choke out.
Well, she already knew this.
She looks at them with indifference.
"Try something more original", she says.

4.
That man left which really just hurts her pride more than anything. No one leaves her and that's just the way it is, Ya know?
She floats on the souls of those who have loved her.
She sneaks into his house with the spare key
she stole to his apartment just to lie around in his bed.
She makes herself a drink.
She falls down the hallway.
"She didn't mean to", they say.
"Yes I did", she says.

5.
That girl.
She'll **** herself for a dare girl.
She's so crazy girl.
She's a sad girl,
"she wears her scars like a noose" they say.
"What do you know", she says.
They say "she didn't mean to".
I ******* meant to.
I let the darkness inside swallow me whole
and I let my heartbreak ****** me.
I am a fraction of a being but that's just fine with me

6. I ******* meant to
 Oct 2015
Wednesday
Last night I saw him after two weeks.
He was 9 shots deep,
patron making his breath hot and
heavy on my face when he hugged me hello.

I was cracking open a second beer
while he cut into the chicken breast.

He grabbed my arm and
placed it on the cutting board.
He pressed the knife to my flesh while I took a swig of beer.
He pulled the knife through my skin,
blood bubbling as he said:

"ah. you almost flinched."

He then took me into his mouth,
my blood making his lips and teeth momentarily stained ruby.

I held his head to my cheek and
kissed his neck while he crouched to my height.

I guess this was too tender a moment for him
because he pinned me against the wall and
pulled my hair so hard my feet ceased to touch the floor.

He kissed me with desire,
he kissed me in a way that almost made me flinch.

He kissed me but it didn't feel like a kiss.
He cut me and it felt like love.
 Oct 2015
Wednesday
When he asks you to purchase a gun for him-
one he is not permitted to have,
say no.
When he asks you to help him saw the serial number off of said gun,
say no.
Hand back his sweaty, clenched-palm, ******* tainted money.
Do not deny him in words,
this will only force him into a blind fit of rage-
One where he throws glass at his apartment walls;
the apartment he pays for with the crime drenched money of his "clients."

2. Do not tell him of your weakness(es).
Do not tell him about the men who touched your inner thighs
when you were waiting for a ride home from the bar
you were never even supposed to be at.
Never ask him for help.
Do not let yourself owe him anything.
When he tells you that you have "daddy issues" written on your face,
play kind.
Do not utter the word pervert aloud.
Do not make it clear that you know he touches you
when he thinks you are drunk and asleep.

3. When he asks you to tell him how you really feel about him,
deny your obsessions.
His emotions will not, can not duplicate your own.
Do not feed his already overflowing ego.
When he tells you "do not touch me", let him pull from your grasp.
Do not take it personally, fight your feelings, quiet your desires, shrug.
Laugh it off, check your phone.
Play coy, know that even a woman like YOU cannot pull off
desperation with a simple smile.

4. On the occasional nights he texts you at 12,1,3 am
and asks you to come over, say yes.
Allow him to take you, make you moan, swallow him.
Touch him, taste him.
Mesh your bodies like a woven basket and feel his sweat pool
on the bone between your *******.
Do not make it personal when he smiles while deep inside of you.
Never take it personally when he holds you close,
your naked flesh touching in a way that almost makes you burn.
Smell him, let his scent linger.
Press your face into his tattooed back, curl your fingers around his
chiseled arms, his thick black hair.
Feel him, but do not make this personal.
You are just another empty thing in his bed.
You are not quite sure how much is left of you,
but you both know he will **** it until it is long gone.

5. When he asks you to keep a safe of his product in your apartment,
bat your lashes.
When he offers you money to do it, smile.
When he whispers he might be getting followed,
when he tells you he will be murdered soon,
when his tires get slashed,
do not laugh. Do not say anything.
Remind yourself that this is all rhetorical. This is his game.
When the city comes creeping, comes knocking,
pretend it is normal.
When he triple bolts his doors- even his bedroom door and windows,
do not comment.
When you feel knives under your pillow and a gun under his,
pretend you didn't. Roll over. Ignorance is bliss.

6.When he spends days locked in his room and comes out smelling of
a box of magna champa incense and marijuana smoke,
stab wounds in his thigh, say nothing.
Patch his injuries, stifle his excuses.
Wet the rags, be ready with gauze and bandages.
When he calls you after a week of silence and tells you of his blood lust,
tell him of yours.
When he tells you of his pain, his sadness, his regrets, just listen.
Fight him in his kitchen with soft fists and deadened eyes.
Do not surrender, even when he pins you in a choke hold
a bit too long to be alright.
Stand your ground. Stare at the tiled floor.
Never take him at face value when he is like this.

7. He will tell you about his surely upcoming death,
how he is close to dying, obviously.
You will tell him how every time you pass the bridge on
your way home, you think of driving your car off of it.
he will look at you with poison in his expression.
Realize you do not know the color of his iris. Do not figure it out.
Know you are not the only, never will be the one.
You cannot change him, cannot fix him.
He has been a prisoner since he has been a son.
Remind yourself he has been behind bars for
longer than you have been alive.
He has no idea why the caged bird sings,
and he does not give a
**** about what Maya Angelou has to say.
He has fought too long and hard trying to break free.
 Oct 2015
Wednesday
"Loving her was like shaking hands with the devil. "
Loving her was a soft suicide.

A bottle of pills and a warm bath,
candles lit around your head like a glowing halo.

Loving her was a steady shock.

A fork in an outlet and a buzzing in your spine.
Loving her was the agony of a quick snap of a bone.
The long ride to the emergency room,
listening to music you never liked.
Especially not now.

Watching her leave was almost worse.

Almost better.

It was the swift pain of a steel toed boot in the
soft part of your stomach.
The gasp of the crowd in the busy bar.
The realization no one was going to step in and help.

Yes, loving her was surely relentless, inevitable pain.

So you turned into a person who kissed feet and
fell to their knees.
Bandaged yourself up and then asked to bleed a little more.
And the truth is..

You almost liked it.
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