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Your lips are a permanent marker.
Inscribing your love for me over every inch of my body.
They have written your name on my collar bones.
Covered my hands in your fantasies.
Left adjectives of affection on my stomach and thighs,
and turned my back into a portrait of your lungs.
Promising to spend every breath you have left with me.
You laid out our someday's, and sealed them with a kiss.
Not sure about the title. As always xP
I remember the day I re-met you.
With friends I no longer talk to,
pink hair that had been a mistake,
and a reckless way of flirting.

I ended up on your lap that night.
Could you sense my surprise?

My hands can still feel the memories of you.
A slow smile, sad eyes, they play through my mind on loop.  
You always looked at me with such tenderness.
When did you become someone I can't recognize?

It must have happened somewhere in between the ***
and the drugs.  The kisses and the fake goodbyes.
Before you, I never knew I could be a monster.
Today I feel like winter.
Weighed down by layer after layer of powdery silence.
Beautiful in theory, but quickly grown tired of.
I love this, but I can't think of a title!
At night I place my hand over my heart.
Feeling for the beat that means I'm still alive.
Still here. Still breathing. Still worth it.

I can remember the day you brought me flowers.
You showed up, shirt pressed, with that same sad smile.
I didn't want to tell you the truth.
That my lips had already known another man,
that my finger tips burned at the thought of his skin.
So instead I told you that I only saw you as a friend,
despite the weeks of rough *** and stolen time together.
After everything, how could I admit that you were so much more?
I'd already proven that you were clearly not enough.

Tonight I'll place my hand over my heart with tears in my eyes.
Praying that for once I'll be able to believe it's beat means I'm still alive.
 Mar 2013
her
I would write you a poem

to tell you how I feel

but when you left

the melodic flow that

passionately pieced

my words together

followed you

out

the

door
 Mar 2013
her
I would follow you into the dark.
If it meant being with you, if you could promise me it meant being with you.
I would follow you into the dark.
I wouldn’t dare look for light.
I would shadow my soul.
I would shadow my thoughts.
Just as long as I can rest assured in your arms.
To be guaranteed that part of your life would belong to me…
If that’s what it meant.
I would follow you into the dark.
I wouldn’t bear arms.
And I’d let go of all my armor.
There’s nothing more fragile than a naked soul.
And I find that I’d strip mine for you.
I’d pick away the insecurities.
I’d chisel away the fears.
I’d wash away the hurt.
All that my soul has come to know.
I’d let go of, for you.
I’m sure you’d never do such a thing for me though.
Would you?
Would you promise me?
No.. stop. Wait.
Nobody I know has ever kept their promises.
So don’t promise me anything.
I don’t ask for much..no.
I give more than enough..yes.
Why not reciprocate the feelings?
They’ll feel better when they’re mutual.
I promise.
So close your eyes.
Open your heart.
Hand me your soul.
Empty your head.
I will lead you into the dark instead.
 Mar 2013
her
there are a few things

about death that

frighten me

the sound of the shriek my mother will make

and the

permanent frown my dad will have

every time he stares into the distance

and the

tear drop that will stain my siblings cheeks

every night

and the

lump that will never leave

my best friends throat

there are a few things

about death that

frighten me

and

none of them happen to be

dying
 Mar 2013
her
they say that time flies

they are wrong

with every second that I spend

with you

I know that they are wrong

it is us that fly

it is me

it is you

they say time flies as an expression of its limitless nature

me and you have no boundaries

we are

when we are

where we are

we

are

always

they say time flies

but with each tick

with each tock

I am sure it is us

we fly

we are

infinite
 Mar 2013
her
he kept picking away at me

and when I told him to stop

he would kiss me lightly and say

“I’m almost there”

day and night

he would pick away

and eventually

I got used to it

I started to help him

not knowing what he was looking for

I began to pick at myself

until the floor beneath us

was coated in gravel

dust in the air

together, we would pick away

but one day

I was just so tired

so I stopped

and out of nowhere

I began to laugh uncontrollably

tears rolling down my face

unable to catch my breath

he began to laugh with me

until he suddenly stopped picking too

for the first time

he stopped

he took my face in his hands

and held it

then, he stared at my smile

and into my eyes

then once more at my smile

and he smiled

as he pulled me into him and whispered

there it is

I’m here
 Mar 2013
her
I want to lay in the dark

tell you all my secrets

and listen to yours

I don’t want you to reply

or try to console me

and I promise not to do the same

because silence is golden

but true beauty lies in listening

and when we are both done speaking

I want to kiss your lips lightly

so that you know I understand

then I will roll over so that my back is turned to you

and I want you to turn into me

you will place your arm around me

and pull me into you

I want you to trace along my shoulders

and kiss me so lightly

that I shiver

and then I want to sleep

in your arms

I just want to sleep
When the girl with sunken eyes
and white lips mutters to herself on
the subway, remind her that there are
plenty of things to worry about, but for her,
losing weight isn't one of them.

When she gets off at your stop,
invite her for coffee. Even if her
eyes are throwing daggers at you,
and even if every instinct in a normal person
would be yelling that her track marks are just that,
track marks, and for all you know
she might just shove a letter opener into
your stomach for the contents of your pockets.
A few bucks for another spoonful of hell.

Lace your fingers in hers after she reluctantly
agrees, and without missing a beat,
talk about how no girl should pass up free coffee
or free alcohol. After all, there is the
economy to think about.

Gossip to her about people you
pass on the street, and when she settles
into her signature silence, tell her about
how you love to make up life stories
for the people you see outside your
apartment window, and how you've never
admitted that to anyone else.

When she leaves, after a warm vanilla latte
and two cinnamon bagels, tell her that
you should do this again sometime,
and make plans to meet her again next week.

When next week rolls around, don't be
surprised to see your alley rat friend
missing.  Instead, smile and think about
all the important reasons she couldn't make it.
Like staying in to finish a term paper for law school,
or picking up an extra shift at the local volunteer hospital.

Then turn to the little boy next to you,
scared, *****, and without parents,
and offer to walk him to the local church center.
Because these days, no one should have to feel alone.
Written late at night, finished the next morning. Love to hear what you think, especially on the title and the last few lines.

EDITTED!!
Step one:
Admit that you have a problem.

Hi, I'm so and so,
and I am anorexic.
Wait, am I supposed
to state one problem
or all of them?

Let me start over.

Hi, I'm so and so,
and I am anorexic.
I am a self harming,
drug abusing, attention
seeking, anorexic with
a penchant for seeking
out love in all the wrong places.
I'm an occasional smoker,
a complete *****,
and a highly trained klepto.

I'm also a procrastinator,
does that count?

I'm self-consumed, suicidal,
and sometimes I let water boil over on the stove without cleaning up the mess.
I blame things on other people as often as possible, and never tell the
cashier when they've given me too much change back.

I know that's not all,
but it's awfully hard to remember everything
that's wrong with me right now.

Oh yeah, I'm forgetful. And terrible under pressure.
And at public speaking. I lie...a lot, and actually,
I made some of these problems up.

So I came here to get help.
By the way, when exactly does that start?
Don't ask... No clue where this came from. Just, yeah.
I started with a boundary line.
I found all my edges and started building in.
Every piece felt different.
Another personality come to stay.
And yet they all fit so easily inside my frame,
as if I'd kept this space open for them all along.

So I drank them in.
I flooded myself with their
convexed and concaved sides.
I let them find their place,
no guidance along the way,
and waited to feel whole again.

Then I realized what it felt like
to be assembled by a faulty machine.
To have a piece of myself lost on some dusty floor,
waiting to be swept away.

How am I supposed feel whole,
when I was never that way to begin with?
Who do I blame for my missing pieces?
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