Posted on No Comments on Death Throes

Death Throes

Morbid fascination
kills me again and again.
These are the death throes
Of our potential.
This is the not the martyrdom
I try to tell myself it is.
It is assisted suicide.
Nor is it the first time-
Reincarnation ad nauseam,
Same me, different yous-
Till nirvana:
A state I cannot reach.
It sickens me,
The way I crave
Your attentions.
Like Tantalus I thirst
And am never satisfied.
You bloom perpetual
While I fade like echoes.

Jeweled fruit that fall
From your lips
Into my ears
Sweet fruit, biting aftertaste,
Like soured wine to the dying man,
Leaves me empty and bitter.
I am killed softly
By the words you never speak.
Posted on 2 Comments on Heart Burn

Heart Burn

Hey guys, i’m not dead! I wrote a poem and everything. Read on for delicious teen angst. -.-

Heartburn
You are bad for my heart.
Premature ventricular contractions,
Unexpected palpitations,
Chronic pain that no
Clinically proven prescription can palliate,
With prolonged burning from passions
Long since passed.
All you’d left was a hole,
And I was defective.
Recovery is slow,
I’m still clogged with thoughts of you,
But the heart is a muscle
So I’m working it out to be stronger.
Remission lulls into complacency,
So relapse is swift, acutely reminding
That chronic pain is persistent.
It is a return of the now-expected,
Unexpected palpitations:
You are still bad for my heart.
Posted on No Comments on Ode

Ode


*NOTE* this has been edited. and i’m much happier with the edit.

Ode

Your voice is sweet and slow like honey dripping off a spoon,
And the way your lips caress each word; parting is such sweet sorrow.
Your scent intoxicates my being
With its murmurs of power,
Hints of vice
And the lingering notes of fixation.
Your pendulum see saw hips hypnotize my eyes
So I play right into your smile
When our eyes meet, time moves poco rit,
As you weave your spell on me
And when we touch,
the heat crescendos, my heart beats staccato allegro
And the blood plays fortissimo in my ears.

Posted on No Comments on Tricks

Tricks

i’m really not amused. must this really be the theme of my first piece of the year? sigh. also, i’ve added a like button to all content. feel free to use 🙂


I know your secret.
You wait until the taste
Of you has 
All but faded
To spring forth
And remind me
That you’re still there,
To make sure
I never forget.
I know your trick,
But that doesn’t
Mean I don’t
Fall for it every time.
Posted on No Comments on The Little Things

The Little Things

It’s the little things
that make me think of you.
(the smell of stale smoke,
brushing my hair,
the way the boy at the corner stood
as he waited for a bus).
When they come,
as thoughts often do,
I’ll inhale,
try to still my heart,
flush the thoughts away,
Of course it never works,
but I can’t help but try,
and maybe one day
the little things
will be just that:
things.

Posted on 1 Comment on Flash Fiction Friday #21: Fresh To Death

Flash Fiction Friday #21: Fresh To Death

fff#21: (starter) it wasn’t how fresh

It wasn’t how fresh
his mark was whenever  he went out,
or the way his shirt hung just right,
or the way his  jeans hugged his hips
and the demim kissed his skin,
or the combination of dimples
and bashful smile that always smelled of mint
that got me,
but it certainly helped.


Posted on 1 Comment on Flash Fiction Friday #30: Charmer

Flash Fiction Friday #30: Charmer

fff#30: (inclusion) snakecharmer, citrus, book(s) 
Not quite sure if i got what i was supposed to do quite right, but no scene 🙂


The snakecharmer plays his instrument and sways, serene, almost oblivious to the fact that the very breaths he takes enthralls the creature before him. So it was with me and him. The melody of his voice drove me to distraction whenever he spoke to me, and the movement of his hips when he walked away hypnotized me. But he wasn’t oblivious to the effect he had on me. Oh no, it was quite the opposite. He read me like an open book, saw the infatuation on my face as plain as if it were printed in ink, he caressed my spine and knew each page intimately.
He smelled of paint and canvas and ink mostly, but beneath all that lingered the faint but undeniable scent of something citrus. The citrus was the smell that snaked into your nostrils and hung around him no matter what he did, it was in his blood, and his kisses tasted of it. After the puppy love wore off and we grew apart, the citrus is what stayed with me the longest, and even now, it takes me back to the days of flavoured kisses, when his voice captivated me and his hips mesmerized me.