Writing

You’re not ready.

If the silver slice returned to this pale white skin, the unpredictable damage would merely reject you. Drag you further away from this crumpled mess of defeat.

Let the blade draw back the curtains that mask the demons within this crimson river. Flowing through the channels of insanity, the unconscious poison winding within the blood stream.

Pumping through withering veins, infecting a battered heart and snaking through this brain. A crimson sludge leaving traces of decay along every passageway throughout this bludgeoned body.

Each echoing heartbeat is merely a reminder that he let you live, forcing you to revisit those late nights where you once had no escape except to play dead. Let him get in your head. He’s got you under the thumb ready to strike the second you move, just pray you stay numb.

An escape bolted shut. The windows too high. Before you hit the floor those sickening tears line his cheeks, as if pumped from thin air, where’d they come from? No one cares. He’s waiting. Staking out the next victim, lining up his words, as if reaching for an Oscar, he’d have a handful sooner than Leo made his first.

Instead of him on the stage let’s bring back that old blade, like the sun on the sea it’s catching each light, like a glimmer of hope that still wants you to fight. Those brown eyes refusing to burn out, anticipating the day your heart sets on fire, waiting for the one who will gift you desire.

If the blood breaks through the dam of your skin, build it back up before you let him win. Your heart and your soul were not his to claim, but each blow knocked them out of you, with no end to the pain. There’s only one option when it’s time to recover, pull the gun from your temple and hold on for another. The pain won’t last for as long as you might, but his pride goes unharmed if you won’t kick back and fight.

Your place is reserved on earth and in space, no one can remove you once you’ve set your own pace. Let each thought meander through the stream in your head, cast aside the danger that lays in your hands, you’re not ready for the end, so mind how you tread.

Advertisements
Writing

Rhyming rubbish.

If there’s ever a day that I don’t compare

to you or her, or even any

theres something wrong, I won’t be all there.

its a daily ritual I can’t put to bed.

a mind-fucking curse, a poison in my head

where I’m desperately reaching for someone who’ll care.

destructive and damaged, with emotions too many

where I’ll push you away when in reality I want you here.

Writing

Sorry.

Is it worth me apologising, for not playing it cool?
Stumbling over words, I just sound like a fool.
Your strength provides distance I can’t comprehend,
But my bruised heart, I need someone to mend.
I’ve tried loving myself, repairing each little crack,
But with no one by my side, the confidence I still lack.
I’m sorry I fell like crazy for you,
I can see now, that I just won’t do.
Should I run for the hills, the mountains, the sea,
For you it’s not worse, if you’re not near me.

Writing

Let me in?

These thoughts keep whirring through my mind,
Red alert typhoon of negativity.
Tape up the windows and barricade your doors.
This mind is on the path to destruction.

Saturday’s self-loathing is never enough.
It’ll eat through my skin and into my veins.
Your words only scratch the surface of this.
The question is, will you keep talking?

You showed up with your overflowing confidence,
and a kindness that doesn’t kill.
Your words could heal,
but will you let me in?

 

Writing

First draft.

That night I let you in will never leave me alone.
Your hands like hammers breaking down the door.
Caring too much for waking the neighbors, I let you in.
Like Voldemort to Harry, you flew through the room.
Ready to kill.
I let you in.

A murderer no, there’s no fun in that.
Once I was dead the games would stop, and you needed that.

Head against the wall, your hands tightening around my throat.
How many times have I laughed off, ‘I nearly died!’? This was another.
A lie. I was fine. Not a bruise to show. No one would ever know.
It’s my fault after all,
I let you in.

That lock became my best friend.
Keeping me safe just a little while longer.
That cold floor was a safe haven, the one place he couldn’t come in.
I wouldn’t let you in.

It didn’t matter, the demons had let lose in my mind.
Your demons. Your cruelty consumed me. Broke me.
It was too late,

I let you in.

 

Writing

God.

 

Those loud voices send me into darkness,
the threat hidden within those words spat into her face like poisoned darts,
getting under her skin until she’s gone.

Knives, daggers, cliche crap.
Like a lethal injection, you can’t take it back.
Her self respect dissolved in your hate,
leaving her a broken shell with a barely beating heart.

You’re no God, yet you decide who lives.
Your words, your fists. Pushing her further into the ground.
If she ever escapes, she’s better off dead.