I want a spoon, sturdy enough to scoop your eyeball out of its socket. Maybe you would see opportunity rotting. I want a knife, sharp enough to slice off your ear. Maybe you would hear the love you forsake. I want a fork, long enough to stab in between your ribs and perforate one lung. Maybe you would feel breathless and face your pain. I want a surgeon, and I want a chef- to remove your liver, serve you on a porcelain plate. Maybe you would taste how foul you have become. - I don't want to bury you too.
-
-
Soot stained my white shoes.
We walked an avenue of melancholia together.
When your feet became bruised
I waited by your side
as God's anguish showered
from a Heaven that was too pretty
for either of us to belong
We nurtured the ugliest parts of ourselves
finding amnesty in mutual rejection.
Eventually,
you found comfort in conformity
disposed that which made you an individual.
I discovered the meaning of "disgust".
Or should have I been proud
that you became normal.
Envy is just as disgusting
as you are. -
Belligerent blues
bury friends
bury family
I haven’t always been a man
that I could be proud of.
I don’t think I had the capacity
to love anything
but the air I could breathe.
A man of
many delusions.
Forsaken all
who have shown me humanity
as I bury friends
bury family.
Awaken to a life
spent wallowing in hatred
I’ve never recognized myself
this ugly.
Poisoned prejudice
crawled under my skin
itching
until I bled.
Awaken to a life
you never wanted
Am I willing to change? -
My darling,
teases my friends
with her silhouette
until my hands are frozen
pressed against her neck.
Her kiss is the waning silence
of a quiet mind,
sundering self
in the undertow of metaxis:
lust and hate.
She teases my friends,
only hours later
they soon forget;
ephemeral.
Her tongue
is the reaper
of my sentience,
floundering in a state
of detachment.
I have binged on what
my obsessions have borne,
an escape from banality
my autonomy abandoned
to Misery, my mistress.
My darling,
teases my friends
with her silhouette,
until my hands are frozen
pressed against her neck. -
A scarlet plane
where spider lilies bloom,
holding her body
falling into seamless sleep.
Cobalt and cold
lips collide
for the very last time,
in mourning
by the blood sky.
Abandoned to transgression,
last whispered words
stolen by a gust of wind.
Where spider lilies bloom,
time is suspended
in equivocal silence.
Principle butchered
my sweet Love.
Centipedes crawl frail fingers,
emerald eyes empty
to iridescent glass.
Goodbye,
Princess of Thorns. -
Those honeycomb eyes
pollinate my withered heart.
Full bloom, together. -
I'll set you free, a distant memory like the smoke ribbons dissipating into the stale air. You should escape into the nothingness of my mind. I've set you free, my ineffable to where I begin and you end, so I may find love. - I've burrowed my fear in her laughter and forgiving smile. Her voice undresses my insecurity. I no longer want to feel different, just to feel her only. An insatiable appetite for velvet lips I have tasted but once. Dead butterflies flutter again. Her name dances through my subconscious. It sobers my loneliness, and reminds me I have a home somewhere. - Thank you, my ineffable. Destruction and fate are quite similar. Farewell, Sawyer
-
Bathed in kerosene, burning this field of tulips. My ineffable.
-
Cunning Queen of Hearts, vicious eucalyptus lips swindle one last kiss
-
I hand her my spoiled apple.
“Do you want a bite?“
She had always chased the sadness inside of me.
Her eyes dart to the bedroom floor and stay there.
“It’s too much. This, what we have now, is enough.”
She pulls an airplane bottle of vodka from her tattered leather Kate Spade purse along with a Marlboro 27.
“When will you ever be mine?”
“At least I’ll always know I smoke better cigarettes than you.”
I snicker at my audacity. I know I’d promised my little sister I quit,
but I pull out my pack of Marlboro Black shorts.
All I need to feel is that sharp tug of nicotine in the back of my throat. Maybe, that would blunt the pain of her response.
I crack my knuckles in a nervous habit.
We’re literally sitting on my bed staring at each other.
There are dead butterflies in my stomach.
“I’m not a possession. We are impermanent. Anything else you could argue would be frivolous. I love you, isn’t that enough?”
Her words are like the strings of a puppet master, they beguile my will.
Her eyes are like narcotics. Potent.
I find myself doped from her hazel irises.
I’ve lost all conviction.
We eventually give in. Right?
“I love…I love you too.”
I juggle my spoiled apple from hand to hand. I’m famished.
I take a bite and wretch from its foul taste.
She just stares at me.
Her eyes show pity and little else.
I hold back my tears and continue to eat the foul fruit.
I must prove to her that I can stomach every last bite.
“Do you want me, right now?”
I concede that I am a foolish man. My hands know more of lust than love.
I submit to my Queen of Hearts,
my drug of no choice.
She knows my every hand before I can bluff.
I’ll always be an addict to people I cannot trust.
“You already know the answer. Let me taste you.”
I escape into euphoria. She has taken the safest parts of myself hostage.
Her nails dig into my back to remind me that I am hers.
The pain reminds me that I am most certainly alive.
I bite her lip to remind her that she is too.
Love is scarlet red. It trickles down my back and stains my bedsheets.
Love is dark purple. It bruises the lips that rarely smile.
Love is unrequited.
Addict Brain Poetry by Sawyer 