Bathed in kerosene, burning this field of tulips. My ineffable.
Tag: creative writing
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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.
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Puppeteer Princess, Your words stole the flavor from my dinner plate. My favorite meal became crushed tablets and stale cigarettes. You were no longer the high I chased. Love in the Northwest eludes me. Our queen-sized bed soon became a graveyard of expectations. It's funny, you used those acrylic nails to carve my name into a headstone but you could never bring yourself to write something meaningful like, "Forever Loved." I've always been nothing less than a possession. Do you remember when I left, you told me that you would place me in a box next to all of your forgotten lovers? You seem to trespass grief. You had always tried to paint me in shades that were too dark for either of us to see. Despite how much I could ever bleed, this monochrome love was too ugly for you to ever need. Winter sank its fangs into our vacant home. My estranged lover, where will you ever go? Sincerely, Your Graveyard Valentine
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Don't think like that. I'll be gone by the morning. Smell my favorite sweater, forget what you always try to remember. "you're beautiful" are my clever words because the camera turns and you're inevitably hurt. You play with fire and expect to get burned. You always said I was thinking of her. Don't think like that. You said I was your addiction. Ghosts of valentines past whisper this same affliction. Quit me. Say it with conviction. In three months, I'll ask you how you're doing and you'll tell me that you're fine. Such a pretty, busy mind. We're all doing fine. Such a pretty, busy mind. My gentle mermaid.
Sawyer S.
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Hush. Let's play pretend.
Dig your claws into my neck.
Mark me, so I can remember what I should forget.
Bathe me in your scent.
Remind me, which part of you I should regret.
Hush. Let's play pretend.
Say it again.
"Stay."Sawyer S.
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seventeen text messages.
left on read.
you still haven't texted me back.
i nestle my pseudo lover.
i wrap my hands around her neck.
a bottle of Honey Jack.
something, anything to shade
this gray into black.
i've always been chasing
that which you lack.
i wonder who you're with,
and where you are.
these privileged thoughts
are for the naive.
i chew five xanax
for my nightly reprieve.
i hear five knocks at my door.
"sawyer, it's me!"
the onset of vertigo.
my feet betray reason
as i walk to the front door.
both hands press
against the wooden door.
"you can't keep doing this to me"
my words slur in my pathetic state.
"let me in already, i want you right now"
and just as a puppet dances with string,
i unlock my door and invite you inside.
you're wearing a black,
faded denim miniskirt.
torn fishnets.
you reek of liquor
and cheap cigarettes.
"have you been using again, sawyer?"
"you already know the answer. why are you here?"
"you're my boyfriend, duh!"
"love isn't supposed to feel like this."
"what is love supposed to feel like then?"
"i feel like i'm dying"
"baby, why don't we die together then?"
remember when we would get high,
just to have fun?Sawyer S.
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Why, am I so cold? I visit a headstone of a man I used to know, a faint realization of fragmented ego. I am so cold. I drop a bouquet of cheap roses onto filthy soil. Collapse. My fists pound the petals to make them bleed. Violence and pain comfort the parts of myself isolated to shame. Why, am I so cold?
Sawyer S.
Addict Brain Poetry by Sawyer 