contemporary

What I Think Of, When I Think Of Him

Original Writing

When I think of him, the first thing that comes to mind is the intoxicating sensation of being high. High on life, on love, on him. His lips are something I crave at 8am and at 11.30pm. His touch is something I miss the most in the sun-dazzled haze of a lazy summer’s afternoon. The soft caress of seduction brushing across my lips over and over again, a hand tracing its fingertips up my leg, a smile through the kiss. When I think of his eyes, I think of a soft summer sunset married with hues of honey.  I’m subconsciously aware that I might drown in the ocean of his being, yet I’ll readily dive into the deep despite not quite knowing how to swim. During the day, I want to rip my heart into shreds and watch the little pieces float around me as I look on in despair; at night, I want to put all of those pieces back together, taking no notice of the blood on my hands and the stains on the hem of my skirt. The sweet, dulcet tones of our incessant need for closeness fill the air when he nears me.

This is what I think of when I think of him.

Symphonies

Original Writing

The ocean finally calmed and you came out with scars coughing up memories. The branches you clung to while you were being tossed through oblivion had thorns, leaving gashes in your hands while you clung for life, scared to go too far under. And blood and water caressed your lips, like the taste of his kisses when they came from a mouth that shot bullets disguised as words. But you survived. You survived the hands pulling you under and the currents pulling you every which way.

Honey-Dipped Eyes

Original Poetry

When sadness was the sea, you taught me how to swim.
Waves and waves of you now crash into me.
Yet, somehow,
serenity can only be defined by
living in your honey-dipped eyes.
Serenity can only be described
as you.

Chipped Nails and Claw Marks

Original Poetry

Chipped nails and claw marks on my heart,
raw wounds cracking as the light turns to dark.
He whispered “I love you” softly into my ear,
I shuddered to think what he had in store for me here.
His touch dripped with venom onto my skin.
I was forced to stand there and watch the end begin.
As the distance (between us) grew,
long gone were the “I adore you”‘s
just
that girl, who is she?
YOU MAKE ME WANT TO SCREAM
The heavens, they cry out,
the love of their distressed creations now cast in doubt.
With my head on his chest,
we sobbed – “We tried our very best.”