احلام: Self-Destruction Like Empires Stretched Too... →
someonesambition: her profession in emotional support makes for a wiz in emotional abuse she wrote letters in journals but didn’t send them to you then wondered why you never came around to say how much you loved her too she cut herself like a pound of chicken that she couldn’t marinate for shit and gathered mental fantasies the same way an audience would gather to sit played like a...
The scars on my soul are words.: Trust me... →
tarnishedsoul: “Trust me” he whispered his breath against her ear. She held her breath unable to murmur her wanting… He placed the cloth over her eyes, and suddenly she was shivering in sensual anticipation. Silk cloth bound her wrists and she could not help but whimper. Fingers shed her clothes …
A poem written whilst waiting for a plumber to...
tarnishedsoul: I used to think I needed no one. That I was a rock, standing alone in an ocean of trouble. But I want a cup of tea… or soup. And someone to come fix my sink. (there’s a leak ). And perhaps tuck me into bed and tell me things will be just fine and I don’t have Ebola or Dengue fever. Great fucking rock I turned out to be!
Halfway Through The Story
umustcreate: With a steady hand I compose all my feelings The tears come later
poeticallyundead: In searching for myself I’ve lost who I once was. Now I’ve lost myself in your gaze, dreaming of becoming lost within your arms.
wearemostaliveindreams: I have forgotten, how to love. Not because of the people, but from the disappointment, of being alone and how comfortable it feels, draped around me. Being wounded, and begging to be validated is not for me. Not anymore.