paper, on it was love poème written in french

I am a string of paper dolls clipped to a clothes line, blank as a newborn baby hanging in the sunshine. where am I going? what am I doing here? i am starting to think that the people hanging up here with me are too much like how I used to be. waiting to be snipped down and used for something. Always waiting. All waiting. we are all waiting.

for 3 years I have screamed at the heavens, for giving me paper-cuts. what are we supposed to do with these, i asked. i cursed myself for drenching my already fragile skin with alcohol, make-up and lighting on fire rolled blunt tips.

my paper throat burned with a New Year affair and a knife named lust. I was dead before the first slit, drunk off the first sip, and lecherous at the first thrust. delirious and masculine. he was masculine and I was delirious. but only for a couple months, a couple hours, just a seasonal fancy.

I woke up today and I was no longer hanging by myself. A broken flower came and snipped me down. placed me in her backpack and pedaled me around. 

Starving contradictions

Memories tastes like air. As we engorge on the nothingness of the past we become nothing ourselves. But with hunger pains acting as reminders of what happens when one don't remember. We are force to choose between Nothingness and Pain

Can we really choose between the two and that choice be the right one?

We wander through the darkness searching and trying to escape the monsters of our past. Creatures with teeth sharp enough to pierce our thin skin and penetrate our bones. Eyes so consuming that with every slurp of our essences we become more hypnotized.

Venom.

But as they eat from our already empty stomachs, we are filled euphoria. Finding ourselves not caring about the nothingness. And the longer the monsters feed from us, the more creature like we become. Because memories tastes like air we must find a way to curve our hunger. Or we too will become nothing but air.

Relapse pt 2

She thought about her yesterday and yet again today. Snippets. Of them dancing. subtlety was never her strong point, but it was adorable to watch.

She was so drunk off the world they created. Slight swaying side to side they danced, in the tiny room. Around each other in conversations. Pillow talk. Drawn out others time. Light from the window shining in to her eyes. She have memories of drowning in those eyes.

Tomorrow will bring holding hands and letting go.

--

"How can love be so kind and gentle then turn and be so cold? And why must my arms be so empty for what my heart still holds." -Musiq Soulchild

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