24 (love) letters
could be a made out of old poems i've already written once
,
could be about you
,
poetry
,
valentine's day
No comments
An open letter to the one i loved,
Break every bone in my right hand, so that it will keep me from writing about you.
Crushed my
heart and broke my thoughts down so I could feed them
to you, but you let me starve while eating my soul and
puked it right into my face later on.
Describe it in pretty
pictures of dying butterflies, that are stuck in my ribcage, but I’m
just throwing up caterpillers.
Everything I wrote
about, was a lie, every time I’d twist reality,turn it,distort
it, until it bleed into heart and I could cry out every word of pain,
I’ve never felt.
Fix me and then
bite into my flesh and break everything inside of me,
I wanted you to know what my heart sounds like at 4am, but I wanted you to crush it between your fingers, too.
I wanted you to know what my heart sounds like at 4am, but I wanted you to crush it between your fingers, too.
“Go straight to hell with
me once we died”,
you used to say,
you used to say,
“because living with you was heaven
on earth.”
Here’s to screw
forgiveness, screw the past, screw you,
I wish I didn’t,
I wish I didn’t,
here’s to unrequired
love, ignorance and fucking pain
In the library by
day and in stranger’s bedrooms at night,
insert knowledge into your brain
and then your cock into
– my heart like a knife.
Jesus himself
even knows that you’ll never be able to love someone beside yourself,
"Kiss me”, I whispered in your ear that last
night,
“even though bad words came out of
my mouth”
and you said even worse words to me
back, when my lips touched your body.
Longest and most painful
death is to fall in love and then crash on reality.
My mother taught me
that clinging on a life saver won’t teach you how to swim and that you’ll drown
eventually, so
Now i'm just a pile
of misplaced memories, rotting regrets and burning books of untold stories.
Once life cut so deep in
my veins, I called you crying for help and you came over and wrote a poem about
the beauty of death, while I was dying.
People who are waiting,
listen: they say ‘no answer is an answer aswell’, but let’s be honest, no
answer is just a never ending vacuum of false interpretation, anxious boredom
and dying hope.
Q, I’m always saying
this, that I’ll leave you, but now I really stop dropping everything for
you, I’ll pick up my scrambled thoughts like broken eggs, which I’ve bleed
out 5 times, since I last saw you and leave.
Remeber how I would
grab the numbers out of the clock and stop the sun from setting and the moon
from rising with my bare hands, just for you?
Sticking parts of you i
find in myself on other things that bother me to create the monster
within I want to kill, so I could sleep at night, is what i do now. But after
that I'll never write about you again.
Talking for
hours, is what we used to do at this time of the day,
or maybe you just talked and I pictured my world around you,
or maybe you just talked and I pictured my world around you,
how I would fit in it, how I
could change
to wrap my life around your body
like a warming blanket.
Ultimatums have their
consequences and this is it, i hope the sharp edges of every letter cut
your face until you cry tears of blood
Valentine's day is the
day of love and caring, i'll start practising self-care today.
Whose future memories
are we really burying here -
beneath all the new phone numbers
and cookie crumbs,
inbetween his sheets and my
legs -
yours or mine? Think about it and
never call me again.
Xoxo
Yours truly (never again)
Z.
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