My ice cream melted

As he slammed the door I could remember the stickiness the touched my lips. Sweet bitter raspberry, how I hate the flavor. I remember moving my arms to wipe my face but it spread the mess across my cheek. I left it there, from what I can recall, and got up to look at the damage it caused.

They say the mirror does not lie but I digress that such a thing could show what I have tried so hard to repress. The raspberry upon my lips stands so pretty against against my skin. My eyes don’t show how bitter it taste because I do not remember them showing anything. A blank slate. A broken shape. I can remember trying to brush my hair into place.

It’s messy bun that I tied that day. So proud because it frame my face in a way I never thought before. But the raspberry stuck to the strands is all I can remember as I removed the bands. The bands I had picked with him in mind. Coupled with the blush, I felt divine.

But he wasn’t home like he was before. It was my fault and nothing more. When the monster within grabbed my hand and pulled me to the floor. Raspberry kisses on both of our cheeks. As the door groans and creaks.

My ice cream as melted, upon my thighs. I can see it in the mirror that I wish would lie. Raspberry glistens on my lips. Bitter is which memories keep.

I called myself an assassin

I wanted you to fight for me…but I can see that I will never be enough. Between the blood and the lust there is a gun just out of reach. I thought that you would need me yet here you are. Lying at my feet with wounds I don’t think will ever heal. I am almost certain that this isn’t even real but I see it. I feel and still breath and can smell the fact that I am not…I am not enough. I was never meant to be. I figured you would fight for me. Figured you would try just a little more. But between the blood and the lust I think I can see. I think I can truly see just how much of it wasn’t meant to be.

A/N a little dirty ditty for the ladies. Honestly this makes no sense. I may edit it soon.

house on the end

a blackened hole with a twisted tongue

unhinged and jaded by a lie not won

i turn to whisper at a page

i turn to shudder at the pain

because there are stories not yet spilt

on this dangerous land we have not built

ancestors screaming in distress

for they have started to fear their rest

i am nothing though filled with dread

with writhing maggot living in my head

a blackened hole and twisted tongue

ancestors voicing lies not yet won

only to turn another whispered page

and gratify myself with its rage

this is a story not yet spilt

of a cursed home i am to scared to see built

A/N Normally I do not talk about the inspiration for my post but this one I had to include. This poem came to me while looking at one of my friends creations. They had sewed together a bag that I just absolutely adore. Being able to see every step they took to making it. The energy, the heart, the literal blood at times, made me appreciate those who craft with their hands even more. Now, I am not gifted as they are, and even though I found some inspiration in what they had made, I had to show it another way. This is my creation and I am forever grateful for the support my friend has given me.

In return I am sharing Laurens work. If you like this poem please take a look at their Etsy page. They make custom work and are more than willing to work with people to get them that desire. Most, if not everything, is one of a kind. So if you like standing out and being unique, give it a go, if not, still leave them some love!! They will surely appreciate it.

And Yes, this earring combo is on sale!