poisonxmuffin

I leave behind traces of lipstick, marking my territory, leaving evidence of my existence. I was here. And here. And here. A napkin with which I blotted my lips. A coffee mug from which I sipped. A cigarette butt, smoldering in the tray. A wine glass left on the table. A love note, signed with a kiss. A shirt collar that got in the way. Foreheads, cheeks, necks, collarbones. Skin.

her hands trace over the red marks where the sheet creased and pressed into his skin, and she wished she could press herself into him like that, marking him, simply to say “i was here” eyes, bright with morning light and pure contentment, gaze upon her beauty from behind dark lashes ghosts of smiles dance across their lips and their legs tangle together beneath the blanket skin touching skin touching skin touching skin

i have found myself to be speechless but not in a beautiful way. my silence is not poetic. most days i find my friends outside having a cigarette and i join them. i listen to their stories and laughter and smile with them. and when i stand to leave i realize, the smoke still swirling in my lungs and the butt smoldering on the ground, i did not say a single word. perhaps i use the smoke to suffocate my speech, i inhale so i do not have a chance to utter a sound. i watch on the way the tobacco burns so i do not have to make eye contact. i exhale smoke in place of speech. i am losing my words. somebody asks me how i am, and my throat closes

i spent all of yesterday curled up in bed, wishing you were there so i could hold you sometimes i feel a little bit afraid to tell you i miss you, even though i hope know you feel the same i need to get used to this emptiness because i know we'll be apart for a while longer and so instead of letting myself think of you i will go out into the woods i will sit down under the cover of the trees i will listen to the leaves rustling in the wind i will feel the bite of autumn air on my cheeks i will breath in the scent of the earth and i will make myself forget that you are not here

1. Best friends since ten; the kiss was a strange accident. Full of love, yet flat. 2. I can't forgive how much you fucked me up. Who's the shitty lover now? 2.5 Do drunken kisses count? My lips somehow never made contact with yours. 3. A mere seventeen syllables cannot sum up this great star crossed love.

I just want to live in a cute little apartment with my boyfriend. I want a place that is just for us, where no one can bother us. I want to hang art on our walls that he will not fully appreciate. I want to have a little nook in the corner that I’ll call the library where I can sit and read. I want a couch we can cuddle on while we watch tv. I want a kitchen table where we can sit down across from each other for the meals he cooks, because he is too picky for me to cook for him. I want a bed to share with him, where our legs will tangle together in the sheets. I want a living room where we can sway together to the soft melodies he sings

I had loved you a long time. Over a year, then. and I was loving you more every day; Every day we spent together, every day apart. But then, that morning you sang to me – the first time I truly heard your voice. I had woken up with a song in my head And I sang to you what I could remember, my voice too soft, too shy; wobbly and sleepy, But I faltered after a few lines, unable to recall the rest. But there you were to finish it for me. Your voice should have been full of sleep – raspy and hoarse and flat. But God, it was the most beautiful thing I had heard in my life. and in that moment the only thing in my heart was You

His breath against my ear is composed of gasps and sighs; It seems too quick for sleep, but perchance he is dreaming. Of monsters or madness, of mysteries or mishaps. I hope they are sweet, and they are of me, perhaps. He shifts against me in his slumber, and as he twists to face away from me Crepitus erupts from his vertebrae in a series of muffled pops and cracks. And I can hear his stomach grumble once from afar, complaining because we had forgotten dinner. I place my hand against his abdomen, As if to apologize for its hunger. His heart drums a steady beat throughout the night; a comforting rhythm that reassures