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Memoir of the ShowerFor the first time in days
the world around me is quiet.
Harsh sounds muffled,
Lights that once seemed too bright
now hide in shadows,
casting flickering shapes against dark walls.
Warmth consumes me,
cupping the cold in it's hands and breathing gentle life
in it's hateful essence,
banishing the tremors that contort and throw my body about.
Water trickles along my naked body,
down my broken back,
between my trembling thighs.
I find myself lost in the silence,
a t a
p a p
of water against cold porcelain.
Steam swirls around my dripping fingers,
droplets cling to my lashes,
drip into tired eyes.
Peace is finally mine.
Midnight LoversThe worst feeling ever felt
is being in love
with nothing more than an image of a face,
a gentle memory of a voice that goes with it-
While endless nights spent reaching out and stretching,
to hold onto that subtle image,
that fading memory,
until there is nothing but a trail of smoke
lingering between your stiff, broken fingers,
a reminiscence of nights long since passed,
a nostalgic breathe of cold night air
between parched dry lips.
A beautifully broken memory
of loving lips against soft skin.
Fingers running through silk like hair,
whispers in your ear of promises for tomorrow
and life long dreams to come true.
Eyes so full of life,
heart so eager to take them by storm,
to run into the darkest corners of the world
and face the unknown with bold intentions.
To live life with no fear.
To breath in cold night air.
To love a lover lost,
to the darkest corners of the world.
Killing Me With EmptinessMy nights start with the unrelenting need
to feel your hands across my body,
to feel your breath in my hair,
to feel your whispers against my skin.
Of course I'm granted nothing but words printed on a screen
looked upon with tired,
Eyes that are drooping closed with need for sleep.
Though being the persistent person I am
I kindly tell sleep to fuck the hell off
and let me get my fill of the words being printed across
a tiny glowing screen
by invisible fingers.
My mornings start with the first essential need
of flicking on a too bright screen,
blinding myself in pathetic search of an awaiting message
that is never there.
A long shower is spent
contemplating why there is no waiting message,
why there is never a waiting message,
why there will never be a waiting message.
is spent encouraging myself not to make the first
and overly pathetic first move.
Courage is built up,
restraint is compiled.
All is as it sho
Beautiful Tired EyesDon't you hide your tired eyes from me,
they're my latest fad,
my newest addiction;
so full of truths untold,
nights spent restless,
days gone by.
Don't you bother to cover them up
I can't see the deep purple shadows,
the beautiful depth of life spent
with eyes wide open,
and sleep left to the dreamers.
You are a believer,
a take no shit doer.
You travel through pages,
with your tired eyes,
and yet you do not rest.
There is too much to see in this world,
and sleep is saved
for the dead.
DeathDeath is quiet,
a heavy blanket in the air,
a suffocating reminder
of what will never once more
An empty chair,
an empty bed,
a silent morning.
Nights are no longer filled
with gentle whispers
of one more goodnight kiss.
Pillows are no longer warmed
with the gentle hush of your breath.
No longer are the sheets filled
with the warmth of your still body.
Alarm clocks ring shrilly
with no hand to quiet it.
So I do it.
The kitchen is cold and dark;
Coffee does not wait
in anticipation of tired lips.
So I make it.
A jacket is flung carelessly
over the back of a chair.
Keys are tossed in front of it there.
So I pick it up.
I hold it to my face.
I breathe in your smell,
the last bits of your existence.
I breathe in your last moments,
the color of your eyes,
the smile you shared.
I breathe in the last "I love you",
the last kiss,
the last goodbye,
the last moments
before you died.
Killing me SoftlyTrue torment
is needing to walk away
but knowing he wants you to stay,
needs you to stay,
wills you to stay.
And so you stay.
True pain is acknowledging your defeat
welcoming the final end,
but turning around to hear,
"I missed you,"
and feeling warm arms wrap around you
for the first time,
knowing it wouldn't be gifted with sex
and lust later in thanks.
And so you hold on in anticipation
of that next embrace.
is knowing you want to die,
you don't have that right.
Knowing that you are nothing more
than a broken term,
an over used phrased,
a meaningless word.
is the bottom of the end,
the mass blocking the sun,
the tear in my heart,
the screams in my head,
the blood on my hands.
Depression holds the knife.
Depression hands me the gun.
Depression pops the pills.
kills for the thrills.
338 Days Since You LeftEleven months, three days,
since we said our last words.
I've spent waiting for your next word.
But who's counting.
Surely not the nights,
that I lay in wake
searching for those invisible hands
that once drew words from empty air,
to fill my empty heart.
I've spent perfecting the right way to say
and, "It's good to see you again,"
without first falling apart
in anticipation for your return;
a day that has since not come.
A day that has been slowly draining my heart
of all the words
you once drew for me.
But who's counting..
Surely not the little girl,
struggling through a life of rejection
and typed words on a screen
from invisible hands.
Because that little girl grew up.
That little girl struggled on.
And with each passing day
that little girl
died away just a little more everyday.
Until there was nothing left
but a b
When the Caged Bird SingsWhen he touches me,
I no longer see the cover model on a magazine,
that I will never be.
I see the beauty of a touch
from someone so loving.
When he kisses my naked skin,
I forget the imperfections,
the fears of body image,
the need to be delicately thin;
the fears that imprison my mind.
When he kisses my naked skin,
for the first time,
beautiful in my minds mirror.
I wonder if he notices
when I kiss his sharp bones,
how I ache for those to be my own.
Hips so defined,
you can cup them in your hands.
Collarbone’s so deep,
you could sip wine from them.
Body so beautiful,
you could lose yourself
with a single touch.
I wonder if he knows my pain,
will ever know the pain,
of being stared at,
standing beside a man so beautiful.
Stares that wrap around my throat,
pulling that rope tighter, pulling me higher.
leaving me to dangle helpless.
But every time he does something so amazing.
He cuts me down.
He saves me.
And he catches me in a blanket of impassionedly stitc
Hypnophobia- A Fear to Sleep, a Fear to DreamNight falls,
creeping steady across my floor.
Shadows call out of me,
reaching, slithering, waiting for me.
The night hisses and coos,
screeches and yearns,
aches for the moment it can consume
my tired sleeping body.
Night becomes war.
Day becomes rescue.
Rescue brings peace,
but not until
the night takes hold my heart,
ripping it from my throat,
grasping it in it's hands and whispering to me,
'Goodnight, sleep tight.'
and takes hold my restless mind.
The typewriter in my mind won't stop it's continuous
tap tap tap
bringing life to monsters I only ever dreamt of.
The monsters hiding in my sleep.
The monsters hiding in my dreams.
The monsters hiding in the dark.
I'm so desperate for it to stop,
aching for a moment of peace,
for a night of sleep.
But my hynophobia takes away
all my precious dreams.
I AmI am single,
but I am loved.
I am not a genius,
but I am intelligent.
I am not breathtaking,
but I have beauty.
I am not a saint,
but I am kind.
To the world,
I am not perfect.
But for someone,
Two Years LaterShe asked him gently, “Do you love me?”
In his long silence, she found closure,
And left her love under a willow tree.
lung canceri will die with your name on my lips
because there is nothing else i'll need to say.
you are my coffin, my funeral pyre.
as my bones disintegrate, popping and snapping,
you will greedily swallow my ashes
until nothing is left of me but secondhand smoke.
i've danced with you, love, across hospital tile,
the scent of antiseptic cloying as valentine's chocolate.
you dipped me into unconsciousness,
and i willingly closed my eyes.
the intrusion of your scalpel teeth no longer scares me.
you, my rigor mortis soul mate, always take me under.
your tent of frostbitten shelter pulls me down, an anchor,
while i gag on pills too abstract to save me.
forgive me, lungs, of my cigarette abuse,
but i've found happiness in a reaper's cloak.
i find comfort in these carcinogens.
i've made my nest in a swaying tree,
my body destroyed by the nauseous rocking.
they smile at me with pity in their eyes,
scribbling nonsense on those jaw-like clipboards.
their crisp, stark white world still has faith in me,
you've been dead for a year, my deari met you on december 21st,
the longest night of the year.
you had solstice eyes: cold, dark, alluring.
i knew you were not meant to last,
powerful as a gale but fragile as
the tulip stems you snapped,
a sickening cycle of you,
an overwhelming tidal wave.
they say two wrongs will never make a right,
but i made so many bad choices that
i wound up back where I began.
it was too easy to love you,
but getting you to love me back was impossible.
i clawed at your chest until I struck blood,
until my nails split into shards.
you were born a phantom,
and i, your corpse.
holding onto you felt like drowning in quicksand;
i fought but always sank into your arms.
i breathed in dirt, breathed in dust, and
found my organs choked with you,
smothered by your existence.
you sucked out my breath
every time i kissed you.
i died every day with your hand
knotted in my hair.
You left on june 21st,
the longest day of the year.
i bit down sorrow and deconstructed
the labyrinth within me,
the one you hadn't th
All Her Little ThingsStop hating her for the littlest things.
The things she can't prevent,
The things she can't save herself from..
Stop demanding her to do things,
Things she can't accomplish,
Things she can't imagine being done...
Stop lying to her,
Telling her you love her,
Want her, need her...
When all you've ever done is make her want to
Stop hating her for the littlest things.
The things she can't prevent,
The things she can't save herself from...
When those little things you've done
Take her down...
The little things won't matter anymore.
I give upSometimes
I try so hard to change for people
Do what they want,
Listen to their critiques,
Try to be a good friend..
But you know?
Everyone makes mistakes,
is not perfect,
is tired and stressed and slips,
It is never good enough,
no matter what I do,
nobody ever sees what I changed,
everybody always only sees my faults.
I get criticised for what I did wrong,
but never acknowledged for what I changed,
I give up.
I don't have the energy anymore,
to always justify myself,
to always go up and be the one,
that is bad,
to always be the one,
Sometimes I think I'm better off without anyone...
Eye of the StormI believed I could make the wind blow,
and force the moon to shine at night,
create rainbows just by thinking,
and hold tea parties for fairies in July,
I was the queen of my own graceful lands.
Yet, I grew old and realized,
I am the kind of girl who'd trip and fall,
often for stepping on her own feet.
My crown of diamond and gold
now a rusted piece of bronze,
I lost my throne to treason, my kingdom to hate,
I became the eye of a hurricane,
loaded with mishaps I need to atone.
I felt the soft touches of angels,
and lost my own wings to demons who could crush stone.
Felt the scorching tears run so often,
I knew I must have hit bottom low.
I had nothing holy, no one to call dear,
but here I am, the starting point of my own storm.
I felt fear, clung to shadows,
encased my heart within marble walls,
and threw the keys that can unlock my soul.
So many chances I've lost with no love to seek,
and so many people I turned my back to.
I let the darkness gnaw through my bones.
A stranger walked up to me today...A man walked up to me and asked me for a cigarette… I told him I didn't smoke anymore, and he asked me why? ––I answered "because the person I used to smoke with, isn't around anymore", and he replied…"that's why I smoke."
A woman walked up to me and asked me for drugs, I replied "I have several in store…his eyes, his smile, his hands"…she whispered, "that's not a drug"…and I laughed as I said.. "if only you knew."
A child walked up to me today and asked me to play a game, I told them I was too tired to play games, i'd been playing for years, they replied…"then you must be a pro!", to which I said "yes…a pro at losing."
An old woman stared at me today, and I asked her…"is something wrong?" she answered "I was about to ask you the same question."
© Rocio Belinda Mendez
The World Is Ugly, But You're Beautiful To MeThere was something in the way he spoke.
Like something was hidden deep within each word
that managed to escape his trembling lips.
A pain so deep,
earth shatteringly strong,
like at any moment his body would give out,
and he'd fall to the ground.
The weight of the world
finally weighing him down,
drowning him in an ocean of misery.
His voice shook
But he stood strong,
if anything a bit worn at the edges,
but he refused to fall.
With each pained word,
his strength disintegrated,
and the real pain began to surface
in his heartbroken eyes.
Life was a struggle,
life had drug him around,
beat him down,
And all he had left now,
were his trembling,
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^Nyx-Valentine arrived in our community and started whipping everyone into a frenzy with her relentless desire to bring the Artistic Nude and Fetish galleries to the fore. 9 years later, and it's safe to say that Nyx is not only a leader as a photographer in these galleries, but she has also established herself as a much saught after model. ^... Read More