Intimate Clouds

Stuffy nose, pale raindrops. Bloody crotch with cotton swab remains. Breathe in his scent and cough out the weed.Tight smiles with longing glares...toothless grins with bold hazel eyes. I'm craving. He's beautiful to me, fucking beautiful. I love him, yet it's not that kind of love he suggests. I'm crying. My lips stutter as salt stains smooth over the broken skin. Soft lips glazed in saliva, tasty salt forced down tight, frivolous throats. Glass tubes meet an intentional rod, ready to begin, ready to start, yearning to...connect. I'm thinking. Strained moans, rough fingers, sucked dicks. I'm feeling. Faded teeth marks, darkened hickies, dried tears. I don't think I can take it. I'm screaming. He pins me down and takes me hard; forcefully and unforgivingly. He leaves, I smile and wait...he comes when he wants. He tells me he loves me, that I'm his best friend. I'm moaning. He kisses, sucks, and bites my neck. I close my eyes, mouth agape and gripping onto his sweaty fabric, begging for inanimate valdiation. I tell myself that this is right, that it's okay. I'm tasting. I look up at him and pray that he understands how much he means to me. I grip him, open my mouth, and do what I think I need to do. He moans, grits his teeth, and pulls my hair. I'm loving him. Letting him feel, slap, bite, kiss, and dance across every part of my being. Intentionally making him mad so he'll hurt me more. I'm stuttering. He thinks he knows what I'm thinking, what I want...what I've always wanted. He gives it all to me...well most of it anyways. I'm dying. I feel like I'm making mistake after mistake...I want to be gone sometimes...I want for him to hurt me emotionally...Is he my liberation? I'm typing. Tasteless jokes and forced laughter. He's funny, he makes me smile. I know I take things too far, I know that something's not quite right in there...in my mind. I see glass, a body, a drowned corpse. Dead. I'm singing. Sing it all away-the pain, the awakard moments, the screeched past, the solitude. I'm masturbating. Diamomd flakes designed to sparkle and blind the eye. Bitten lips, smothered grace, sore arms. I'm too loud and you know it...Do I feel it too good? Or fake it too bland? Soft whispers, fogged up fears. I smoke...I do it only with him...to impress him and to see if what I've heard really works. Take it all away. I'm staring. Sooner or later...this'll all be over. Nothing but a funny ol' memory. It's alright to cry, to not be alright. Drink in the tea and force her to sleep...I'm numb between my thighs; high when I storm home. I'm sore in places even I haven't even touched in years. I'm ending. Time will make the past a landmark for retrospection...recollection. Demons praying and nooses swaying. The blood is inside and outside, everywhere around me if I wanted. Am I valued by you? Or am I just crazy. I know the answer...don't I?     

 

This poem is about: 
Me

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