shove it all in
fries, cookies, noodles
open your gullet
pour it down
vodka, beer, whiskey
legs splayed
cocks, tongues, fingers
suck it up
drag on the cigarette
anything to fill the void
the bottomless pit
it’s neverending
scream into the crevasse
and screams echo back
and still
I persevere
I am the abyss
The words won’t come today, nor did they yesterday, or the day before that. So I reblog, because I’m always in fear of drowning.
I try to draw a breath
but my lungs won’t expand
to allow it
A wet veil has been
placed about my head
and it threatens to cut off
the life force of air
Swimming in your seas
has left me with a fear of drowning
“Test the waters you fool,” says my chastising voice. “Never dive in head first. When are you going to learn your lesson?”
But all is lost in the abyss
my ears are covered with water
and blackness begins to swirl around me
It all comes back to black
the color of rot and death
and a murder of crows
and of my insides
since I came across you
I want so much to shed the cloak of it
and experience other colors again
like red
the red of your blood
flowing from your nose
as my fist connects with it
gushing from your head
as the perfectly timed swing of my bat unites with your thick skull
dropping a trail from your bottom lip
as the back of my hand meets your lying mouth
but still
the red cannot compete with the black
so I wait for a source of light
to wash over me
and dilute it
and make it gray
i scrub and scrub and scrub
my skin wears thin
from the scraping of the brillo pad
it makes no difference
i am still dirty
i add cleanser
i am still not clean
i put the bleach bottle to my lips
and drink
because i realize the dirtiness
has penetrated my soul
oh how it burns on the way down
and i know that must mean it’s working
but it doesn’t clean me
and only leaves a hole the size of a quarter in my stomach
you stupid bitch
i say to myself in the mirror
you disgust me
the scars he left have dug their filthy tendrils
too deeply into me
they are ingrained
maybe he was right
no one else will ever love me
the air is heavy
like a piece of wet cheesecloth over my face
it hampers my breath
my heart is heavy
like a clogged swimming pool pump
it doesn’t want to move the blood through the chambers
and back out again
I tap my finger on my forehead
1…2…3 times
3 more times
somehow I think this might stop the tears
that spring from my eyes
but I’m wrong
some days nothing stops them
because the loneliness penetrates too deeply
and nothing seems right with the world
Love is a struggle, so we’ve chosen fear. It is easy. It drips off us like hot butter. We are covered in it. And though it burns and scars us, when it curdles in a puddle beneath our feet, like pigs, we lie on the ground and roll in it. We stink, but it gives […]
sick
from drinking the poison
spoon fed to you
snapchat
feed your attention whoring self
on the crumbs they throw you
likes
hearts
retweets
you gorge yourself
choking on it
a cock you’re sucking
like a teat
to feed your narcissistic ways
all the while
turning your heart black
the osmosis
of social media rot
permeates your sense of self
while your mind shrivels
to the size of pea
neurons firing
the adoration of those who don’t even know you
pinging the pleasure centers
of your brain
spread your legs wide
wider
let them all see
what a dirty little cunt you are
and just what you’ll do for
attention
Still histrionic, still a bookwhore; just faking competence because of my kid.
i've choked on my words for far too long
It's not the length of life, but the depth.
This is my mind, it’s not supposed to make sense.
Where Sarcasm Gets Drunk and Lets Its Hair Down
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Researching, investigating, and writing about the paranormal.
You either get it... or you don't.
Inky blackness, a yawning void ~
"Eye Fly High"
A weekly series edited by Jena Schwartz
Read. Ingest the words. Like little blue pills, they will affect you.
the stories behind the pictures, and vice versa
Just my thoughts for all to behold
🍃 Fully Living The Unfinished Things Of Life Through Writings. 🍃
A baking and dessert blog.
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a little bit of this and a little bit of that
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I blog now. I know, I can't believe it either.
Paul Johnson's comedy blog: I didn't get into comedy to be rich or famous. All I've ever wanted was to be loved...by somebody rich and famous.
Fat Bottom Girl Said What 