polkadotchaos

i watched the excuses fall out your mouth, like a magician's trick handkerchief and land in a pile at your feet. actions that should have been so simple and easy to avoid, moment after moment that should have had a consideration and you jumped in full force and never looked back. i brushed off signs like a swarm of noisy mosquitos, thinking my gut feeling was unfounded, that everything was fine, it was just one of those days. i went to sleep hungry, too ill inside to eat. it took less than a six pack for you to come clean and yet i'm the one who walked away feeling dirty. each stumbled over sentence increased my anger, as i wa

i left the house at 10 til 10 tuesday night directions on a half note card scribbled in pen knowing exactly what would happen. i drive in silence to see him, wearing matt's sweater, the necklace james bought me. i felt giddy anticipation like i did with caleb in seventh grade. i insist to myself this rendezvous wont be the same as manny. hoping that i would find more that i did from paul. my phone rings and its him, calling me a name similar to the name jesus called me. driving past garrett's house, trying to forget how badly that ended, wondering if something happens, if he'll pull my hair like joel did. kiss-biting my

plaid blue couch watching bootleg movies touching hiding fingers in cushion cracks your hand in mine, finally. lights off movie still playing only illumination. kisses like madness. fingers in my hair. hands in my shirt. bra on the floor. nails scratching little marks of pleasure hands down your pants. shirt and shorts on the floor. sage chenille blanket hides evidence. first times knowing only first names. bruises on my neck wall rubbed marks on knees throbbing that visits when i cross my legs. it makes me smile.

those kisses make me weak... like the time I took those muscle relaxers in second period and when I feel you touch me... I melt... like crayons in a back seat on a hot day

Kill Bill Movie Night We watch, hidden under tattered quilts on the moldy smelling corner couch stories Quentin Tarantino built. During scenes of glorified yakuza bouts, I felt your arm find a resting spot behind me, and thought, whatever he's got planned, I'll find out. My foot falls asleep under me. Trying to get it awake, perfect time, I miss the death of O-Ren Rishii. And that's when I feel you fake a yawn, wrap your arm around me, pulling closer. I have my chance, and wonder, should I take it, or wait for you to make the most of my night. Kiss me, you fool. Just something more to feel… the movie's over, turn the sound down

In an instant, I feel the dark weight sitting on my chest Preventing me form catching a full breath. My lightless room disguises A shadow figure here with intentions. I can't catch a full breath. Gasping like a flopped fish out it's bowl, That shadow is here, hurting. Screaming is useless, kicking does nothing. Gasping for one more taste of air. My arms, pinned above my head, knuckles scraping headboard Kicking does nothing, screams of empty sound This phantom of shadows laughs at my struggle Scraped knuckles against a head board, He whispers, "nex mos non exsisto velox" A faceless phantom laughing at my frenzied struggle. Hot