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3am Poetry I bit my lip,
keeping myself locked away
as your curved fingers
taptaptaped away at my
[ permanently engraving
love stories on my skin
as if my body were your
personal typewriter. ]
Only the clench and slight
q u i v e r gave me away.
[ Your mouth was wild
tasting of dark secrets
and 3am poetry. ]
"It's your eyes
that give you away."
He isn't you.He isn't wishful paper cranes,
or Paris dreams during cold
Autumn nights. He isn't You.
But, he's trying so hard to
make me forget [ you you you ]
like pressed flowers hidden
between the bindings of
unfinished books, placed
at the top of dusty shelves.
His eyes are supernovas,
dead and lonely.
They don't sparkle like
your blue ocean irises.
But He loves me.
I can feel it through
shy smiles and the way
he touches me with
gentle artist fingers.
[ He makes
me want to write
p o e t r y. ]
Just a tease.Yeah, I knew it.
But, that didn't stop me
from liking the way she
She was a wild, all-consuming
i n f e r n o
With a tongue like hot wax
and cool peppermint ice-cream.
She skipped on tiny, pixie feet
whispering bitter winter promises
in the middle of 90 degree weather;
unraveling hearts like her favorite
pair of DIY holly jeans and wearing
leftover heartstrings like false
[ I burnt to a crisp
under her fingertips. ]
You found loveSly shoulders with
tiny bruises not
meant for lovers eyes,
Teeth and wicked collarbones:
You argued in the stairwell,
Fingers flirting with
that pretty dress of green
as you felt yourself asphyxiate.
Her lips, the antidote
to your wildest dreams.
T h i n k i n gI want to write of the tiger
crouched in my doorway,
the smirking hyenas at my bedside,
Apollo's love life,
beautiful Seattle skies I only dream about,
and girls with dragon scaled spines.
But it's all just tornadoing
around inside my head,
bouncing off my castle walls
straight jacket medicine
in an attempt to save me from myself.
So, I'm going to sit here, in the dark
as the clock tictictics away the minutes
of my evening as I stare into the face
of everything I've yet to write.
Cigarette BurnsI dream in static romances,
where time stands [ still, ]
and clocks no longer
to the sound of h e a r t b e a t s
and old school radio tunes.
The incense of my soul
smell like cherry blossoms,
and what should be
big city summers:
A place where I can wear these
[ hieroglyphics ]
On my flesh like a fashion statement
[ And not be just
covered in ash. ]
Sometimes I wish I knew the girls I write about.Believing God speaks to her in riddles,
She feels most alive
when hanging out of windows.
A fearless free faller
with an adventurers heart,
and innocent New York eyes.
and impossible to snuff out-
Forgive her, sweet father,
for she has sinned.
It's been three
E m b r a c eWhen you
I lost my
into my flesh.
[ You fucked me
like you loved me. ]
B u r nI'm not feeling it anymore,
But that cigarette between
your sugar lips has got me
thinking otherwise as my
lungs drink you in for the
second time tonight
while you spend your time
traveling my curves like
a rode map to your own
heart and counting our
murderous battle scars.
But even I know,
neither have won this
warfor my heart beats
six times slower than
it use to as your
fingerprints still cling
to my ribcage.
"I'm numb to your
touch, baby. But
I still remember
what it feels like too "
Tick tickHe could hardly breathe
But his heart was still beating
A broken rhythm
A Phsycotic tempo
He didn't know the time
But he still heard the seconds go by
Swirling around him
Something was saying
His time was over
He didn't have wings
But he was flying away
I couldn't catch him
The wind carried him away
Were cold and bloody
And he bled
Dripping in tempo with the clock
It struck twelve
Like knifes and swords
And he bled
Presentation Day (Romania x Reader)“This is awful,” Romania mutters.
You agree. In fact, most of the class probably agrees, but you just nod silently. You’re watching fellow students’ presentations about WWI and II, and to be frank: they all suck. The PowerPoints themselves have dreadful layouts full of large blocks of ugly text, which are read by the presenters in monotonous tones, whose beautiful backs are all we see of them. It’s bad.
“I mean, even if I didn’t know all this already and especially that I do-”
“Shh.” You cover his mouth with a finger and lay your head on his shoulder. The tactic works as planned; he keeps the criticism to himself, and even begins to purr softly. This attention attracts a nasty frown from the teacher. You just roll your eyes, but Romania turns and glowers fiercely back - a look that could stop a charging tiger in its tracks – causing the professor to look away. Having a crimson-eyed vampire looking at you like you’r
Catching Stars.I caught a star
and put it in my pocket
to keep it safe..
I took it home
and placed it on a shelf
in a cold dark place..
I kept it a secret
no one knew
what I was hiding..
You needed a friend
but I had nothing to offer
so I gave the star to you..
Your face lit up
I could feel the warmth
you almost felt complete..
But you let go
and the star went home
leaving you breathless
and almost knocked you off your feet..
The sky burns
the star shines bright
and I quietly watched
as you found yourself
somewhere deep within the night.
Autumn (Prussia x Reader)BRIIING!!!
The obnoxious tone signifies the much-anticipated end of the school-day. After stopping by your own locker, you're on your way past the troublesome (and disturbingly sexy) 'Bad Touch' trio, who are horsing around as usual. Someone grabs your arm. You spin around to see Gilbert Beilschmidt, the infamous self-appointed king of the school and the only albino, peering into your face. He seems uncharacteristically distraught.
"Hey, uh, _____..." Oh gosh he said your name. "I was wondering if you'd maybe, um " He hesitates, shifting anxiously. "Can we go outside?"
Taking your hand, he leads you out of the crowded hallway, avoiding most of the jostles caused by the rowdy adolescents, and eventually outdoors to the nearby park.
Autumn is supremely alluring at this time of the year. Birds twitter restlessly in the branches of colour-splashed trees, each a multitude of shades and hues. A crisp breeze brushes by, rustling the brittle leaves throughout. The general tempera
ScarsStanding in the shower
Skin turning redder
I stay still and soak it in
This water won't erase my sins
Scars stand out bright white
Burns and cuts all in sight
The real scars cannot be seen
They reside inside of me
I wonder if all I will be
is a creature scarred eternally?
Weighted Companion CubeToday is another day of testing,
I walk through the cold, white rooms,
As I stop, calmly resting,
A hatch opens, and drops you in my life.
Your cold, hard exterior, a shell,
Your metal covers your soft heart,
You came to rescue me from hell,
And now we walk together.
I jump atop you, and you make me taller,
We run along the long white room,
And even as the corridor gets smaller,
I know you'll save us from all problems.
You act as shield, weight and friend,
As a stool, you have no better,
And then she speaks, and I fear the end,
You hold the button, I press the switch.
The hatch opens, to a flaming grave,
She tells me all this must be done,
Suddenly, you speak to me, say I must be brave,
I worry for my sanity, as you start to smile.
I wonder how a cube could grin,
But then the warm air reminds me,
I want to keep you, greed is my sin,
She speaks again, an angry tone.
I lift you up, above your fiery demise,
Once again, you speak to me,
You tell me that there will be a surprise,
Once I fin
Pleasant Surprises (Prussia x Reader)Gil's chest rises and lowers beneath you, his arms are wrapped around you and holding you tight as if to protect you from the rest of the world. His head is lightly resting on yours, nestled among your hair. His warm breath reeks of the absent contents of the empty can lying discarded beside him. Gilbird is dozing in his beautiful snow-white hair. You wonder how it always remains so glossy.
It's nice to just reside in each other's company once in a while.
Suddenly, he stirs. You look up at him curiously.
He sighs. One of Gilbird's eyes crack open to peer at you. It's like the two share a mental bond. Knowing Gil, they probably do. "Hey, ____..." His accent is so amazing, you could just kiss it.
"Yeah?" You ask uncertainly.
"Well, it's just " He hesitates.
"Yes?" You wait, silently willing him on.
He takes a moment before responding with "Do you ever wanna, you know " He stares at you pointedly.
You get what he's implying. "WHAT!? GI-"
He covers your mouth with a finger, insta
Russian Rapture (Russia x Reader)"Become one with me," Russia whispers into your ear.
You shiver and politely decline, shaking your head slowly.
He backs up a little and looks you straight in the eyes. His violet ones appear ablaze. "Why not, my little sunflower?"
You break eye contact. It's impossible to stare at him for long. You try to think, but a purple aura clouds your thoughts, forcing them elsewhere. How glorious and beautiful he is, you think dreamily to yourself. But it feels like the thoughts aren't your own; like someone's written you a script and you're only acting them out.
You jump when you realize how close he is. His nose is touching yours; his eyes lowered seductively as his surprisingly cool, vodka-flavoured breath tantalizes your lips, inviting them to draw nearer. In your disorientation, you obey.
His mouth, so fresh, frozen, and yet so warm and inviting, teases you, tempting you for more. It feels so good So right
Then you feel a pang, like a blast of ice, awakening you from your delu
In the soft patch of velcro
on the blue curtain--
a lightning bolt of thread,
one thousand spindles
of what were words once
but no longer.
The newspaper folded neatly on an empty seat reads
PABLO NERUDA TO BE EXHUMED.
The poet comes out of the earth.
In the train toilet, someone has left
a crumpled rose of notepaper behind the tap.
Unfolding it reveals pencil markings.
Someone began a letter:
"Forgive me. I don't know your weaknesses,
and don't know what to avoid when writing to you."
They had then given up.
It's raining against my window.
I take a couple pills meant for pain.
I chew them right before I swallow
so the dry bitterness shoots over my tongue.
Sometimes relief doesn't come fast enough.
Sometimes you don't want it to.
"i wish i were an empty page
in a soft, yellow book.
it would be easy to mistake myself
for a few clouds implying mountains,
or the sound of an animal cooing at the edge
of a city.
i would pass for an absent object
that could only hav
He's the kind of boyWith calloused fingers
this boy trails poetry
down the length of spines.
smell like lemon drops,
and taste of sweet poison.]
He carries a tattered
notebook in one hand,
and an ink pen
in the pocket
closest to his heart.
[The paper romantic
who warms lonely
His dreams are bigger
Too much for just one.
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