thepoetintherye

Struck by Cupid’s dart I’m bleeding belladonna, veins surging poison. Now blue bells and little stars live where my eyes used to be. Phlox crawls from my chest, heart pulsing with a nectar that is beyond sweet. My pretty petals tempt you, with lethal indifference.

deep and imposing, swirling with fragrant desire you pool under my skin like inkblots on fresh linen. your tongue cuts delicate shapes into my fervent bones with a saccharine edge only you could posses. dark and alluring like the lifeblood that pours from our pretty little veins, you catch my breath and steal kisses in the dead of night. but you’re far from sex in a glass; an ungodly man with more lies than he has affairs. i guess I’ve bruised your ego just like you bruised my lips.

i. for three and a half years you had a home in the crevices of my bloodiest organ, but you didn't pay rent so consider yourself evicted. ii. when people love each other they’re willing to move mountains to simply see one another— you won’t even pick up the damn phone. iii. you played me like a fiddle and then broke the bow, but I'm still making sweet melodies and going farther than you ever dreamed. iv. i was young and foolish, mesmerized by your foreign taste; you left me cold and curious but i don't blame you. v. good girls are just bad girls who don’t get caught vi. you turned a child into a ghost

i. look me in the eyes and count the stars that you see reflecting in their faltering irises as my pupils dilate to show you what’s inside. ii. hear the symphony that is my body: the clicking of my tongue as I pull at  the hem of my shirt, the silent whispers of my breath as I  exhale my butterflies, the war drum beating of my heart  as it hangs upon my sleeve. iii. feel my hand tucked tightly between the ridges and gaps of your calloused palm like a puzzle piece that doesn’t quite fit. (leave your fingerprints along my spine so that I may find you the day you become lost.) iv. taste my name on your

beneath the shimmering sea is another world soaked in midnight blue

Love is not a raised fist.

forgiveness is the scent the violet leaves on the foot that stomped it; I am beautiful in remembrance: I am beautiful  in a body two sizes too      large, in eyes dilated  with questions (eyes you cannot name; gray     like the ocean, blue        like the heart, green like       the fever dream I cannot      wake from) I am the    hair of a lion, a wild     thing, ignition upon   tempted glance. I am the skin you cannot name, always fleeting;                                  the chameleon                        you always see      but never truly take in.                  and I know a boy           carved of ivory sil

                           ‘ achilles wasn't the                                 only one with a weakness, ‘ and you said, maybe i'm a crook for stealing the voice from your lungs, but you are the fool who let me get away with it, as if i were supposed to know that love was only ever effervescence disguised as something beautiful, that i would dissipate into seafoam; penance for my sin.                          ‘ pr