My Beautiful Bleeding Pieces

look at you showering

me kisses, gifts,

token of love and whatnot

yeah, i know

it's christmas season

but it doesn't mean

i can forgive the

years of manipulation

just because you're love bombing

me again

sorry but i

got older and wiser

chilled wind, frozen lips

why do you try to sing

me to sleep?

do you want me

to slowly drift away

as you disappear,

thinking it would hurt

me less?

chilled wind, frozen lips

stop humming

me lullabies

i'm not a child anymore

and i know the difference

between someone

you want to be with

and someone

you can't wait to forsake

calm before the storm

deceiving,

addictive

i cling to the arms of sleep,

fall deeper

until i lose grip

to reality

the wind whistle, i hear it

but it's just that

and the voice

i long so much

to soothe me

dissipates with the

echoes of tranquility

-katie

november storm

rummages my mind,

creating a mess

out of my dreary

thoughts, now they scream

madness, maybe i need

a bit of madness

to see clearly

and realize things

aren't what they seem

the smile painted

on my lips, it does

not reach the eyes

i swear i want to be drunk

with happiness

but now i feel foolish

if it's only that simple

then i could just rearrange

the mess, silence the voices,

send the chaos out of my head

but no, november storm

feeds at my fear,

turns me into something

i never expected to be:

an escapist

my lips were dry,

famished until

you found me

and filled every

inch of my body

with affection

i know i was

thirsty,

yearning for

warmth,

a bit of your light

darling, you satiated

my hunger,

resurrected every fiber

of my dead body

but did you really

need to make

love taste like

a debt i need

to repay?

-doesn't that defeat the purpose?

cold wind kissing

my nape sending

shivers down my spine

sweet november,

the feelings are gone

and all that's left now

is a trail of blood,

tears staining the walls,

which the shadows

cover with darkness

so he won't see

so he won't know

the night wept for him

october reeks

of silent whispers,

of hopeful stares,

of acute nostalgia

october tastes

of drunken kisses,

of bourbon whiskey,

of you,

of me,

of new beginnings

-katie

Hello. I will try. Thank you for the appreciation.💙

my september, a dream,

a swift kiss, a muffled scream

a coin rolling in a dark alley,

waiting,

waiting

to be picked

by someone

drowned in melancholy,

my september, like the thread

of hope

i was clinging to somehow

escaped with the

thoughts squeezing

my weary mind,

and i'm here still

trying-

trying my best

to figure

it out

dear universe,

how many fire

will you ignite

before you realize

i am a phoenix?

-did you honestly think i'll just burn?

someday i will teach

myself to write

a poem again

and it won't be about you

or the years

we wasted dreaming

about our future

while forgetting

to water the flowers

so one day they just wilted

away erasing

our existence

no, when that time comes

i'll be writing about something else

perhaps, not one about the war,

or the inflation,

or the rising heat index

i will try my best to write about

anything that does not capture

the stars in your universe,

the bubbles of thoughts floating

above your head,

the wind kissing

your hair, the rain gently gliding

in your porcelain skin

i will forget about the way

you made me feel

along with the memory

of how truth

became the first

casualty of a war

we didn't ask for,

a war that ruined

the taste

of heaven on my lips,

a war that created

waves of differing heights

and tenacity

i'll forget about the dreams

we buried beneath our fallen city,

the unread text messages,

the unpublished reels, drowned

in the echo of grenade raining

the afternoon sky, cries

of dissenters swarming the streets

like flies, shrieking out "freedom!"

oh, freedom,

when will i...

forget about everything

and write about cicadas,ignore

the ashes and screams filling

the air as i watch your head explode,

a watermelon being run over

by a truck!

i will teach myself

to write a poem that

doesn't immortalize you

however, everything

that you were stains

my hands with red-

a dark, raging

shade of red

Photo lifted from:

Hi there. Yes, I am.

-sometimes it's easier to blame the gods or destiny