Metal Heart

i tripped over the words you carelessly left behind, lying in the middle of the road.

hit the pavement.
traces of fire.
barely enough to hold my attention.

there were bits and pieces of things better left unsaid
lit up in the dark
casting shadows
causing trouble.

caught by surprise when the lights flickered out
a con-artist weight upon my shoulders.
never knew the words you said meant more to me
than they did to you.

I don’t want to live by those words any longer.  Say you don’t mean it but it was like a blow to the chest, a knife to the heart.

failure of a revolution

I hope that you are not asleep, even when it is 4 o’clock in the morning.   Not that I have a sovereign urge to talk to you this very minute, but anything to brush off this heavy heart of mine, one that I wear on my sleeve like an open sore.

It is indeed an open sore right now.  It has been an open sore for three days time.  You know that  and you, without hesitation and with confidence, take your hand and reach closer to it every second we are together.

So maybe that means something.

So maybe that means you want to take it out, comfort it, and call it your own.

Everything was a mess on the floor. Together our clothes made a beating mess, the type of mess you knew how to fix.  But even after last night, when I kissed you and meant it. When our lips touched, the soles of my feet melted into your wooden floor boards, below the carpet, below the floor.  The tips of my fingers rummaging to find certain weak spots. Everything was done slowly and with care.

Every step was intricate, elaborate, and beautifully crafted as an art.

But in the dark, I couldn’t get my heart out of the pile of warm clothes that we called ours.

learning to stand

They were kissing. Put like that, and you could be forgiven for presuming that this was a normal kiss, all lips and skin and possibly even a little tongue. You’d miss how he smiled, how his eyes glowed. And then, after the kiss was done, how he stood, like a man who had just discovered the art of standing and had figured out how to do it better than anyone else who would ever come along.

so there you have it

I once said that I enjoy great sex. Four words, no additional words like “on weekends” or “occasionally”. After all, who actually wakes up in the morning and says, “Hello! I think I would enjoy some bad sex today!”. Of course you wouldn’t, that is like planning a vacation to a tropical destination and hoping a storm hits while you are visiting. Something like that. Great sex is one of those relationship keys that you need to have. A step lower than trust and a step higher than communication.

The common misconception is that if you enjoy great sex then you are considered a slut. I’ve always doubted about this theory because there is a fine line between being a slut and enjoying sex with the people you feel a connection with. I wouldn’t point a finger at any one for one night stands but for obvious reasons I don’t care for them. It’s more than meeting that guy who bought you a drink and grabs your breasts haphazardly because he’s drunk and you think he’s an easy lay. Not to mention, the dreaded morning after
ohshitifuckedyouwhatthehellwasithinking
mood. No one wants that, that is ugly. The goal is to find someone who can make you scream until the people down the block think you are being murdered. Missing sheets off the bed, lipstick prints on the pillowcases, and finding your oral talents.
Have you given a blowjob lately? No? Yes?
♥

easy as pie.

6000 feet above sea level
3300 bodies disassembled
the head bone’s connected
to the cock pit
knee jerk
ass backwards
dancing slaves in a mosh pit
punk rock of gibralter
roll out
nothing’s new
mo’ blood dyes
the mo hawk
only this time
it’s you
and you
never loved her
for what she possessed
you powdered her face
and came on her
head-dress
oil slicked feathers, putrid stenched water-bed
“mother nature’s a whore”, said the shotgun to the head.
and it smelled like teen spirit
angst driven insecure
a country in puberty
a country at war
wet dreams
cotton mouth
blood thirsty
oily hair
fast cars
movie stars
earn 20 mill…
to instill fear