Confessions about a boy, 1.

The memories attached to sound…

When that song plays I go back to the passenger seat of your car, when I was trying so hard to convince myself that I loved you. You bought me cigarettes and played music for me on your guitar and I thought I could repay you by jumping your bones.

They say I’m intense. Silly boys like you only buy into my bullshit because you’re all convinced you can fix me when you can’t.

But you were sweet, you felt bad that our first time wasn’t special. On the train ride home I closed my doors to you and opened the floodgates within, choosing to be alone with my emotions.

You used to drive for hours just to see me but I was used to getting beat down and your sweetness almost repulsed me by comparison to what I knew, so I told you not to come anymore.

Of course, when I did end it, you pounced. Stopped being a pussy and put your words into a song about how I left a bad taste in your mouth, stole your happiness and ended up being a bitch.

I’m not. You just weren’t the one, but I’m sorry I led you on.


Stolen Innocence

A train ticket to New York City
the over used branded logo locale,
the city of opposing dreams,
of hypocrites and schemes,
swallowed me.

It started with a kiss,
a moonlight job where I got to know men
who rob the innocent of their pennies
to throw them at me
when I’m made up and miserable.

This city has calloused even my tears,
I’m built with a strength sharper than spears –

It’s not what I pictured when I moved here,
but this place is about survival.

The one way ticket on a fast track,
stole my innocence away.

But at night, when I’m all alone,
I stay awake,
holding onto the memory
of innocent days.

Cheers, to Growing up

Sippin’ wine from paper cups,
man, our parents fucked us up.

We can recall every scrape, every cut
but memories of when we were free,
evade us.

The free mind of a child can never be restored.
When you were a child,
you smiled more.

Sippin’ wine from paper cups,
wishing to escape.

Drink it down, light it up-
Cheers, to growing up.

Sweet Poison

There is no such thing as a sweet poison. That was a fact until I met her.

We humans, we gravitate towards sweet things because they tend to promise our safety. But her red lips and long curls did not promise anything, and if beauty ever does promise anything, remember, the promise of beauty is temporary.

But, her beauty! Her laugh! Her eyes, oh her eyes blazed like a monumental star, and they drilled venom into me until I could no longer see straight.

Yet, she was the sweetest sight I’d ever laid eyes on, and she was an infectious, cancerous, poison.

Venus Fly Trap

Touch her and she’ll bite.

She’s bright,
always listening,
blue eyes glistening.

She’s good at getting a grip on people,
with a tongue inside her pretty mouth that licks like a whip,
she’ll lash out whenever you’ve gotten too close,
surrender, before you suffer her blows.

You’ll tell her all your secrets
and she’ll clench down on your throat,
but to her you’re just dinner,
she’ll have no mercy on your soul.