Carnage

It was the intoxication for you that made me realize that I’ve been getting drunk of the wrong things for way to long

I’ve been sober before your lips, before your hands on my hips

You made me rethink the concept of being in a state sobriety

Because I would always see my self staring at the end of a bottle for a daring push into the world of extraordinary cliches to feel a sense of normalcy, different than awkward social convention I shoved myself into 

But then I found myself drinking you, and felt at ease, felt at peace

Because liquor isn’t supposed to transform you

It’s supposed to bring out your truest shade out form the shadows

Shadows that were born out of the constricted norms embedded into my mind before I could even think about playing with my barbie dolls

And then I drank a tangy mixture of cheap vodka, expensive self-derailemt and an aftertaste of a misplaced childhood.

And for the first time in my predetermined existence

For the first time in my etiquette driven, formulaic personality

For the first time my mask fell of my face

Tumbled down on to the floor

And fell between your fingertips

For the first time I wasn’t afraid of pain

I found comfort in the scars you left on my neck

Open wounds that got infected with delusions and ill-adviced caresses

Because with every stroke they became deeper

And now here I stand

That result of your carnage

Battered black and blue but holding on to your control over me

Waiting

Waiting for you to bite deeper into me until I’m lost in my own oblivion

Only to find myself in your arms

Wanting to feel weak again

Craving the hangover 

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Reality Check

There is one reason I truly hate TV and cinema: their romance stories.

It aggravates me how those talented writers from hell come up with the most perfect story lines and scripts, and leave girls like me with preconceived ideas about a type of love that can only be found in fiction. The reality of it is, romance in dead and so are those extravagant acts of love that came along with it. Now a days, if a guy decided to order take out after sex is a romantic act that’s supposed to woo us away; and the idea of a guy chasing down a plane with a motorcycle and asking the love of his life to marry him is so far fetched that only a teen drama writer could think it up (I actually feel pathetic wishing it would happen to me).

The reality of everything is, that if you fall in love everything will blow to pieces. If you’re not in the relationship with the person, you’ll always be waiting for it to be like the movies. That big realization that your supposed to be together, which usually happens when one or the other is about to leave town, or marry someone, or die. Then, miraculously the other person makes it in time and no one leaves town, they marry each other, and no one dies. If you are together, then the girl will always be waiting for those big affectionate details that we all read about; she will be highly disappointed to realize that those big affectionate details will never happen because well, all great romances are written by women, and men have no sense of what actual wooing is.

I hate it when my mind goes all pessimistic on love – I love love – It’s just that I’m tired of thinking that it’s like the movies and books and shows I see. Even if two people are perfect for each other, that doesn’t mean it’s going to happen (and no amount of chocolate or alcohol can fix that, trust me). Even if things seem like their “meant to be” and everything feels perfect, doesn’t mean that it’s going to happen. And even if you can actually imagine being with the person, it doesn’t mean it’s going to happen.

Sometimes I wish I could write my own love stories and watch them come true before my eyes, words aren’t that powerful I guess.

Hi. My name is Hopeless, and I am a Wordaholic

You know that feeling when you want to write,

But you have nothing to write about

So you end up writing about not having anything to write about?

 

 

I must have about 1000 scraps of paper

With that exact same idea

Of just filling up lines with senseless talk

Just because I have the urge of seeing a page filled with ink.

 

It’s become an addiction

Playing with words,

Snorting up vowels,

And smoking metaphors

To get high on explanations of the unexplainable

 

Because the feeling of getting lost in words,

Traveling into another dimension

Up above your sense or normalcy

Is just about the same buzz you get from the sting of liquor

It’s the same memory erasing effect

That leave you dry

And leaves you satisfied

Under the migraine

 

I am an alcoholic druggie who’s addicted to rhythm

Who will never go back

Because without my pen

Without my words

I feel the shakes and aches

Of the pain that slowly creeps back

Tickling my spine

And taunting my lips