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 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 


I know I haven’t posted anything in a while, but I promise that will change for anyone out there following this. Been writing a lot of poetry lately, here is a short thing I jotted down. Also gonna be posting a story I’ve been working on soon, not quite finished with it yet. 

A memory creeps back into the abyss of my mind as you tangle and cares with sweet words of wonder. A past that I’ve been trying to push away, but it just keeps calling. Calling like a mermaid in a dark stormy night, ready to tangle and provoke me, sinking back into the dark. Dark, where I feel safe, where I can’t be seen, where you and I know we’re are not alone but with all just hiding dreams, mistakes and fears of being seen. Where everyone is invisible. Invisible, what I long be in in your judging eyes that see me clear as night and yet push me away to that forgotten shelf in the back of your mind. You hear my pleas between the lines I read and write. Write, what else is there but to write to get away from this perfectly imperfect world consumed by ideals and masks. Masks, mine is wearing away, can I borrow yours for a while? Cause it’s staring to crack, and the light it burning your skin.