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An Ode to Your Solipsism

Sneaking into my bed before midnight To shelter myself from modern society I have an urge for cuddles Not because there is a future But because it keeps my cardiovascular muscle Warm, somewhat How many fucking times Can I wrench my heart apart Over someone Only willing to suck my soul dry? And so I become giggly Cheese, butterflies and all the usual crap that ensues. For a few days, a fortnight perhaps Until the dust settles I have been through Perfect shitstorms Toxic preludes Pathogenic flings Often I feel the urge To get wasted And confess to you What sorts of creatures hide in The abysses of my derelict heart Our conversations haunt me Nonchalant cliché I will invent excuses and lies To feed myself later.
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The Cold Bites My Bones

Abstraction induced by absurdity Sporadic traces of my thoughts ‘What if’ Everything is swallowed by a thick layer of ice Including, but not limited to My attempted amorous relationships Failures of said attempts I like my men with their faces between my legs Perhaps in the only aim to let other More violent storms Ravage my hopes No amounts of words satisfied My hunger for his magnetic mind Can’t I stay? And so they proceeded to defrost the plane Just as he had defrosted my heart
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Vagrant

Loneliness eats you up form the inside I try to mask it with drinks spilling Down my throat And ink spilling on paper. Shit thing is, Hangovers weigh heavy on my mind And loneliness is always there Catching up with me Vicious circle. The spilled ink remains Reminding me of; Calling back the lonely feelings In haste. [photo credit Merryl B. Lavoie]
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Idyll

She wore her skin like a designer gown. And in a world saturated in self doubt, it was a sheer bliss to see her naked. Even if it was nothing but casual, and he made sure to explain it to her in various vocabulary variations. However, he could not help himself but call her in the middle of the night, sporadically (at first) when alcohol and cocaine dazed his rationality. They were friends who cuddled. If cuddling meant having wild sweaty orgasms behind a window shielded by bed sheets, as she enjoyed the early morning glow of the world; whereas he demanded the night’s abyss to lull him to sleep. They admitted to eachother all shades, gradiants and flavours of infatuation, methodically finding reasons to justify their casuality. Casual. The word he adored, the word by which she was endlessly disappointed. Casually naked, casually embracing eachother. She felt safe to be honest with him on a plethora of feelings, doubts and fears. The fearlessness and delight of being honest. But she never admitted writing about him.
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Lingering

He is as interesting as he is good in bed And in bed, he is savage. I hope his bed smelled of my perfume Until he frantically decided to change his sheets And regretted it promptly after; All traces of myself had then vanished. Making the lack of proximity Far more palpable I remember your kisses. I remember your tongue all together. Can’t you stay? And so he thawed my heart (Once more, in vain). Hoping for eternal summer But even the most tropical regions have rain seasons.
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Dark + Horny

I crave late nights depraved from sleep The tingle of infatuation But just for a moment and just for you Please talk to me when you ache Delicious and delirious I crave late nights depraved from sleep I want I scream for adrenaline The whiff of what we had The essence The heaviness of you I want everything I drown my habitual sorrows In waterfalls of wine and Deception I find In the crease of your neck You and cocaine My favourite vices In that very order Without envy Without bitterness A sole thought remains At the back of my throat Please speak.
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You Twat

Ce soir j’ai envie de toi. Mais je me console par le fait qu’il ne fasse pas moins quarante dehors. I crave feasting on you. Fuck, c’est-tu si désagréable? Je n’ai pas encore vécu assez longtemps Pour recourir à la rationalité Peu importe la situation. Pour vrai, c’est quand même chien de me séduire de même, Juste avant que je ne doive m’évaporer. Ne me promettant qu’un avenir incertain. I cannot say it was anti-climatic. There was a climate, it was bloody freezing.     T’es pas pire cool, C’est tout ce que je veux dire.  
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Streaming Orgasm

Pursuing nothing The worst thing is waking up next to you With my hair full of cum. Actively pursuing the said nothing, In addition to a staggering hangover. Being lucid about it yet blaming all on infatuation. Your bitter face half awake next to mine. Repeating that this was a mistake. Accepting the intoxication. Drunk me sporadically finds a way to drag you back between my thighs. And drunk you Newly single you Says yes. You cannot see how much I blush under the sheets. Waiting for planets to align is the only choice. The worst thing is waking up to you In my bed again. Horny you asks if I missed your cock The minimal pleasure of the friction of our genitals is less than appealing. Sober bitter you leaves not much inspiraiton. Dismay. Attachment is a double sided knife. The keen bitter aftertaste I hate how much I have given up on you I hate how little all of this matters this morning. And that si why I always end up single. Don’t we all?   Image by Kate Wilson
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Soul Sous-Vide

Have you ever cried your eyes out until you were dizzy? I found some white substance on the front of my skirt. I do not remember being jizzed on. Plausible, though. You once showed me a minimum Of highly intoxicated affection You used my body up My back hurts Potentially that is what adult life is meant to feel like I have a never dying urge to dance in the same shitstorm. Venomous relish I am trying to find through sex with more or less random men Redundant devoid endeavours Devouring my being I would inject you intraveinoulsy With a high dose of irrationality I will force a finger down my throat Forcing myself to puke out All the appetite I have for you The only sight of you makes me want to crash into a wall The only thought of the faces you make When I go down on you Makes me wet. How many fucking times can I tare my heart apart For a person only willing to suck my soul dry?
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Maybe I will fall in love tomorrow.

You hurt. You make me feel sexy. Even when our sweat has spread my lipstick all over my face, your face, chest and sheets The sole sight of you makes me want to crash into a wall. I will always have time to waste on you. It started when I was hungover And it lingered on. The clothes are back on, I suddenly feel surprised when the void settles in my soul. Well, ‘soul’. Fascination for the poison. I seek comfort in the emptiness of your words Lager induced flirt. I am not willing to be swept away by that shitstorm (again) Lucidity, lucid stupidity. Refueling myself on coffee and bad decisions. I keep filling pages with words, in vain. The comedown from my endless performances (involving your cock) has intoxicated me with inevitable loneliness.
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