It’s Not Creepy If They Like It

Struck the nerve less tampered in the base of my spine
Best friend, a next lover, for a week of my time
Denial let it happen, logic failed to contravene
He whispered in the twilight as I feigned it all a dream

Now if these pillows could talk, I’d forfeit all respite
Unresponsive I recoiled, obliging and polite
The suicide bombing that he knew would be a win
Chucked the bait, bit the hook, and I let him reel me in

Fleeting down the fire escape as he neared top floor
Vilified the drive, but I was gone before he closed the door
Drafting words of last goodbyes, as I vowed my return
Poured petrol on the truth so this even playing field would burn

Traces of potential left bobbing face-down in the pool
Plunged straight into the ice chest, Molly salvaged traces of her cool
Solidified arm’s length as I liquefied the refuge in my cave
Drowning out the present in nothing but the birthday sweater that he gave

Lamenting all the options fear would snipe on sight in range
An oath it wouldn’t change, but the tones became estranged
Take every pride that I preside on the greener side of the hill
The intrigue of my charm, behind the smile I’m never standing still

Then I watched him emphasize his issues, the tables start to twirl
Slipped away from being the homie, I became just another girl
Paranoid, I flushed it down, evidence too incriminating
Corrupting fervor with words the setting sails were obviating

Behind enemy lines I welcomed him with security in short supply
Once ally now my adversary; he knew just where the bodies lie
Too proud to make this personal, not the standard ball and chain
Verboten from my pyrotechnics, no cremating these remains

So now I drift up on his pedestal when we’re not eye to eye
In the flesh he’s on my stool, but not before I knot the ties
My fourth, great love, my interactive diary, incarnate
He twisted the twine around the pine, and climbed up to ingratiate

I gave him what he came for, I let him take the reigns
I applauded his ascension and left nothing left to gain
On my pedestal he brandished, unaware of what came next
For I kicked the stool beneath him, and watched him dangle by his neck.

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It’s Not Creepy If They Like It by Sophia Blacke is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.

Till Death Do Us Part

The life and death of stars, none so divine or forlorn
Fighting the odds to spite orthodoxies and refuse to conform
Stellar evolution, marked by gravitational collapse
Ditched my halo in the heavens to become human, perhaps

Began with the bat of a lash and the wink of an eye
Fastened myself into the death-seat to ride ’til I die
The bass shook the rear-view, till hindsight fell behind us
The world was our oyster, so long as the law couldn’t find us

Shock waves fading from the currents in your ocean
Removed ice from my nerves to feel the sprain of emotion
I resigned to stare you down as you stood me up
The birth of a luminous love the doors couldn’t shut

Exchanged the name while the ink stains ordained
Two crazy kids lost in the heart of the game
I fueled your ego, as you broke my spirits
You left me in isolation to inspire these lyrics

Cars left on bricks, shotguns on shoulders
Stories to omit to the children when older
Money on books for a sentence unfinished
A trip from the country as my letters diminished

I crept into those beds out of desperation to cope
Images of the mistresses caught in the back of my throat
Standing on my driveway, summoning the clouds
You embedded the threats, as I shredded the vows

Then I abused my beliefs when I begged to a god
Betrayed poise as the tears broke through the facade
The price for my freedom was to walk with it forever
The break of these ties will stunt every future endeavor

Determined, I pent up the hate as I harnessed the will
Crept back in those arms to impress how I wanted you still
Inveigled my freedom, as the ultimate promise bled
Hawked the proof at a pawnshop to spite every word said

With the tip of a ball point, I sold my soul for the run
You wedded the next. I can’t count the number I’ve strung
We gathered everything sacred and set it ablaze
Left to burn in the flames, emerged in a state of malaise

Put on a pendant of jade, disguised the tertiary burns
Now karma’s a bitch, that’s why I’m concerned
Eight years have passed, and I still look both ways
Because I owe you a death, while you owe me a grave.

-Supernova

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Til Death Do Us Part by Sophia Blacke is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.

All That’s Missing Is The Guinness & Rain

My ego doesn’t let me fuck half the girls I want to.
-Joefish

Never trust a girl who can’t tell you where she got her her pj’s.
I’m trapped in my own skin.
She wants to close her eyes; I want to peel mine apart.
I can’t be too old for this.
It’s what I live for.

Why couldn’t you just let me be?
Instead you dare me to believe, dare me to consider.
Dare I run.
Now I wonder if I will wander this continent looking for anything to keep me from looking for you.

Fill in the gaps.
Never look back.
Closed my eyes to look forward.
Let it go. Grab nothing else.
I want to be alone, because I can’t be with him.
If there’s a white dress, it must be a wedding.
A wretched sham indeed.
Your truths are as elusive as my whims.
I’ll never have my white wedding.
I’d choose this cigarette over you.

13 February 2013

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Smoking Cigarettes Behind The Shed

Dive into a wave of rolling pictures.
Maybe I can drown my affections.

We make a bed that will never be laid in.

She hangs to dry her replies,
Swept, under breath, lie his sighs
For it’s this disguise that underlies,
Between the eyes of compromise,
Beneath the skies of unknown tries,
Above the guise of nuptial ties,
Gather around to recognize,
HERE NOW LIES:
The Butterflies.

I need to stay the fuck off this continent.

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Smoking Cigarettes Behind The Shed by Sophia Blacke is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.

Loose Sentiment

My past hurts him more than it’s hurt me.
Understandable, but unacceptable.

He’s so liberal with his sentiment, no standards whatsoever.
He’d assign sentiment to a stick if I threw it at him.

Does he even like me or does he fancy the meaning he’s assigned to me?
If he didn’t want me, would he continue to hold on simply because he couldn’t let go?
I don’t think he’d ever leave me.
Even if we weren’t right for each other.
Even though we’re not right for each other.

I will try with him.
I can’t stand to hurt him.
I won’t try to change him.

Sometimes I see a life with him.
At times I see a future.
And as I do, I hear my upstairs counterpart cackling.

You get close to someone before you get close to someone.
I get close to someone without ever really getting close to someone.

15 December 2012

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Secured Uncertainties

Wonder and awe blunders til raw.

I am boring but not bored.
A new phenomenon altogether.

It’s natural selection.
Loyalty is endangered.
I truly love him.
He makes it so easy.
I ponder the possibility of a struggle.
Am I fit enough to survive one?

I’m a captive, not a captain.
I’ll never go down with this ship.
But the truth lingers.
This ball and chain might be the last chance I’ll ever have to escape.

20 December 2012

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Lovelorn Swell In An Airport Hotel

*The 10:20 London-Los Angeles departs in twelve hours*

Grounded. In every sense of the word.
Lonesome in London for this one night.
Morbidly morose, even for the diversions of a hotel bar.
Instead I will choose to conclude 28 days of travel playing the game of solitaire.
Chain watching movies, a wretched sedative indeed.
The romance of poetic injustice, is there any other kind?

Our fates intertwine, but our paths won’t cross.
Will we ever know?
He doesn’t belong in my world.
This cyclical intertwining of our fates has yet again rendered me an alien in my own world.
I’m halfway out of Dodge.
What I would give to go back.
I check the rear-view, but the objects are further than they appear.

I’m a parasite, and he is poisoned.
I smell the blood red stench of vulnerability.
Capturing time and killing it well.
Clenching down, I wait for these stolen moments to pass.
Harder and harder I press through these soft thoughts.
Piercing through his walls, the truth drips from the lies.
I secure my grip, so now I can taste his intent.
Indulgent, I suck him dry, digesting all there is to offer.
This is not going to save him.
This is going to kill me.
Not before I kill this craving.

“Water too pure breeds no fish.”
– Mao Tse-tung

13 January 2013

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Lovelorn Swell In An Airport Hotel by Sophia Blacke is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.

Consuming Personalities

In a struggle with weight, tipping balance like cows
Typing with a cigarette hoodwinks the drowse
Ricocheting against walls as if it’s pinball
Stand every ground but where my foot tends to fall
Grown accustomed to the marvel of change in the ceiling
Eyes painted black, is the very nadir of appealing
Sharpen this point ’cause this meaning’s gone dull
It’s hard to fill up when you never get full
Hard to give love when you can’t even give care
It’s a packaged deal, if I could remember where
I left me last night, last week, last year
Been lost for a while, though I’m standing right here
Run from the fear, but the fear is the run
Scared of being shot ’cause I’m the one holding this gun
Native to the travel, and I’ll never leave home
Mimic the windsock, only move when I’m blown
So long in these woods, can’t fathom the day
Foresight is nebulous at two hours away
I can’t wish to be with you, ’cause I’m here with you now
If I wasn’t this aberrant, I wouldn’t be around

Then I blinked, it went light, reality came crashing in
Barraging the realization I already had to begin
Never had him, I know. To begin with, I knew
Didn’t stand a chance—my reason to sit this one through
The observer effect, applied to romance
The feet stopped moving when he asked me to dance
The smallest of touch condemns fingerprints
Moment written in time, turn the page, before I crimple it
Window shopping, because I’m saddled to a mirror
Don’t like to cuddle, don’t come any nearer
Let him turn and walk, before I turn and run
Keep it all between the lipstick and his stick of gum
I’d get it together, if I knew where I left it
I’d come out of the bathroom but the window seemed like the best fit
So now these cigarettes aren’t going to smoke themselves
And the look he’s giving me, beats, damn near anything else
Truth has one color, but lies have it all
Chances are slim, and he’s not that tall
Seven seconds of short term, and I’m trying to recall
From the fast lane looking for any reason to stall
He’s the best thing that ever happened to the last of my week
But it’s next and he’s next, so am I. ‘Til the next, time we speak
Closed my eyes, fell in love, saw the life, saw the end
But there’s no fun in a map for every unforeseen bend
Turned that one out, and now turn it back in
And leave him in the fridge of ‘the what could’ve been.

“Perhaps we have yet to be truthful enough, about what truthful is,”
-Nietzsche

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Pinning A Butterfly

No longer is it passion for passion.
The fixation on the ball has transpired to a player.
I no longer enjoy the game.
I don’t love to play.
I don’t love to fall.
I don’t love to love.
[Awkward and onerously,] I love him.
And I fucking hate it.

When unnatural comes natural.
The mad scientist became the specimen in her own reckless, sempiternal experiment.
He locks eyes, as if he’s reading the fine print.
It’s a game of chess, and he won’t move until he’s explored the board entirely.
Patiently, he slides his scrutiny up along his adversary.
The scope catalyzes an ice age.
Exposed, she lies frozen and awkwardly bare.
Slowly and meticulously, he begins to dissect.
He’s amused. Delighted.
She fidgets when she wants to play, and giggles when she doesn’t.
The tap dancing is endearing at the very least.
What he likes most, is how much she hates it.
So intrinsically beautiful, it shuns the surroundings.
It’s embarrassing. Harrowing.
I’m so ugly; I close my eyes.
I don’t even deserve to watch you sleep.

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Went To Bed With A Beer, Woke Up With A Boyfriend

*The morning after*
A few of us are recovering in the living room, the St. Patty’s aftermath.

My girlfriend Andy says to him, So you’re ancestry is Danish? And your family still owns a farm out there?

He replies, “Yea, I was out there last summer.”

So tell me because I always forget, where exactly is Denmark on the map? It’s like, the middle finger of Germany, right?

“Oh…uhh…I dunno.”

The abject doltishness of this kid made me want to grab the blades from my box cutter, skin my body in its entirety from the offal, and beat him with my own carcass until he was 50 yards off the premises. Where do I dig up these fucking guys?

This kid will be worth 30 million some day. I can’t do it. It’s just not enough. I don’t fish with a pole in blue waters. I fish blind, with a dragnet, picking up every straggler and bottom feeder indigenous to this swampy marshland.

I know what I want, but I don’t know if it exists.

I am repulsed yet regretfully amused.
This is what could be considered as knowingly lowering one’s standards.

My foresight remains blurry at about two hours away.
I leap without look.
However, I never stride in low tide.

I will not acquire any knowledge or inspiration from this.
He is no muse.
Welcome to a world that bares emotions with such a depth one can do little more than skip stones across.

18 March 2012

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Went To Bed With A Beer, Woke Up With A Boyfriend by Sophia Blacke is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.