Wars Fought Between Lovers

I found that vodka would never be more intoxicating, than when stolen from your lips. But you are the worst poison for me, infecting organ systems with just one kiss. It was the fuel that started the wars because it seemed like I lost myself on this fragile line of feeling pain and causing it. These words became wars fought between lovers, who mistaken this life for a combat zone. Incessantly, firing rounds at each other. Narrowly, missing vital organs by inches. Did you really believe all was fair in love when you brought an arsenal to our first first date and placed grenades, instead of your hand in mine? I never wanted us to be at constant war, but more often than not our voices were raised against each other and we found that love was a battle that we could not win.

 

Like what you read? Check out my new poetry chapbook, All Or Nothing, now available in the Amazon store.

Let Me Define Masochism To You

If I wanted a boring life, I suppose I wouldn’t be attracted to women who threw hand grenades into it. I spend most of my time running after them, trying to stuff the pins back in. Every so often one would go off before I could stop it. I would watch as the explosion caused broken fragments of collateral damage to slowly fall to the ground. In those moments I swear you could catch a smirk on my face. Now, please watch as history repeats itself.

 

Like what you read? Check out my new poetry chapbook, All Or Nothing, now available in the Amazon store.

There is a Girl who Belongs to No One

There is a girl who belongs to no one. I don’t even think she belongs to herself. She breaks her own heart every day. In ways she doesn’t understand and when someone tries to get close, she shuts down so completely, with steel doors slamming in their face. There is no saving her, or fixing her. She isn’t a broken item, so easily glued together. She is the reflection of everlasting pain, the kind that rips and tears at you from the inside telling her how she will never be good enough. What she can’t understand is how she is more than enough, but those words are never allowed to penetrate her eardrums.

Maybe, she doesn’t know how to exist outside of misery, the warm pit of despair she likes to call home. You are left to climb over her walls, but even that isn’t enough because her home is rigged with electric fences and Doberman Pinschers that have acquired a taste for flesh. Alarms are rigged to which no one has the password for. Not to mention the bars on the windows and an armory so large, you’d think we were in the apocalypse. But this isn’t the end of the world, and my time is too short to allow the sniper one more shot at my heart. I was already bleeding before I arrived. I can’t survive more wounds being inflicted on me.

 

Like what you read? Check out my new poetry chapbook, All Or Nothing, now available in the Amazon store.