Nixon

Poet + Writer + Just here to share positivity and love

[broihatewriting]

Love

I looked down at the carpet. Then I looked back to you. A realization dawning on me as clear as the daylight. I held no true love for you, at least not anymore. Hatred and hurt coming to take its place.

You, The person I was supposed to love unconditionally— From the day I was born. Yet here you are, A stranger to me.

As that realization flooded me— I wanted nothing more to be in your arms, Have you tell me everything will be fine. I would make a deal with the devil just to feel— An ounce of that unconditional love a child has for it's mother. Again.

I would give everything to love you like I used to. I look away from you. Perhaps that's what love is.

-Nix

[broihatewriting]

My heart is yours

My heart beats so fast against your hand. It beats only for you, And when you are gone it will beat no more. My heart cannot beat without you here.

My heart is yours. Cherish it, Ruin it, Destroy it, Rip it out of my chest and consume it whole. Make me forever live inside you.

Consume me till you can no longer tell— Where the two of us begin and end. Then consume me some more. Make us a horrific combination of two beings, With one beating heart we share.

Have the towns people write tales of us, Of a creature that's amalgamation of parts— And consumes all in it's wake. Make us live forever in the fear of others. Fearing something they do not understand.

No one understands love like you and me. They do not understand the horrifying feeling— Of looking at a lover, Wanting nothing than to consume them whole, Have your hearts beat together, Have your thoughts intertwined. Become each other. Become one.

Your heart beats so fast against my hand. It beats only for me, And when I am gone it will beat no more. Your heart cannot beat without me here.

Your heart is mine.

-Nix

[broihatewriting]

I do not know

Every day you wake up. Every morning is miserable.

'You have food, You have a home, You have the love of a family, Why are you not happy?'

You do not know.

Life is so black and white. People always act as if you— Either you have a good life or you do not. Those are the two outcomes. 'Why are you not happy?'

You do not know.

That girl she lives in poverty, Her parents threw her out, She barely gets enough money to eat. Yet here you two are, Both with blades in your hand, Slicing your own skin. 'She has it so much worse, Why are you not happy?'

You do not know.

You hold a pen tight. Scrolling across a paper. You do not know what to write, But you crave the end just the same. All you can think about is them finding you— And asking; 'He had everything, Why was he not happy?'

Then you have to answer from your grave; 'I do not know.'