Bad Poetry Blog

Yeah.

[sandywhams]

I’m the death of your party,

the one who you will not say sorry.

Disappointment flows through my heart at your sight, as you walk into my room like I don’t know what you did last night, I smile and answer, indulging my need for normality, I don’t wanna fight.

Not with you, the man who gave me life, yet flirts with death. And because of that, I owe you nothing. My sympathies exited my system, as substances swam up through your nose, the shape in which we share.

What do you care? You just need a place to sleep ‘cause the warm Vegas lights turned cold as your pocket ran empty, but the second you find a way to fill it, you’ll find yourself home.

[sandywhams]

To him; You are the blood that pumps through my tender heart. You are the sparks that excite every neuron in my dull brain. I fight a battle with myself that I lose almost everyday, and you, standing in the crossfire, witness the worst of me. in my many hours of darkness, you find my beauty in the war I created, under the covers, on top of tear stained pillows. You lift me up and carry me with all of my thoughts. In those hours, I do not know how to thank you for being there, or how to focus on anything but the pain that leaks over from my heart to yours, except for when you sometimes flash a smile and melt away the affliction. The “sometimes” in which I wake up everyday for. But I do not love you for the comfortable “sometimes” you create. I love you through darkness, through distance, I love you simply and complexly. You are the blood that pumps through my tender heart. You are the sparks that excite every neuron in my dull brain. You are the sun that shines in my moonlit soul.

[sandywhams]

tw: mention of sex.

A poem about my distant love;

I feel my hands reaching for you. longing to gently trace from the top of your head, to the nape of your neck, all the way down your spine. My nails leaving a white-hot tingleing sensation over your skin. A sensation i have felt from the hand of my friend, pretending in the back of my mind that her fingers were yours.

Yet, i can’t touch you. no matter how far i strech my arms, you can’t find my embrace. Still, it feels like you’re right there; close enough that i can grab a fist-full of your perfect blond hair. As you speak directly into my ears, as i stare at the ceiling fan endlessly spin, watching the shadow of the fire from our special red candle dance around it, as i lay under the covers… hoping one day i could turn my head, and find you on the other pillow, sleeping soundly next to me.

Perhaps you wouldnt be sleeping very soundly. Perhaps you would be too busy for such a thing, as you carry out the vivid plan you’ve told so many times of slowly making love to me for the first time. Being so gentle as if i was a piece of fine china, made of the thinest glass in the world. Kissing me so softly, just barely grazing your fingers over my breasts, as you linger down my body. Or maybe, it would be the other version of the story, where you have me pinned tightly under your grip, as you roughly lick, suck, and unapologeticly curse my name as you fuck me into the next day.

Or maybe, it’s none of those.

Maybe, we’re just laying there. Facing eachother. Whispering small “i love you”s and giggleing as we admier us.

But, even now, i’m happy. Staring at the ceiling. Feeling so fucking close to you, yet so far. Even if my hands never get to touch a strand of that perfect blond hair. As long as you want to be, you’re my guy. And i love you in a way that i never thought i’d have the will to feel.

[sandywhams]

Small, simple, safe price

Rise the wake and carry me with all of my regrets

This is not a small cut that scabs, and dries, and flakes, and heals

And I am not afraid to die

I'm not afraid to bleed, and fuck, and fight.

I want the pain of payment

What's left, but a section of pygmy size cuts

Much like a slew of a thousand unwanted fucks

Would you be my little cut?

Would you be my thousand fucks?

And make mark leaving space for the guilt to be liquid

To fill, and spill over, and under my thoughts

My sad, sorry, selfish cry out to the cutter

I'm cutting trying to picture your black broken heart

Love is not like anything

Especially a fucking knife.

- Robert McCracken, The used “I’m a fake”

[sandywhams]

Let’s rp!

Hey there! I’ve been in “bandom” for a pretty long time, specifically mcr and the used. I’ve also been doing rp for a pretty long time, and come here lookin’ for a new partner.

I’m open to almost anything, including NSFW stuff. Although the ships I like are limited to ferard and geebert. Semi lit required and 16+

Really into hurt/comfort, we can work on the plot together (: don’t hesitate to DM me anytime, even if this post finds you months later. Hope we can play soon 🖤