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[sassoonery]

Pain stumbles and falls backwards down the stairs in front of the adults at the movie theater. Pain denies he fell. Pain denies he was drunk on himself. Pain says it’s my way or the highway. Pain was born old and is getting younger. Pain is an addict with a bag full of tricks: great pair of eyes emerging from a breaking face, a luxury sedan, an umbrella caught in the wind. No one can throw a temper tantrum like Pain. No one understands how Pain’s prescriptions are his best friends. No one understands how lame it is when an older gentleman comes to his aid and he says:my knight in shining armor. I must have fainted. Pain stumbles and falls backwards down the stairs in front of the puppets at the movie theater and almost breaks his neck.

(via @sassoonery )

[confessions-of-jab-blog]

Confessions are supposed to heal || You j.a.b #writing #writersofig #writersunite #writersshare #writinghelps #writersofinstagram #poetry #poetsofig #poetryshare #poetrycommunity #poetsofinstagram #imissyou #missingyou #personalwork #personalwriting #writeaway #writeawaythepain #confessionsofjab #confessionspoetry #confessionsaresupposedtoheal #you #foryou

[inkwellsandsyntax]

Mu2

I sometimes imagine how it would’ve been Had I been there Or you… Here.

Because, you see, had I been there Then you… Would still be here.

I’d have found you. Forced myself into your skin. Forced your lungs to let air in I’d turn my words into an antidote Whispering prayers and wishing for hope Shrink through the trackmark Into your veins Traced my way through blood cells and poppy fields. Pumping out the poison that prevents you to feel But this night it stole your will to breathe And now if it was going to take you Then it’d have to take me And I zoom out.

My hands on your chest now. Compressions force your heart to beat A smile to your face now. As your lungs begin to breathe. Things would’ve been different Had I been there with you Because you’d still be here with me.

[sassoonery]

i was once mostly myself until the day you poked me in the chest so goddamned hard that i couldn’t breathe your fingertips went right through ribs, tendons, muscles straight to my heart and you pulled see, you didn’t snatch it like you took some things you wanted you pulled slowly and deliberately just to see the surprise and pain in my eyes; you took it in your fist and you squeezed my life blood dripped from your palm to elbow plop, plop i bled out on the ground and then you simply dropped that precious organ one that used to be mine like a mic drop, bam! and walked away while i studied it on the earth of our backyard and thought– as breeze covered it with old dirt and fresh grass cuttings– that finally i had become one with you i was as dirty as you always saw me, made me feel, molded me to be, i was finally you

and i hate every soaked second

[sassoonery]

Brimstone I am paired with fire a scare tactic used to encourage repentance we can both laugh at that

Brimstone I am hard piece of sulfer don’t step on me i’ll make you suffer retch where you stand

Brimstone I am paired with you searing people alive, dead an expression of god’s wrath except he’s not god

Brimstone I am petrified alone and with you fire burning so bright i die a little every time you smoke-smile

[sassoonery]

August, you lied with every breeze that ruffled my hair you fibbed with every birdsong conversation that reached my thrumming ears you told falsehoods with every bittersweet kiss goodnight that my parents watched through the curtain you filled my heart with hate

August, breezy bitch you made me believe that nothing else existed besides stinging shore salt pelting my legs while I spaced toward the ocean and formed a plan of pain washed up like flotsam and jetsam

August, you made me believe that your Sunday nights were the answer to everything but i ended up in a fucking alley so August, you lied

[sassoonery]

boat boy always like a bouy bobbing and twitching even on dry land; cut fingers grip shaking cigarette awesome inhale and he lets it dangle from chapped lips burnt by the sun; he waits. propped against a vintage truck he shifts from foot to foot, mumbles and runs hands through bleached hair feeling the pull of the ocean not more than fifty feet away his soul swells, chest hurts; he waits.

Eric comes into the broken parking lot in his beat up family van, bouncing and burping exhaust; boat boy on tiptoes relieved finally that he’s not alone anymore, Eric’s here. They walk down the long dock to where the salt laps the logs and they sit, bare feet dangling leaning back-to-back, each other’s chairs; Eric’s here.

Pop do that to your face? Who else dumbass, my baby sister? Hurt? Nah, used to it.

They rest their heads on each other’s shoulders and star-gaze each wish for different circumstances and the waves wash fucking lowlife, black-blue eye sockets and white trash stereotypes out somewhere north of the keys while slowly the sun begins to rise.

(written for @scrappyaarondingle)

[sassoonery]

he writes me about moving to California like it’s a cosmic, brilliant idea and 2,703 miles is nothing but I pause because he tells me to talk a little lower, write in code spies are waiting to write tell-all books in California i laugh small because he doesn’t smile there’s really nothing for me in California but a broken down circus, rusty silos, a girl on fire and him full to bursting with insane hope of a life we’ll never lead in notes from California