إنه مجرد وهم

expressive free-writing blog. all rights reserved to Reem AL-Abdullah, 2017(c)

Category: poetry

cigarette bud talk

feel your tongue curl in your mouth as you choke on your words that you should’ve said ages ago.

they fermented, they’re your bad breath and that sour taste you leave in the new woman’s mouth.

“why do you taste this way” she’d ask, hopeful you had lunch but really, you had none for two weeks now; you smile as she says you look healthier, but it’s only the rum and endless cigarettes you poison yourself with at night to fall asleep; lucid dreaming of memories you once thought were your whole life.

it’s the baggy sweater she bought you assuming your health; but you never got naked for her, she can’t see your rib cage breaking through your skin trying to spit out your heart.

i’m just a piece of shit now. they say.

but she’ll never know, if you haven’t either.

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High

Place your cold palms on my forehead, I’m burning from the inside out. I shiver thinking about my decaying mind. Shush my brain for me; tell me all will be well with the both of us.

 Something about this smoke that I’m taking in into my dried up lungs gives me panic attacks of when you’ve been all that I can rely on. But you’re nowhere around me, and something tells me I’ve lost the thread that always seemed to help me find my way back to you.

 This is no love letter, this is a declaration that I’m lost, lover. I can’t seem to get my head above the waters no more; 

last time I got high I dreamed I was in the middle of the ocean, in the depths I found my peace in the moon blue waters. But a whirlpool of maroon took over me, same as it does when I’m walking head up to the sky on the ground.

I don’t know how I should end this; so I’ll summarize it by saying this, 

I miss you. deeply.

oceanic pull

on this very day, i am a symphony roaming the early evening’s streets; too quiet to be heard, present enough to be noticed by those who listen close enough.

i am the pull of a full moon in an early december’s winter. a wave crashing on the insides of a fragile being’s soft skin, begging to be free. drowning thus streets.

i am the realization that the once was warm fires of a young love has turned into mere ashes.

i am what’s left of you; what you left right there, behind you.

but it’s alright, i’m satisfied.

i’m okay with being just a part of your journey, in an aspect, in some way. 

i’m still me; but also you. 

i am what was. 

a gentle breeze pushing you to move forward so go on; i’ll also brush right through you.

it’ll all be,

what once was; and what will come again, to be.

home

i physically want to crawl on all fours till i find your arms, unhinge my jaws and devour your chest, till i find home, drown myself in your fears; that’s where i belong. i might be your worst nightmare, but that only means you’re my safety, lover. i don’t understand most of what goes around me; the world is confusingly upside-down, most of the time. that’s why i hold on tightly to what i barely comprehend, that being you, as you scream pleading for our soundings to turn a one eighty, back to your heaven; to my living hell. 

“shut up”

my teeth are clinched whenever my mouth is shut; like floodgates holding back the constant overflow of thought and emotion; my words.

the headache spreads to my nerves and throughout my body, the need to speak up of my existence is constant.

“i’m here, i’m here! I’M HERE!”

i get it, most of all, they do, too.

but my teeth are clinched whenever my lips are still. which tampers with my nature and being. as if in protest my body resists itself; i am not used to being idle nor is my tongue.

i unhinge my skull’s crushing, in fear,

what if my gritting teeth fall apart and my gates would collapse and i am silenced forevermore?

bitter-sweet pineapple juice 

i wonder, those lips of yours as you pout and what goes through your fields within those endless dead crops of that mind of yours; when you lay back and suddenly show me those deadly tiny fangs behind that soft smile you send my way as you crouch your back… i wonder; as we begin our stare off, do you think of the kisses i keep stealing? 

but for now, the deafening white noise behind our silence shall remain, till you pull me back to your orbit, again.

it is in our actions not our words 

what’s a pretty poem?

it’s your soft skin and the way your eyes widen, then slowly shut when i touch you. 

it’s how you crack a mischievous smile every time you gaze back at me and can tell that i still -very much so- am in love with you; as my fingers start to drape you with my unwavering lust for your body.

it is in the way we both still give in to one another.

We’re not fated by the stars, i’m not your yin nor your yang; the sun is dying and the moon is just a rock.. and dear, shams left rumi for selfish reasons.

Love is a fever dream, gives you the thrill of feeling the unreal; makes you believe you’re bigger than your pointless existence. Mhm for a day or two; a year and two months.

So tell me is what we shared a mere lie that’s yet to be as crippling as religion?

Were my days of tears and heartache worth while; my time wishing upon everything down to specks of dust and how they were floating above my head, looking holy enough to grant a dying wish; worth my focus?

Love is just desires based on attachments. Kissing you is mere lust and our promises turned out to be the easiest to break the second they left our lips.

so kiss me, let’s keep ’em safe.. but no:

I’ll go on with my churning stomach and my fossilizing heart, in memory of just another lie. 

And you go on with your fingers between her thighs telling me i’m not worth your time, cause you already care for her.

little girl

little girl, you’re in pain.

grieving for the losses of the years.

you and your daddy issues, 

and even mommy didn’t give you enough hugs and kisses till you cried yourself to sleep each night.

though, little girl you were born a lover,

 stealing glances since you were 8 years old; 

hopelessly looking for aphrodite’s promises of roses and smiles.

the world isn’t as peaceful as your day-dreams, 

rather filled with those monsters of your night-terrors that never left you since birth.

little girl, you’ve grown and found the one!

but she took you for granted,

 and wanted mere pain instead, cause that’s what she’s been addicted to; “unlike you”.

little girl; 

the cycle will never end, now you know, so get your shit together, you’re a grown woman now.

existence / recording #2

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open link below for recording

>violet fact<