onyxdemoness

 Hey, Haven't spoken to you in a goddamned while, have I? Guess I should have thought about contacting you sooner, but I didn't realize what was going on until a few days ago and then just hurried to get back to you. I don't need anything terrible happening. I know you get pissy when things don't go your own way, and, seeing as you basically have a hold on me by the neck- with a noose- I should be doing what you say, right? Im just surprised you didn't pull me back sooner. You have the power to.   Actually, I kind of missed you. In a morbid, unnatural way, of course. ------------------------ Someone told me how well I played m

Let's pretend, just for a moment, that you have no name. You have no name, have never had a name, and never will have a name as long as I have anything to say about it. You don't need one. From this moment on you will be defined as your eye color, the way the tears stain your bottom lashes black when you cry, and how you always bat your eyelashes at pretty strangers. You will be the way your hair sticks up at 7 in the morning and how it gets slicked back and darkened in the pool. You will be combed and unruly an frizzy at times. You can simply be called by the way your laugh starts in your tummy and wriggles it's way out, ending with a chi

I panted deeply, my breath fogging around me, and fell over. I, the bad-boy, leather-clad, holding goods stolen from a near-by mall, fell over. My vision blurred as the ground packed it's things and bustled up to meet me, impacting hard with my left shoulder. I could hear myself breathe, I could hear my heart beat, I could hear the footsteps outside the fenced-off alley. I couldn't hear my thoughts. I groaned and wiggled my fingers, gloves making a crinkely-sound, and stared at the pile of merchandise in front of my face. I would have thrown it all at my pursuers if I was able to move, but due to circumstances I was stuck there, moaning, gro

if one day I promised you the sunrise but all that flew was the moon would you hate resent despise kill me? if one day I promised you the world but all that survived was mars would you kill despise resent hate me? if I covered you in cement blocks and taped you to a furnace with ashes in your cheekbones and screws in your eyeballs would you scream? if I carved through your heart and drew all over your ribcage with Sharpies in every color and laughed as you died would you haunt? if I invaded your suicide and poked candy in the slashes with delicate fingertips and cried on the bullets would you come back to me?

                                                   Beyond my Senses I remember touching the frame of his face. When I did, I immediately knew. I was an artist and that the Golden water that reflected across his face and curved into the edges was the paint. Stroke-by-stroke I highlighted, shaded and put surface into every feature that I knew and loved. That’s when I learned my every move was being watched. It was hard not to stare back into the blue I had created. It gave me butterflies and eventually I gave up, dropped my fingers from the warmth and gazed.  I remember by the time the lake let go of my bright portrait, my other sense

though they are green, I would carry the ocean in my eyes I can see the wistful longing in your face.  Your eyes wander to far-off shores, your lips go soft and relaxed beneath mine as you try and taste the salt air.  You miss her. If I could carry the wind in my teeth, the ocean in my hair, and the sand in my toes, I would drag it home to you. I would leave it rustling, shivering at the foot of your bed.  And we would poke our fingers in the sand, fishing for crabs; sit in the waves and wash up and down, grit rubbing our skin raw, ocean stinging unforgivingly against any cut, buffeted under a sky too far away

Maybe - if my nights could be spent sleeping instead of tossing around a bed empty but for dreams, my thoughts full, discontent; if I could take one step forward without fear of falling back [don't promise our past that you will catch my future] ; if you would just let me go - Maybe we could forget. I may lose a friend, the only one that could ever understand. But maybe perfection will exist for a moment. [I'll tell you - though my tears realize it's unlikely that I'll stop dreaming of Irish summers - I would always remember those nights we fell asleep across three hundred miles. And don't believe their neatly scr

RED      his eyes are cold, and on me they linger      drinking in my features like rain and      clinging to my skin as the sun shines high;      he approached me with shaking hands and      fingers laced of whine: h-h-hey y-you're      pretty c-cute: he stutters like an angel with      fear in his eyes and anxiety swimming in      his veins like there's no tomorrow for any      one any more and i laugh like we