i can only write if it's past 2 a.m.

[underlyngpoetry]

she had seven minutes to force down a plate full of roadkill raccoon organs. ironically enough that's one minute for each year that she'd been a vegetarian.

the world of Fear Factor is a cruel, cruel place.

-----

she told me to write until i can't feel my fingers,
frantically weaving words into a noose
of every metaphorical manner,
choking life from the flames that linger
but who am i to even try
to let go of lost loves,
see i cling to them like stars across Orion's belt,
astrologically bound to find your sign
every time i gaze at the skies
and become paralyzed by poetic lines,
forced to recognize that kryptonite shares
the same color as your eyes
but i can't keep living like this.
in a world of addictions
there outta be steps 1 through 12 for this,
a single room with a broken window
reserved for the emotionally masochistic anonymous
fellow nameless neurotics
who don't cringe when they bleed,
maybe i'm part of a dying breed
not fazed by physical pain,
with bones that hold strong against sticks and stones
fuck whoever said words could never hurt you.
because this is a meeting for those with heart-shaped scars
from flesh carved,
skin chiseled away,
piece by blood soaked piece,
one line for every time
someone lied about never leaving