Forgive me

The cool hands of darkness lay hands upon the shoulders of the damned, demons come wrapped in beautiful blue eyed little boys with blonde hair & a heart full of rage. White walls hold the breaths we cannot force from our lungs, splattered in transparent tears only I can feel. Bitten lips red with warm blood slip like memories. The only relief comes in the dampness of basement walls keeping my vision from blurring against the set stage of this bitter life.

Laundry lay stacked in piles next to broken tables that once held the scent of sunlight kissed blankets, anticipating the arrival of a warm body after fate had another dance with darkness. Linen sheets now splattered with caught tears & cashmere sweaters to cover the plum shades of bruised skin and broken hearts. One small bag holding a crystal rock, a bent spoon from my grandmother’s silver stash left to me and a thousand reasons to kill my brother.

I urge my body not to give in to the rage, willing my lungs to exhale the truth and confront the fear of what tonight will hold. My hands shake & my stomach turns as a carousel of pain twisting my iron bones. These stained glass walls I built have been desecrated with a lifetime of holding prayers and hope between my teeth. Yet salvation or mercy never held my name between its lips and I refuse to fall on my knees and pray to a God who abandoned me.

©lexisloveletters

Love, Hope & Other Drugs

Empty rooms & disclosed hearts hung on hooks to dry. Bleeding across the grain of creaky oak floors staining bare feet & fragile hands. Swallowing down the wretched scent of death, his life waiting in the tip of a needle & a irrevocable high. Piercing skin our momma bore him with, crumpling turning white, sunken dying oceans are all that is left of his putrid eyes. I can still remember wishing mine were turquoise blue heaven instead of emerald lies. Memories swirl my head, my own high, never letting go of the vision of us as children. Left with the pieces of a life that no longer sings my name but screams for each breath through heaving nightmares. Veins so translucent, one could watch the coiled blood flow through his flesh forcing life one step closer to the edge. Fighting urges not to suffocate him with my bare hands for showing me what white knuckles felt like against bruised skin. For each cut of his silver knife, bleeding all my light from my worn body. One could never disguise the scent of blood, no amount of bleach could kill the stains left upon this heart.

Still I hold him against my chest & cry black tears against his pulse, as he thrashed my bones & breaks my spirit, spitting fire & threatening to kill me. Our bodies echo against concrete floors where we once played with childhood memories now stagnant with his choices & my reasons not to regret. I refuse to let go, bodies thrive on love no matter how ugly & cold this fucking world is. No colder than my bitter bones or selfish heart to keep him from becoming ash & laid among my father. Keeping promises God couldn’t even acknowledge for prayers left my lips with bloody drips & screams for mercy. As he drives one more needle deeper my lungs cease to breathe & my life becomes his to occupy until he kills us both.

For the most addicting drug of all will always be hope.

To love an addict, is to sell your own body to save theirs. You will witness how black a soul can become & pray to God you can spare your own spirit. It will rip you from your sheets at three am when the rest of the world sleeps, gut your stomach with a carving knife where red becomes a everyday color. Plum & denim bruises replace sunsets never seen from behind your own personal bars of hate. Covering up an addict’s story, well you better be a fucking writer to keep the lies straight. You will bail addiction out of jail & wipe out savings to keep your mother from knowing her son is slowly dying, & to think I only bought him another chance to take us both straight to the gates of hell. Some days a few dirty dollars will keep him from slitting your throat or save you from replacing shattered windows and hearts. You could never imagine what it feels like to hold a thrashing body to the concrete floor as they go through withdrawal, while they spit in your face & all you can do is say I love you. You will not know of your own strength or weakness until you watched the fight slip from their eyes, where you finally let go of tired flesh, wrist unsecured & roll your beaten body to the ground. Only to feel a breath come back to your beating chest & the cool slab beneath holds you like your mother. While eyes close & prayers of thanks leave lips only to thank hell for raising such a fool. Yes loving an addict will break you, but if you were already past saving, what else does one have to lose?

Tonight the basement holds us to sleep, we will our bodies mercy just for a night. When the sun rises tomorrow I will clean the blood off the stairs & wash our clothes in kerosene. Scrub these welts from my skin & begin again. I will face him & the destruction eye to eye and his heart will hold no shame. He will look past my bruises on my face as if he never seen it any other way. My eyes will hold every truth & my heart will never forget how hard I fought to love him despite his darkness. There is nothing simple or normal about the way we live, yet I still pour my soul just as my coffee, black.

Possibly I am the addict & my addiction is recovery.

©lexisloveletters

Honey

  
“It was if a thousand bees crawled beneath my heart, creating a buzz from the very start. The feel of their wings as they tickled my lungs and breezed by my throat. A tickle, a hum of pure delight… A feeling I felt long into the night. Laying honey in veins, sticky and sweet, coating my heart in the richness of golden promise, allowing love to stick to the untouched places~”

@inkwellwriter5

The buzz of bees

Morning Drift

The morning light fell upon her face

Sheets were warm against her naked skin. They held her body like a forgiving embrace. Her eyes not fully adjusted to the light, fully opened… Breathing in the day. The tears from the night before had dried against her cheeks, she bit her bottom lip to prove to herself that she was no longer dreaming. Her heart felt content in the moment, it no longer ached in absence. She realized her soul had finally let him go… And decided to let her live again ~

@inkwellwriter5

Recovery of a Fool

It sickens me
The way I give into you
For your like an addiction
That I pick back up
Exactly where I left off
Robbing me of my happiness
Stealing away my hopes
Of a better life
Not for me
But for you
For you are my recovery
When you decide
To put your sister first
And flush your system
Of the poison
You swallow
Instead of making me
Chose between cutting you off
And loving you
For the man
I know you can become

—	@inkwellwriter5

Driven by drugs and insanity

It’s 4 am
And your blowing up my phone
With unrequited screams
That sends chills down my spine.
Your coming off a high
A downward spiral
Of chaos and love of drugs
I can’t listen to you cry
Over the phone anymore
I cannot hear, I want to die
The words haunt me
As tears roll down my face
I cannot save you
These days I wish to erase
So the phone will echo against
My empty walls…
As I cry for your suffering soul
Wondering if you will be there
Tomorrow to explain
Why you do this to me…
I can’t save you
I can’t even save myself

—	@inkwellwriter5 He is one step closer to hell than I am to heaven

The Distillery

She was a distillery
Where men could pick the poison
With skirts hiked up to high
Full glasses
And no reasoning

She walked a fine line
Who she was
And where she was going
And where she has last been

Kissing lips soaked in Gin
For reasons
Whatever she felt within

Men would lay there temptations
On messy tables
Of spilled bourbon
And toxic dreams

Where she poured
Whiskey in dreams
Clouded judgement
For drinks they devoured
For minutes that lasted
More like hours

No shame to be the Devils advocate
In making men think
They were addicts
As she filled them with
Poison and pleasure

She whisper thoughts
Of lust and wanting more
Upon deaf ears
Only to be left sore

Left unwanted
A watershed left dry
Of empty bottles
And a courtesy smile

The distillery of escape

@inkwellwriter5

Numb

I can’t count how many years I lived numb.

Unable to feel, care or even cry.

How many medications they shoved down my throat

to make the sadness fade

and the anxiety disappear.

To make me feel…

nothing.

No ability to control how I feel

unable to cry, even when I am supposed to.

Medication took care of all that

took away every feeling

even the good ones…

until there was nothing left to feel

care

cry

or realize.

I was shell of my former self.

A hollow heart, empty eyes

The pills did that

the doctors said

It will all be okay

This blue one will make you feel better

and the green one will make you rest

the white one will help with the nightmares

and the yellow one,

well it will make it all disappear…

like me

who I was

and who I was no longer.

I sat medicated and uneducated

to the fact that in the end

death would of been a better sentence

then to walk through life

as a shadow of myself

that was surely fading against the darkness.

 

The last pill I didn’t take

was the day ,

I picked up the pen

and spilled my pain across the page.

It was the first day

I felt ….

anything

That day ,was the day

the medication

no longer controlled

how I deal with life

How I feel

or when I cry

and now the pen decides~

@inkwellwriter5

 

Broken Boy

Broken boy

lost soul

seeking shelter

from life’s woe’s.

Dumping poison down his throat

smoking cigarettes that make him choke

reading stories , he never wrote.

Broken man

shattered by life

abused his whole life.

Someone always taking

never giving back

anything but pain.

Chose’s to hide

all the hurt inside

by using his body

like a carving knife.

I wish you believed in yourself

enough to make a change

otherwise you will always be

a prisoner of this rage.

Broken boy meets broken girl

meeting in this broken world

She wants to love him for the rest of her life

He refuses her love

it cuts her deeper then his knives

Broken girl

whispers, you are worth fighting for

I am not going anywhere

Broken boy

feels he is not worthy of her love

and spills his blood across the floor

Broken girls weeps for his sin

For a love that never had the time to begin

#unrequited love#prose#lit#spilled ink

Holding on

I held onto you until my knuckles turned white
until your nails dug into my skin
As my own blood poured out
I still held on
Refusing to let go
You left scars , on my flesh
Left evidence of your pain
But I still held on
You ignited my heart
Then burned it to ash
Fire destroys
Like your love toyed
I still held on
You hung off the ledge
The weight of your demons
Crippled my strength
Drug me across the dirt
Trying to hold on
Your screams echoed
My blood ran cold
My hands screamed
I held onto you
Until my knuckles turned white
I was trying to save your fucking life
My hands began to shake
My body quivered
I looked you in the eyes
As you pleaded to be saved
A tear rolled down my cheek
You slipped through my fingers
I couldn’t hold on
When you decided to let go

—

Inkwell