The unbearable state of desire.

My name is forever tainted by the sound of your breath. It is in deep embrace with each moan that escapes your muffled lips.

My name has been tamed. Each time they call it, I throb in anticipation of your fingernails digging into my spine. Chain my vocal chords with strands of your hair, my voice quivers when I hear yours.

My skin has changed patterns and my veins realigned following the trace your touch has left lingering. I itch unwillingly, feeling phantom cravings from faded deliriums. Perhaps the worst is feeling you so close into my hips, swinging from side to side, teasing with your smile. Perhaps the worst is reaching out to grab you and collecting dust.

My soul is famished for the spark you send dripping down my neck each time your hand touches mine in the morning, almost aching from the sleepy absent mindfulness of the night. And in this turmoil of beautiful agony, I breathe you in, take all of you into me, as if it were the last time we meet.

Pink Diaries By Asher Moss.

Stray hearts°

You look at me with kind eyes that stretch into the horizon, and whisper words made from the melody of your heartbeats. You look at me with feelings that flow, pouring flowers from your lips and onto mine. You stay. And I push. And you stay. And I can’t breathe. Because I look at you with the sorrow of the words you’ll never mean. I look at you with blame for all the pain you will impose on my survival. I see you on my sheets, staining them with your scent that will curl up under my spine and unearth my lungs.

I look like a fresh Lilly with due on my petals, waking up on a Sunday morning, with life sprouting in my veins. I seem like a drowsy drizzle on the edge of your window, pulling you from your soft slumber to come play under the willow tree.

But fundamentally and down to the core, I am a drenched log, expanding from all the humidity that has caused my heart to weigh me down. I am a leap of faith that has seized to comprehend distance and dimensions. I am a sentence of jumbled up words allocating letters to the sounds they don’t belong to.

Love, I trust your eyes, your lashes clutching to them like they’re what make you thrive.

Love, I believe in the air that blows through your ribs, bringing you closer together.

I just don’t trust the time that it took for you to fall, the same time it will take you to put on your coat and walk away.

Idle anthem.

Some things are better left unsaid, in the pit of your stomach, festering heartache of what could have been. Some things are better left alone, in dark corners of houses that used to be your haven.

Love, your heart is a gruesome desire of “can’t be” and “what should have been”. Your soul is tainted by screeching voices coming out of your bones.

You’ve come a long way, put the past in a box, wrapped it up nicely in a ribbon. You’ve made yourself a little gift, haven’t you? Thinking that if something so ugly from within looked remotely pleasant, it would feed your imagination with crude images of maybe-s.
Straighten up, hold it in, smile little puppet. You haven’t even began to understand all the ways in which you are broken.
Stand tall, aim high, you know it’s only a matter of time until you fall. But that’s alright because in any case, what other choice do you have?
You’re made of tiny bits, glued together by hopeful redemption, by sorrow and ambition. And you are worthy of love, the kind that will turn your scars into works of art.

Forceful endearment.

It’s 4 am and my body is weighed down with your arms wrapping me in what seems to be your expression of love. In my head I smoke out all the reasons that hold me into these walls of expectations. I stare at the ceiling drawing with my free hand the constellation of our past and what I thought would be our horizon. The fan keeps whispering to me. Humming alibis to set me free. And with every turn my heart sinks into mind-numbing settlement.

I offered you the sun, and you gave me a half lit candle with burning wax on my fingertips. I promised you fields of daisies and you gave me a wilted flower to smother between the pages of our favorite memory. I drew you a master piece of love, and you payed me back with apologies.
So tonight, with my feet tangled between the sheets to spare me senseless scars, I fall asleep wondering how did a love too strong to be devoured, ended up being the death of me.

إنت الحب

بتتذكري لمّا قلتيلي بهالحياة ما في شي بهمّ اذا ايدي ما كانت بايديك ع طلوع الشمس. و كيف القهوة لي تعلّمتي تعمليا بأسوأ نهار بحياتك، بتفقد المرّ، بتخسر سرّا

بتتذكري كيف شفت بعيونيك كلّ الحب و دفيت و حنّيت. انت بايديكي حسّيت بقلبي مليان. لأول مرّة كان عم بدق تيشعر، مش بس ناطر الليل يغطّ.

انت علّمتيني شو يعني يكون الشوق والوجع، الوجع الساكت اللي ضلّو معي سنين قبل ما تفوتي من الباب.

أحلى شي شفتو بالديني هو جسمك نايم حدّي، يطمّني وقتا فيق خايفة من العتمة.

أحلى صوت هو نفسك ع رقبتي عم يوشوشني “بحبك… بحبك… بحبك”.

و أحلى غنيّة رنّة ضحكتك انت و عم ترقصي بين ايديّي.

Songs for dirty lovers.

My love for you is unwavering in its strength. It abides by no law of martyrdom and voracity. I thought if you’d feed off me, you’ll garnish my soul with your touch. I wanted to ignite you but I never thought you’d grow an arsenal to burn me down.

My love for you is rooted deep into my skin. It itches to be free but knows of no place to call home. My heart looks for sheets untainted and pure. But everything I touch is left with the smell of you.

My love for you disgusts me. It brings my flaking knees to bend. I hoped I’d cleanse the misery out of your pores, but was left with undisclosed thoughts and locked lips.

I thought my love was enough

Contemporary art°

So smoke the flowers in my head into oblivion, desperately trying to turn memories into stories of pure fantasy. Tell me one more time that my bones grew thorns into your delicate skin. Draw on my back the scars of your heartbreak. Shed tears into my palms so I can turn them into a trophy and place it behind bars on a pedestal of sorts.

Darling, drain it all. Stain the sheets of our wilted petals. Fall apart on the pavement where we first realized it was all breaking into a million pieces.
And then dance.
Dance like the world owes you a lover. Dance like our love owes you empowerment. Move like your soul is made of mesmerizing ondulations.
Is that what you’re looking for?
A voice that resonates into your spine to convince you that you are ok. You are ok. You are ok.