Old poetry that means nothing really but I am a bit bored with no new words.

The Axe.
His sadness bled onto his cheek
weeping peach on a                wary skin
I wanted to wipe it away
        make him feel all right
    make me feel all right
Honey'd eyelashes held blue eyes
captured rounds of               deep
clear light
coming from a head full
of fuzz
    I avoided it
        I needed to avoid it
If I could have held him                 for a minute
he would have smiled a little
I know it
    I would have made him smile
a little
I will drink him from the bottle
    down                         deep
His sadness hurts me but tastes
     delicious
Missing his face                hurts me
Kissing his face                  hurts me
It is the kind of hurt I keep asking for
    Just once and I will be fixed
        Just one stroke of the vaginal axe
cut clean and neat
    leaving it                           leaving him
finished

...................................................................

Neck

little whispers held

between fingers I rub them together

they sing an irritating song

Tongue

kisses my fear

and makes my stomach tight

leading me to anxiety and perfect longing

Street

I walk away

your hand in my pocket

you tell me things will end badly

Palms

want to hold your

wrist and make you forget

that I am selfish and I am just in it for me
....................................................................

They buzzed on
little bitch bees that wanted to sting
hateful and selfish
they all clamored and acted like they were the most
deserving
They droned on
inhaling every bit of sweetness
treating love like a job
making honey that tastes like vomit
and cum
...........................................................