Broken Hearts Still BeatingThe lightning-spliced sky illuminates my bedroom
and I'm crouched in the corner, embraced by the dark,
thinking of how there could have been a chance
for me to wake up next to you, your emerald eyes
webbed with emotion, your body limp
from jerking in your sleep. I imagine ruffled sheets,
broken lamps, and permeating heat.
I think of how we could have jogged together
along roadsides and doubled over with thorns
in our ribs at your feeble attempts to whistle Dixie.
I'm collapsing inward, reminiscing on the truths
I should have told you and how every boy I pass
has your face, your dark brown hair, your lips.
And I cry. Oh, do I cry.
I saw you hunched over one day, exhausted
from nightmares, sipping Gatorade and reciting
poetry about there being beauty in decay,
and I couldn't help but think that you
were living proof of that phenomenon.
I wanted to cry for you and tell you about that time
a lady ran into me at Barnes & Noble and I'd had
no earthly idea that I was alive until she turned ar
Wait For MeDo you see the world in different colours ? Or do you see the world in black and grey?
Alone in your thoughts
How many others have stand where you are today?
Just wait for me now
A safe return is all I want
Break from all these chains
All these roads that I have taken led me to nowhere
Left me here standing at life's edge
There is just one thing left to ask, just wait for me
Broken mirrors can't hide from my shame
It has been years
Shattered into a million pieces
Wait for me there is still time
I haven't gotten back on my feet
I have hit rock bottom
The only way now is to go up
Please wait for me
But I will ask you once more,
Will you wait for me?
Only time could tell
Down into a deep spiral
There is no turning back
Just driving myself into a grave
Won't you wait for me?
Will there be a hand to save?
Or just turn a blind eye to my call?
And I shall wait for your answer
Her Name Was ChastityHer name was Chastity, which was funny because she was anything but chaste. She loved to fuck, and by the time I met her she'd done it plenty of times. Far more than I had, and that's saying something.
I suppose most guys would have been worried getting involved with a girl like her, but I wasn't. Just the opposite. I loved that she wasn't ashamed to admit she enjoyed sex, that she had it as often as she wanted and didn't let petty words like "slut" define her.
And I loved her name—the irony of it, the way it sounded, the way it tasted in my mouth. Despite its meaning, "chastity" has got to be one of the most erotic words ever invented. It made me want to fuck her even more. Every time I said it—every time I thought it—the air around me would humidify and I would look at her and see an innocent child, pure and untouched, and I would want to deflower her all over again.
I told her this once, and she laughed and said, "Oh, Christian… how un-Christian of yo