onsdag den 28. november 2012

written two years ago, but I still like it anyways

Bleeding insane thoughts
There's no sense in them
No end.
No beginning.
I'm coughing up words
Letters mixed in sick forms
No meaning.
No idea.
Done this so many times.
Can't seem to stop...
I'm sorry.
Just really miserable.
Writing you a letter
On my bare skin.
Red liquid floating over the ground
Feeding its hunger
Satisfying its thirst.
Carving in myself, these words
Of sorry
Of pain
Of insane minds
Crashing your world
Destroying your life
Caring about you
Ruining it all.
I'm sorry
My body
My soul
My anything
My something
My everything
It is yours alone.
I love you.

I'm so really sorry.

In the night
I walk alone.
Shattered rainbows in my
Lithium breath
From screaming smoke
Into cigarette lungs.
I blow out sanity
Between cracking lips.
Nails made of bones and worn off nail polish
Digging into my brain
Ripping out hair strains
From which
I might make a sweater.

My mood
Like a trafficlight
Accidents Happen




My mood
Like sex-partners in
The alley



Common sense

My mood
Like drugs
Shift hands



Free will

I miss
I miss
Your fingertips
The tip
Of your
And your
The all
Caress me
In a very

I miss
The beating
Of your heart.
It reminds me
Of my clocks...
I can't handle
I can't handle
I can't handle
My thoughts.
I can handle

I know
That I
Don't know
But that's ok
And you

tirsdag den 20. november 2012

My too big bed (Dedicated to the love of my life)

My bed... 
I don't 
I don't like it. 
For me. 
It swallows 
My body 
My dreams 
My painted fingernails 
And my painted Eyelids. 
I need 
I need you. 
To fill the space 
Your heavy 
To your chest 
Moving up 
And down 
And again 
And again 
Than the ticks 
And tocks 
From my clocks. 
Fill me 
Fill me up 
With you 
And your 
And your 
And your 
The truth. 
Just Please 
Let me 
Into your rib-cage 
Into your soul 
Into your make beliefs 
And your golden words. 
Tell me 
That you Love me 
And over 
And over 

torsdag den 1. november 2012

In love

I don't exactly know how to put this.
I love him. I think that's the simple way of expressing it. But it's not enough. It's not even close to be enough. And I don't know how to put it in writing.

I love his eyes. They are the same colour as dark chocolate, 80 % cocoa, almost black, but only that; almost. Not completely. They are at their warmest when he looks at me, and they look like cola when the sun hit's them just right. They are shaped like half moons, and his eyelashes are like little feathers. They always study me, my face and my movements, and they always make me tickle inside. They might be my favorite part. His eyes.

Or his smile, and the lips around it. His smile, perfection in its flaws. His teeth might not be white pearls sitting perfectly next to each other, like those modified Hollywood-smiles. He has little gaps between most, especially between his front teeth, but I've seen no cuter smile, than his. It's not that often, the sound of his laughter is rare, but genuine. His smile lights up everything, lights up the world, the dreams, me. He doesn't abuse the laughs, or the smiling like I do, he doesn't hide behind them, he only grants those gifts to the ones deserving. And I feel blessed for being one of them. His smile is like the sun, and because of him I know I don't need to be afraid of the dark anymore.

I love every part of him, I've studied every part of him. Like his profile, his slightly wide nose, making his features ever so gentle, caring and inviting. Or his strong chin, so sexy and masculine.

I love every curve, line and shadow on his body. I love the little spots and freckles on his upper arms, the birthmark on his thigh, the scars on his thumb and his flossed nails. I love his shoulders, his chest and his neck. I love how the lights hit him when he lies in my bed, only partly covered by the sheets, and you can just see, how impeccably shadows highlights the muscles. The muscles and curves that fits my body perfectly, whenever we melt together and become one. I love his underarms, and his hands. His hands that are rough and nowhere near elegant, but masculine and only coarse because he plays the guitar so passionately as he does.

And oh, I love it when he plays for me. When he opens up, and lets me see the deepest parts of his soul and his thoughts. when the tones float out, into the space around us, when the music and his voice makes me shiver, and when his face and his neck tense up, from the raw emotion emerging from his gut and his heart.

I love his hips, and the lines on his stomach. I love his beard, I love his thick, curly hair, and I love when it falls down in his eyes and he lifts his hand to correct it. I love his eyebrows, and I love his voice. It makes me feel calm and it turns me on. I love it when he grabs me, and I love it when he holds me. I love it when he kisses me, trace his soft lips over my cheeks, and lifts my bangs with his nose to kiss my forehead. I love how he holds on so tightly, that I can feel how afraid he is to lose me. I love how he's always there to catch me, I love how he reads my mind. I love how he doesn't let me push him over, I love how he never tries to fight me, just for the sake of it. I love it when we sleep together, just sleep, and he cradles my head with one hand, and wraps the other one around my lower back. I love how he presses me against his chest, with my nose and eyes buried in the soft curve just beneath his chin and ear, and I love how he smells. I love how our legs entwine and how I swear to god; nothing bad can happen to me in that moment. I love how he protects me, and feels just a little jealous when other boys gives me just a little too much attention, but never doubts that I belong to him. That I would never be unfaithful. I love how easy and calm his breath always is, and how I get to listen to his heartbeat. I love how we never get out of bed unless we have to, and I love how we always end up wrestling and tickling one another, screaming blissfully, laughing and he makes me squeal with joy. I love how he finds me ever so cute, and how he just dies a little every time I snuggle into his arms or say 'okay' in a special way. I love how we play around with my camera, snapping silly photos of intimate situations. I love every single one of the memories we've created and I love the little movie of me kissing his cheek. I love our spontaneity and how there is room to be yourself whenever we're together. I love cooking for him, and eating with him. I love cuddling up in the sofa or the bed or anywhere, and just be. I love how time doesn't exist between us, and I love it when we tease each other. I love our little adventures and our exploration of the world around us. I love listening to him talking about plants and music, and I love how he accepts every part of me, also the ones he doesn't understand, like my love for fashion and boybands, and how I obsess over my bangs. I love how interested he is in me, and how he would do anything for me, because I would do anything for him as well. I love how beautiful and smart and interesting I feel around him, and I love how he completes me; makes me feel whole. I love how I never feel tired of him, and how I can write all this about him, and him alone, and still not be anywhere near done. There are so many things I love about him, I love everything he does and says, I love everything about him, even the weird parts. I love that he has weird parts. I love how loving he sounds when he talks about his family and his past, and I love how he tries to be everything for me, even though he already is.

I love him to pieces, and I'll probably love him until the day I die. Even though we might not be together the rest of our lives, I don't think I'll ever stop loving him. I don't think you can ever really stop loving a person that has given you this much. I don't think that's possible. He has saved me from myself, from the world around me, and he's the only person I trust when he says; "I'll always be here for you, I'll never leave you. No matter if we break up or something else comes between us, I'll never leave."
He is the only one I would trust with everything. He is the only one I want. He is my everything, my best friend, my lover. I've never put this much meaning or emotion behind three little words, as when I say them out loud to him; I love him.

I love him.


onsdag den 24. oktober 2012

torsdag den 18. oktober 2012

When the stars in his eyes burn out, it’s like I’ve got an icicle in my chest, and the unbearable pain is crushing me from my inside, piercing my heart and numbing me completely. In that moment, the torture of his pain is more than I can take, and in that moment I wish the stars had turned into supernovas, so that even though I’d had been face to face with destruction and chaos, at least I could have been the sacrifice of his rage, that he would mourn. And I would sacrifice myself for him any time, over and over again

mandag den 1. oktober 2012

Let's escape this place

Black lightning strips the sky, tears it in half.
Will you wander around with me?
Take me on roadtrips to Never-never land
And have tea-parties in the forbidden garden?

We will dance forever between the stars, pretty boy
Take a swim in our dreams, and fall in love beneath the moon
This skinny love is nothing like forever
But it won’t stop, until the sun burns out.

mandag den 24. september 2012

He’s like black lightning, strong and powerful, frightening in his beauty. An electric outburst that hits me every time I touch his skin, burns my fingertips, in a way that’s become quite addicting. He taste like chocolate and feels like velvet, and I only say this because I love him so much. Clichés have a way of taking over my mind when I feel like this. It makes me think in song-lyrics and dress like a fairytale. It’s like a beautiful disaster. Like a thunderstorm. The light and the clashes and the booms and noises and dark clouds are so fucking beautiful, but so very dangerous at the same time.

Sometime, along the way, I fell hopelessly in love with him, before I could stop myself.
And somewhere along the way, so did he. 

torsdag den 13. september 2012

mandag den 13. august 2012

Nobody notices that I'm right back where I was 7 years ago, full of self-hatred and loathing of my own personality. I'm crumbling, 'cause I can't seem to do anything but hurt the ones closest to me, and the only person I need right now is in another country, and I'm not even sure I'm going to see him, 'cause it almost feels as if he's forgotten about me. So fuck all, fuck me, and fuck my life.
This isn't pretty at all, and I loath it, but it's my blog and I need a fucking breathing space once in a while.

fredag den 15. juni 2012

Love, Sex, Laughing...

..I crave all of those, I'm never satisfied, I'm addicted, like I'm addicted to music, hugs, tea and disaster. I want my white virgin-dress stained by coffee-stains, your coffee-stains. I want to smell your sweat on my skin and have the taste of sex in my mouth. I'm a submissive whore, but only if you let the beast out. Only if you hold the key. Treat me like a queen, and I will fulfill all your filthy fantasies.

søndag den 10. juni 2012

I'm just gonna do one more fuck up, and that will be the end of it. The end of it all, one more little fuck-up, nothing big, nothing small, just something, something worth remembering. Come on baby, don't act like it's a surprise, I'm a train-wreck and I always has been, you know that, it's why you love me, because I'm just something you pick up and play with, I'm too weak to tell you not too. I'm too weak to tell you to fuck off, or be gentle, or be better, or don't hate me, or anything and everything. Baby please, you know all this, I'm not saying anything new, I'm not screaming anything you haven't heard before, I'm just crying and moaning and whispering all my weaknesses like I always do when you demand me like this. When you pierce me, when you penetrate my soul with your anger. You've always hated me, you've always been poison running through my veins. Or maybe I'm the poison one, because you can't leave me be either. You're like cocaine, you know that? You just numb me completely, I can't feel a fucking thing whenever this happens, nothing. Numbness is happiness, isn't that what you always say? Oh fuck this, fuck it all, or should I fuck her? Is that what you want? 'Cause you know I'll do it, as much as I hate to admit it, I'd do anything you say, anything. 
I'm just gonna make one more fuck-up, ok, just one more, and then all of this will be over. Just one more.

torsdag den 31. maj 2012

I'm an addict.


They tend to find me without even trying.

I become addicted very easily, I become addicted to a lot of different things.
It can be music, it can be the bass, it can be the sound of someones voice, crawling beneath my skin. It can be a smell, the smell of you, the smell of him, the smell of sunshine or love or sex. It can be a sound, of a laugh, a giggle, a moan. I could be addicted to the softness of his lips, or the way his abs feel like when I let my hand slide over it. I could be addicted to the smooth skin just beneath his chin, or I could be addicted to the warmth of his embrace. I could be addicted to him, to his kisses, to his thrusts, to his laugh, his voice, his smell, his being, his mind, his words. 
I can get addicted to anything and everything. It's not even hard.

All in all, I'm an addict.

onsdag den 16. maj 2012

My filthy slutty boy

There you stand, holding her hand. You aren't smiling like you did to me.. Why aren't you smiling? Why doesn't your eyes glow when you look at her face? Is she just a disappointment? Or a beautiful disaster? Isn't she lovely? Isn't she what you had hoped for?

I want to show up on your door-step. I want to knock on your door, and see you standing in it. I want you to fuck me senseless, even though she was waiting for you, dinner and a movie. I want to be the dirty, little secret that you use to escape her disappointment. I want to make you my slave again, 'cause that was all you ever really were.You were good sex. Great sex, actually. Hot, amazing, strong and rough. But you never really meant anymore than that.. Than filthy sex. And I want it back, I do, and how funny wouldn't it be to have her sitting alone, waiting for you, while we fuck in your kitchen, and then you go home to her, missing me like hell.

But I won't do a thing, because that's what being a good girl means

torsdag den 19. april 2012

Filth is what I want

Something is going on, you know, in there. Inside the tangled corridors of my brain. They keep running away from me, the filthy little thoughts. Teasing me, like bitchy teenage girls. "We know something you don't know" will you tell me please, before I carve my eyes out in pure frustration? "You want to know, believe us, you need to know, but we won't tell" Fuck. Everything's a blur, I'm drowning in a dessert, and the air is suffocating.

I'm hearing Lolita lullabies and I have babydoll daydreams. Will someone be my Daddy, please? I wanna wear pink stockings and ribbons and lace. I want huge babydoll shoes with a big bow around the ankle. I want to make cute, curly pigtails, and I want a heart-shaped mouth, pink and precious. Kiss me on my open mouth Daddy, kiss me where it feels nice.
What am I saying? Everything is sick and twisted and wonderful and sexy and horrifying. Nothing makes much sense and I don't know how to think anymore. I want to do something that hurts. I wanna pierce my tongue in a venom-manner. Two beautiful jewels, side by side. White inks will scar my pale skin and needles will shoot trough like it was paper. Paper-skin. I want paper skin.
I want to breath smoke like a dragon, like beautiful clouds on a rainy full-moon night. I want my lungs to be full of fire, my veins full of venom and then, everything will match. Everything will match my charcoal heart. Everything will match.

I'm a fashion whore, a Lolita, a craving bitch that wants and needs every-fucking-thing.

I'm a freaking gorgeous disaster.

onsdag den 18. april 2012

Lolita Lullabies

Babydoll dresses, barely covering secret places. Pink ribbons, pigtails and big blue eyes. Are you gonna pick me? Daddy please, if you like me, take me home. Come on you know you like little girls, come on. I can dance for you, put on a really good show. I can play a princess, or a ballerina. I will do whatever you like, if you will do whatever you like to me.

torsdag den 12. april 2012

Dress me down

Ripped stockings, barely holding on, clinging to the straps attached by the hip. No panties, none. Baby you know me, I like being here waiting, anticipating. Let the breeze tickle me, make it harder for me to keep a straight face. I want to be forced to grab my chair to sit still, to have to pinch myself for distraction. Nipples pressing against soft lace and ribbons, anxious, needing. I toss my hair behind my shoulders, bare my collarbones, my shoulders, my freckles. I might be wearing a dress, Honey, but believe me, I wont be wearing it for long.

onsdag den 11. april 2012

Cut it off. Cut it all off. My fingernails, my eyelashes, my hair, everything. I want none of it, I want nothing, I wanna disappear. Hide under the surface and spent the rest of my life supporting your feet with my hands. I'd carry you around the world and back, if only I could.. But monsters, they are tering me up inside, breaking through my skalp, clawing their way out of my skin. They are breaking me up like an empty shell, and there is nothing I can do about it, so I can't protect you, even though I want to. I'd carry the weight of the world for you, but it's a burden I can't bare.

Goin' Down

I’m made of a lot of things, of bones and blood and brains, but most importantly; I’m made of sunshine and magic and tophats. I have ∞ tattooed in my heart and behind my eyelids, I have inked fingernails and photoshopped skin. My eyes are lined with pigments and flushed by tears. Pretty tears though, they make my eyes spectacular. Cheeks like a healthy sunburn freckled with shy awkwardness and strawberry corns. I’m not even sure why I’m writing this, but I guess I’m still the same, I still have to write everything down and make my mark. Preferred substances are still ink and blood and spit and alcohol and sex. I want, no I need, the constant roam of guitars in my ears, I want the bass to keep my heart pounding and the sweet whispers of my favorite singers to put my thoughts into words. I’m weird like that… I like ugly and broken and romance in the heroin kind-of-way. I want smoke in my lungs and ecstasy in my veins. I want Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds behind my eyelids and I wanna paint my hair and nails in pretty pastels. White-ink my skin and scar me for life with your beautiful words. Make me sick, make me skinny and make me pretty. I’m a flirt, a slut, a filthy whore. Love me like you love drugs and we’ll be happy for all eternity ‘cause I am drugs, my bones are joints, my skin is cocaine, warm heroin runs in my veins, my eyes are LSD and my lips are full of ecstasy. I’ll suck you in and then I’ll fall apart, escape down your lungs and hide in your chest, carving love-letters in your heart. So Skinny Love, what do you say? Do we dance on the full moon and make love between the stars? Do we swim through the universe, or do we play hide and seek in your brains? I’m not much of a singer, but I promise I’ll sing you to sleep.