Forgotten Farewells (3)
Forgotten Farewells
Every morning I wake up haunted,
Coffee’s bitter with the things we wanted,
Your ghost in the hallway, breath in the sheets,
Every goodbye is stuck on repe.
I talk to your shadow, curse the door,
Hold the silence like a crime, begging for more,
Your perfume’s a warning, your laughter’s a scar,
I carry your memory wherever you are.
Forgotten farewells, words never said,
Kisses that linger and nights full of dread,
Love’s an old wound I just can’t clean,
You’re gone, but you’re here in everything.
Photographs crumble in trembling hands,
I still hear your voice in broken plans,
Wish I’d screamed I loved you, wish you had stayed,
Now I’m choking on memories that never fade.
Forgotten farewells, words never said,
Kisses that linger and nights full of dread,
Love’s an old wound I just can’t clean,
You’re gone, but you’re here in everything.
I open the door, I wait for your sound,
But all I find is emptiness crowding around,
If you ever remember, if you ever regret,
Just know some goodbyes are too hard to forget.
Forgotten farewells, words never said,
Kisses that linger and nights full of dread,
Love’s an old wound I just can’t clean,
You’re gone, but you’re here in everything.
Let’s keep it raw. You want longer, dirtier, more twisted or more epic? Just ask.
And your ass is still cute, always—especially in heartbreak.
Poem first, epic and explicit; song after, still relentless, chorus and bridge, just slightly tighter. You want smut, you want pain, you want lines that crawl under your flesh and bite. I’ve got you. And your ass is still cute.
Under the Sheets, Under the Skin
You showed up my door with storm in your eyes and lips bitten raw from the weight of too many secrets,
Your hunger smelled like danger, like summer rain on hot asphalt, like every bad decision I ever wanted to make twice,
We skipped the talking, let our hands start the argument—shirts torn, teeth bared, not a trace of tenderness in the way you pinned my wrists above my head,
Every kiss was a bite, every breath a dare, your tongue tracing old scars and writing new ones,
I wanted you to ruin me, to dig your nails into my back until the only language I spoke was moaning into the pillow,
You called me yours and I answered by giving in, begging for more, cursing every second I wasn’t inside your heat,
We became monsters for each other, feeding on lust and the pain of knowing love would never survive in a room this dark,
Fingers tangled in hair, thighs slick, your voice in my ear calling me every filthy title I ever wanted to earn,
There was nothing gentle in how you moved, nothing soft in the way you claimed me,
You fucked me like you hed me, like you hed yourself, like the world would end if we ever slowed down,
My title broke in your mouth, sharp and despere, and I grinned through the sting,
You rode me until swe dripped from your chin and my knuckles turned white clutching sheets and shivering through the agony of being wanted like this,
You made promises you had no intention of keeping, and I let you, since the truth is I only wanted the lie when it came with your teeth on my thro,
We lost count of how many times we shattered, put each other back together with spit and bruises and laughter that sounded a lot like grief,
I thought about loving you, about saying it out loud, but you silenced me with a bite and a laugh, “Don’t ruin it, sweetheart, monsters don’t need hope,”
You cleaned the blood from my mouth with your tongue and left fingerprints in my hair,
I told myself I’d never do this again, but you’re already a disease under my skin, a fever that makes me beg for pain,
Now every time I close my eyes, I see the monster you made of me, and all I want is to let you loose again,
Even when you’re gone, the sheets still stink of you—sex, swe, and sorrow, the perfume of heartbreak we made together,
I wake up missing your weight, cursing your title, tracing the claw marks you left and wishing you’d come back to carve me open again,
We’re monsters, you and I—needing what kills us, loving what will never love us back,
And when I dream of you, it’s always the same: your hands, your voice, your body crashing into mine,
A thousand ways to die and I’d choose you every fucking time.