Poetry: Mephistopheles with Scabbed Wings

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It was a blue February night

When I first stumbled in your dream.

I felt awkward swaying to your song

As you pulled off my bruised wings.

You were as persuasive as Mephistopheles,

Digging your nail in the pit of my heart.

But I wanted you to plunge into my heart

Where you could hide your ethereal song,

So that I could become your dream

And would no longer need my wings

To soar into you every night,

Like a devious Mephistopheles.

I’ve been yearning to hear your song

Because it makes the blue night

Seem less long, as I dream

Of a raging Mephistopheles,

Who craves to clip my wings

And shatter my bloody heart.

Recently I feel that the night

Passes by slowly, as I lick my wings

Alone. Because Stupidbitch has now become your song.

I now invade you in your dream.

I’m like a horny Mephistopheles

Who wants to fuck your heart.

I know you feel invulnerable when you dream

Because it’s the only place where you can break my wings.

For I’ve got an asphalt heart

Gained from a previous lover with a tainted song

Who used to beat his pain into me every night

Until I began to perceive him as Mephistopheles.

Yes, I know that I’m your dream

But I’m afraid that you’ll want to chew my wings.

You love the taste of the jasmine night

Found within their enchanted song.

You need to run before your heart

Gets devoured by Mephistopheles.

I should’ve confessed in your dream that night

That your song cannot burn my wings

Because I am Mephistopheles ready to claw my way into your heart.

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Poetry: A Haiku for all the Boys I’ve Kissed

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1.
You taste of ashen
smoke. I swallowed bright colored
pills. You were danger.

2.
The snow kissed my hair
You kissed my lips, magically
winter melted, now.

3.
You deserve more
than seventeen syllables
my beautiful love.

4.
In a dressing room
You stole a kiss, tore my
dress, and forgot her.

5.
Before you kissed my
lips, you kissed my nose, and I
fell for you so hard.

6.
Drowning in your lust,
The rain clung to my hair like
your skin clung to mine.

7.
He murmured, “Your bloke
is wrong. All you ever needed
is a man like me.”

8.
Your kiss was deadly,
oxygen escaped like a
thief, in the cold night.

9.
Fire, you burned me through
until there was nothing left
But naked white bones.

10.
Dressed as a doting
nurse, I pushed you against the
wall and claimed you as mine.

11.
Berlin is icy
on my bare limbs, please don’t let
go. I just want you.

12.
A cozy hotel
is where I dropped my dress, and
my bestfriend title.

13.
Give back my records,
Your calloused fingers tugged my
hair, the night sparked flames.

14.
You used to hate me.
But your tongue worshiped every
part of me, for days.

15.
We passed each other,
Pulled me in a soft embrace.
It cut me in two.

16.
Music, two a.m.
You so young, and I so wise.
I stole your CDs.

17.
Your music captured
me. I stumbled into you
and inhaled the stars.

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Poetry: Ashtray Heart

cig

I took a shortcut through blood to get back to you.

I knew that your gaping wounds were still fairly new

For you to be able to finally let it all go.

You need this injection to get through this night.

I really hope now that you adore me as much as your dragon

Because after three years of battling against it

I have nothing to show but pure frigid waters that hang like

Lonely icicles from my eyes.

But when you’ve been smoking for too long

And Memnoch is walking in your shoes,

The only thing that surrounds you is a musky-drugged fog.

While the stage that we’re on becomes a broken ashtray

And, I the protagonist, a butted Marlboro.

It’s only a matter of trust,” you say.

But when your favorite lover is White Eve instead of me

I do not have much trust left in me.

You carve my name into your arm

Thinking that I should be impressed.

But your gesture does not scream your love,

It merely whispers your derangement.

I wish I could drag you across filed nails,

So you would become pristine.

But I can only kiss you with these bruised lips,

Hoping that you will come around (for more).

Although you don’t seem to care

As you take another line from my breasts.

Your ocean eyes wander over space and time

Snatching the stoned affection you can find.

Please don’t die,” I beg you.

I know of your secret lovers

That you keep hidden beneath black satin covers.

They’re going to blow your mind one of these days

Just as they did with all the others.

If only I could bring it all back to you

But there’s nothing I can do

Because you’re Poe without a muse,

Who merely craves for silver rockets

And playing Russian roulette with five bullets.

The smoke rises up and around your solar plexus

All I am for you is a Plastic Venus,

Ideal for viewing but not for loving.

You bestow your worship to the Green Goddess instead

Because she can let you see Heaven and Hell in your bed.

But remember that I now hold the power

Because I’ve raped all your lovers.

You’ll need to beg me before I’ll shoot you up.

I know how to fight back with an empty gun loaded with placebos.

By: Azzurra Nox

My Bad Romance: The Romantic

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The first time I saw you, you walked right past me and I felt my heart leap out of my chest as my gaze followed you and I said, “Who’s that hot guy?” And my then-boyfriend merely laughed and told me how it was a friend, and called after you. Once you returned, your eyes met mine and just like in some lame rom-com it felt like time had stopped for a moment, minus the cheesy pop song as the soundtrack. We spent the night drinking coffee and talking, and something I’d just look over at you as you spoke animatedly with your friend. When my phone rang, you said, “We’ve got the same ring tone,” later showing me how you too, had the same Franz Ferdinand song. You were on my mind for days after that night. It was impossible for me to fall in love with the boy I was with, because you had eclipsed him completely. How can one love the moon, when you were the sun?

The second time we met, it was a cold December night. I had broken up with my boyfriend. Two Capricorns were never meant to be together, our stubbornness clashing in the most violent ways. We met at a coffee shop, one of the few still open at the dead of night. We drank conspicuous amounts of coffee and tried several cakes. You kept drawing me comic strips of myself. It was bliss.

Then you insisted you’d walk me back to my hotel. It was snowing. Music flowed out from a pub down the street. You grabbed me, insisted we dance. I laughed, telling you it was too cold and you pulled me to saying, “I’ll keep you warm, pretty girl.” The stars lit up your eyes, and I smiled giving in. I still was uncertain in regards to your feelings for me. But then you kissed me, and any doubts I had vanished.

Like most wonderful, charming men, you were taken. Of course, I didn’t know that until after. After many kisses and after my heart was already yours. It was too late then for me to try to pull myself free of this twisted love.

You sent me so many letters after we parted. So many roses that I could’ve adorned a flower shop. You made me so many mix CDs filled with your own music and The Beatles, The Smashing Pumpkins, and various other artists.

The fourth time I saw you, three weeks had passed since our last encounter. But I immediately knew that something was amiss. The THE END was written all over your pale face by the way you grimaced when I hugged you. I knew that you were about to hit me with bad, TERRIBLE news.

I couldn’t stay. I had to get away.

You kept calling me afterwards. Leaving messages, saying how we should still be friends. That we were friends before lovers.

Another month went by before I saw you again.

By then my heart was shattered. But you kept telling me how much you loved me. I was reeling on x to truly understand any of it. I only wanted to smash your heart in smithereens just as you had done with mine. I just wanted to burn anything that you had ever given to me, till there was nothing left but ashes.

“I love you,” you kept repeating, like I was a child who couldn’t understand. “I care very deeply for you.”

I kept shaking my head. It wasn’t true. It couldn’t be true, or else I wouldn’t feel so awful. I let go of your hand.

“Where are you going?” you said, as tears blinded me. I walked aimlessly away from you. I wanted so much to stay. But I knew I couldn’t.

You were never mine for me to keep.

By: Azzurra Nox

My Bad Romance: The Artist

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I met you in the City of Love, or most commonly known as Paris. I was heartbroken and crying my eyes out along the Seine when you stopped me and asked me if I needed help in any way. “Are you capable of fixing a broken heart?” I said with a slight embarrassed laugh in between the tears. You were gentle and kind, and although your eyes are of the lightest shade of blue, they were the warmest color in that cold winter day.

You were in the city with your brother because he had a film meeting, and I was there to see “The Soulmate” (brooding musician that made any girl sigh as he walked by) only to find out that what should’ve been a getting back together weekend turned out to be a breaking up for good when he admitted that a girl he was casually seeing was impregnated with his baby. Somehow that cemented the fact that I needed to walk away for good.

My infatuation for you was both sudden and fleeting. I loved the way you held your paintbrush as you went on a painting frenzy, mixing the colours till they transformed into magic. Your kisses were warm, but my heart was cold. I’d touch you hoping that I’d feel something inside of me stir, but my heart was too wounded to even find a weak beat in its dark crevices.

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We shared cappuccinos and croissants in Florence, admired Botticelli’s art, and walked along the bridge over the Arno River. You held unto my hand as though you never wanted to let it go, and yet I always walked a step ahead of you, as though I wanted to disentangle from your affection.

And yet the months went by and I kept living in old black and white photographs whilst your world was in technicolor. You didn’t know how dark my world had become, I was so good at smiling in your presence. But tears would plague me the moment I was alone. I didn’t even know what I was crying over. The end of a relationship? Losing the soulmate? Or was I merely devastated that I couldn’t feel what you felt for me?

Love for you was eternal Spring, whilst I was living the most dreadful winter. When it came time for me to tell you the truth and let you go, I watched your heart crack leaving dreadful red marks down your chest and I wished that I could repaint a better picture. I yearned so much that I could distort the world to make it appear as beautiful as you saw it, because I wanted to much to be a part of it, but I don’t think I ever was.

The stars had abandoned me. There was only darkness in my road and you deserved the light.

By: Azzurra Nox

My Bad Romance: The Soulmate

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Our love spanned several cities and many jet-lagged mornings. There were more winters than summers. Always wrapped up in bulky sweaters and coats. Our breaths rising in the cold mornings as we shared secrets and cigarettes.

Knowing you was like knowing the world. I learned everything from you. The good, the bad, and the painful. You were smart, well-read, and the right amount of cocky and charming. You were my beacon of light in the dark corridors of my heart. You illuminated everything that was good or bad about me. Maximum transparency. There was no hiding from you. I was cut open, ready for inspection like a frog that was getting dissected by a curious student.

At night we’d fall asleep curled up – exhausted. I’d fall asleep holding your guitar-callused hand feeling safe. I thought you were my soul mate, but I was young and you were reckless.

Our fights would make the walls shake with my accusations, your rage would destroy everything we had built together. You were such a confident liar and I too young and willing to believe the fables you weaved in gold to blind me of the truth.

But maybe you didn’t want to see the truth either.

So we decked our eyes with stars and would live on kisses and chocolates. We whispered poetry, William Blake, Edna St. Vincent Millay, Sylvia Plath, while lying in bed our naked limbs tangled like a fishnet at rest. We lived on music and writing. Your words, my words, soon they became our words till your song and my poems were one and the same reciting the same story over and over again to audiences eager to listen to our heartbreak and love.

I’d drive fast into the night without the headlights on, using the beam of the moon as my guide in the dark. You’d hang your head out the passenger window, your black hair flying wildly in the wind and say, “We are going to live forever!” Because, forever when you are young is infinite.

We shared love, music, tears, and books. We were one.

For a moment we were soul mates.

Now you sing your stories about our love to audiences hungry with desire, and I whisper my poems to the wind because I want my words to be carried across the ocean and caress you at night when you’re asleep and I’m just waking up for the day.

We were forever.

We are for never.

By: Azzurra Nox