SOOT STAINS by Abby Jean

March 4, 2018 11:44

Recently.
You know.
Recently you’ve been haunting my visions.
Don’t ask me why?
I didn’t bring you up.
Unintentional.
Would rather not revive past emotional.
Preferably… reasonably…
But my meditation’s unconventional.
Ruthlessly shameless, fearless.
On a level of the molecular.
Those tiny fuckers runnin’ the show.
As I sit squirmy as the spectator.
Tip-toeing around Hater.
Finding you filed away in Later.
Now my visions turned to thoughts.
Thoughts to wonders…
Questions…
I start to remember the start.
Do I hold you there I wonder?
Have I imprisoned you into that memory?
Imprisoned you to that person you were right then?
I see you still.
Clear as day.
From the days we would sway.
So short-lived, those moments.
The passion was so fierce.
I’m stained from the soot I suppose.
Soot prints are long-lived.

DUCKING LOVE by Abby Jean

Dec 4 ’17

Never had someone study me like he.
Catch my small things.
Movements.
Mutters.
Call them out.
So close he watches me.
Analyzes me.
Studies me.
Calls me out.
Makes me look at me.
From… out there.
Tells me he,
“Wants to continue to know more about me.”
That I, that I “intrigue” he.
Fuck.
Here we go… I’m stuck.
The usual… Fuck.
Feelings feel and I gotta duck?
Shiiiiiit.
I start to lose my shit, legit.
Swallowing feelings really fuckin sucks.
He gets me? I dunno.
He catches my vibe at least?
At least he confirmed he knows…
I’m a crazy bitch.
And he still moves close, closer.
Like a wild beast.
Unafraid and daring.
I saw his eyes……. His eyes read deep.
Tattoos……. Tattoos deeper than deep.
Hm.
Calm to frustration.
Frustration to calm.
Flat palm to fist.
Fist to flat palm.
Breathe in Abby………. Exhale, slow…
Damn.
This set up’s just wrong!
It’s not that I need him.
Don’t need him, nor him, nor him.
I don’t even know him.
I’m just repetitively frustrated.
By this repetitive system.
Fucking, repetitive system.
It’s boring………. af.
I want to build.
Seems the heaven’s forbid.
Instead gracing me with,
This cycle of “dating.”
The stuck at “dating.”
The stuck at fucking….. Fucking.
Come fuck me.
Great, now that crosses my mind.
I want him to fuck me.
I want him all as mine.
Greedy………. af.
“Here you go”, say the angels, “Here’s a next one for you.”
“How lovely,” I say back, “How lovely, thank you.”
Then I meet and I sway.
Dirty dance the night away.
Fall in Love, ohhh my favourite.
Stay calm… it’s only for the day.
Tsk, tsk.
Better brush any of those, feely feelings away.
Can’t keep him.
He’s just another one.
He’s not a one and only.
He ain’t into it… not right now.
This is only for the day.
Or the day of the next day we fuck.
Love.
I know he felt the frequency.
I felt him duck.
Love.
Fuck.
Everlasting, effortless Love.
Natural Love.
Allowing Love.
Where the fuck art thou…
For now I’ll take he.
However he comes at me.
The partial he.
I’ll take it.
Naturally.

PRINCE, PRINCETON by Abby Jean

Nov 7 ’17
Prince.
Princeton.
His cheeks I wanna kiss.
Those cheeks so prominent.
Endless kisses from this Miss.
Not a fucking kiss missed.

Miss… miss him.
Wouldn’t use that term yet.
It’s more of a… longing.
I long for him, yet…
It’s for more than a schlonging.
His schlong, however.

How deep should we get.
Dirt’s accumulated already.
Permanently trapped.
In all my mind’s creases.
Sapiosexual orgasm releases.
With thoughts untamed.

He’s merely only dabbled.
Inside complexities of my mind.
Innocently ignorant.
To complications of my consciousness.
“You can show me the complications,
Or complexities, of your consciousness.” he says.

I stutter.
Belly flutters.
Lights flicker.
Saliva’s thicker.
Who is he?
That one drinking Irish Moss…

He speaks of his nutrition.
My attent pitches a tent.
Finding him, I’ll fucking never resent…
“Tell me more.
The things you buy from the grocery store.”
My panties slowly slipping to the floor…

He’s always busy.
My angels nudge me.
Hush child, don’t say always.
Make space for the day.
You’re face to face with his cheeks.
Ugh… My knees get weak.

AROUND MIDNIGHT by Abby Jean

11-15-17
I like you.
That’s why I’m going crazy…
I’ve a mad crush on you.
Got my head all in a hazy, it’s crazy.
Dazed feelings.
They’re not sure which way to turn.
Stunned.
From twisted angles, sharp left turns.
Frustrated.
So I fuckin’ masturbated.
Didn’t help.
And you’re far from help…
Said you’d choke me.
That would help.
But na, still a dream.
A dream that makes me scheme.
As I admire you… from afar.
Epiphany bein’, I never got far.
From the last one.
The last… “situation”, out of reach.
The “situation” before that… out of reach.
I’m not here to preach, just observe…
You know, that makes you number 3.
Maybe it’s the same 3, that’s been haunting me.
Everytime I see a number, suprise!
3… 33… 3:33.
Still hasn’t helped me.
Still haven’t visited me.
What’s Universe tryna teach me…
Karma? Past life issues?
What’s the block, cage, barrier issue?
What’s it teaching me… Fuck.
My mind gets fucked.
I’d like to fuck… your physical.
I want it so much.
Sex addict low key.
More like high key contained.
Damn.
Where you at?
Needin’ you… beside me… meshed with me… in me.
Damn.
Midnight shimmy.
Come fuckin’ give me.

MY CANVAS by Abby Jean

Oct 30 ’17

Light. Light. Light.
Think light.
I make his head hurt.
I laugh out loud.
I know I do.
‘Cause I make mine hurt too.
Light.
Think light.
Write light.
I feel lighter.
After writing you.
You’re like my canvas.
I use you at my leisure.
I use you for my pleasure.
I’m sorry.
I don’t mean to twist your brain.
As I share words of my insane.
You’re just, my canvas.
You’re my art.
You allow me expression.
You take it.
This life is strange.
This reality surreal.
This odd tie won’t break.
It only takes breaks.
His head’s heavy already.
I’m adding more weight.
I know that, and I don’t stop.
I consciously step onward.
Giving soul expression top value.
Knowing disease unfolds when I keep hold.
I must.
I must write.
Dark and light.
Light.
Make it light.
I switch the script.
Think light.
Exhale gratitude.
1-2-3.
I boldly show me to he.

WARP LIKE NINTENDO by Abby Jean

10-28-17

I fucking wanna see you so bad.
Be in close proximity of your aura.
I want to write that to you.
Was originally about to…
But I thought better.
More clever to keep it from you.
Similar to everything kept from me.

I had so many questions for you last night.
So many questions.
Profound… Powerful… Brave.
So many things I wanted to tell you.
Exposed from the magick of the mushroom.
Exploded from the depths of my being.
Existence.

I fucking wanna see you so bad.
You offer only imagination to run on.
I run.
I run far with it.
Mostly too far… athletic by nature, driven.
You swirl my passion.
Your oddity twirls, tangles mine.

I meditate instead.
Find, discover what I’m shown.
I feel my throat chakra tight.
Thinking of you.
Communication.
Barrier.
Fuck. I just wanna talk with you.

GHOST LOVER by Abby Jean

Sept 17 ’17

I lay beside him.
I feel like a ghost…
I feel invisible.
I know he takes notice of my shell.
But my insides are like, air.
I didn’t feel this way before he came.
I felt very, full.
Solid.
Very vibrant.
Very ready to express.
Ready to entwine passions.

I lay beside him.
I ask about his day.
He nicely hushes me…
Desiring simplistic silence between us.
Absorbing stereo beats and soundwaves.
Longing for straight, peace.
To be in the moment.
Just be here in the present.
Stess free, just be.
Stillness.
In the stillness of the starry a.m.

Clever crickets cricket.
Beyond my window.
They break the silence.
Between the playlists.
Between us.
They soothe the silence.
Soothe both our innates…

I know where he’s coming from.
I understand him completely.
So I bite the bullet for him.
My heart swallows.
Well, gulps.
It’s now sitting silent…
When it wants to burst.
The pressure hurts.
I realized as we lay here.
Just how it hurts.

I just want to know his day.
This is my only time with him.
I want to know his life.
Enhance the in-and-out bond with him.
Be more than physical contact with him.
He’s so fascinating from afar.
Intrigue screams when he’s so near.
I scrape my nails against his window.
I’m so close, and so fucking far…
I feel invisible to him.

He sparks no convo about me.
My feelings.
My brainwaves.
My existence.
He sparks no interest… in knowing me.
Not in the verbal communicative sense at least.
I sense he psychically senses.
Emotionally senses.
Spiritually senses.
Who I am.
He must have at least those senses…
Subconscious or conscious, if he’s here.

He’s just…

Caught up in his own deep thoughts…
I understand.
Caught up in his own deep mind…
I get it.
Caught up in his own…
Web.