A beautiful melody, with dangerous notes. by JaNae Boswell (love letters to the dead .TXT) 📖

/> as you can’t even stop to cry,
or laugh at the irony of it all.
Air,
around you feels too thick,
sweating, you start to feel sick,
as he whispers you only have..3 months.
Addiction,
is the cause of this suicidal act,
if only you would have known the facts,
behind the dangers of this bliss.
Smoke,
is suddenly always in your lungs,
so apparently evident on your tongue,
more now than any other drag before.
Death,
is creeping silently in the air,
as you start to lose your hair,
coughing up black blood into your shaking hands.
Weak,
is all your body feels,
your face in the mirror soo surreal,
as the pain filled days turn to weeks.
Life,
seems like just a book,
you turn pages slow to get a look,
at your life…before it reaches the final chapter.
Two,
months have suddenly past,
you are too quickly on your last,
barely able to breathe deeply to say goodbye.
Pale,
is your face severely sunken in,
eyes dark staring at the menthol sin,
that played a hand in your demise.
Deep,
is your last horrid breath,
as you feel the fingers of death,
tighten around your throat.
Sweet,
the destruction tastes,
your heart beats at a slow pace,
as smoky poison dances in the air.
Quitting,
was never an option even in the end,
even though the doctor did reccommend,
that stopping could buy more time.
Think,
about the reasons why death and I met.
Always,
remember and never forget.
Only,
in suicide to touch a cigarette.


Heavens Sanctuary

He ripped off my bottoms.
Where he began to stoke.
Then came the kissing.
He smelled of whiskey and smoke.
He aimed to trick me.
I wouldn’t play along.
So hard I fought.
But he is much too strong.
Holding me down.
He penetrates my little womb.
Over and over.
On the floor of my princess room.
I scratch his face.
Luckily breaking away.
He screams fiercely.
An animal that’s just lost its prey.
I run fretfully.
Looking desperately for somewhere to hide.
I can hear him coming.
His feet in a fuming stride.
He’s drunk and furious.
No more would I let him hurt me down there.
“It’s our little game,” he whispers searching.
Nothing simple like truth or dare.
He finds me.
Beats me with his rigid fists.
I’m unconscious.
As he drags me by my wrists.
He throws me.
I hit hard against the wall.
He kicks me.
As I try to crawl.
He rips off the rest of my clothes.
Then climbs on top.
Breaking my body.
I cry, pleading for him to stop.
He punches and punches.
Shattering my soul.
Ripping me apart.
Taking total control.
The pains too much.
My body finally goes numb.
The world is fading.
Every things coming undone.
I’m free from hell.
As the lord opens his arms saving me.
I’m going home.
To heaven’s sanctuary.


His Love

It hurts,
his love.
It grabs me forcefully,
by my throat.
It’s grueling fingers,
seize my neck.
I can’t breathe.

It leaves marks,
his love.
A mask disguising my face,
veiling wounded emotion.
The shades of his love,
adorn my body.
Purple and blue.

It lies,
his love.
Whispering beautiful deception,
into hopeful ears.
Sweetly persuasive apologies,
promising fabricated tales.
A happy ending.


It’s hard,
his love.
It destructs my veneer,
countless rampant emotions.
Bones cracking like glass,
agonizing rage paints my life.
A heart ruptured red.

It’s sad,
his love.
No ecstasy or exuberance,
just a desolating existence.
I cry bloody ceaseless tears,
blind to his affection.
A passionate abhorrence.

It’s malicious,
his love.
Detaining, exploiting,
a nightmare imprisonment.
It bares my deepest fears,
overpowers my will.
Leaving me despairingly ostracized.

It hurts,
his love.
It leaves marks and it’s hard,
destructive and demanding; leaving me eternally scarred.
It sad,
his love.
It’s malicious and it lies,
disfiguring and deceiving; an impending demise.

His love is all but what it’s meant to be.
Treasuring, compassionate, blissfully free.
Now with aspiring strength, my eyes open, I stand tall.
Knowing finally that his love was never love at all.


Have you seen my razor blade

Anger, hate, iniquitous pain,
it rips my body apart.
Arms painted with scars, stories,
a frail canvas for art. My insides scream,
where is my razor blade?

I can’t take it for long,
my will is not that strong,
or my mind for that matter.
A memory will fade, every slice that is made,
where is my razor blade?

I bite my nails bloody,
down into blistering skin.
Indescribable aches,
my hands in shakes. Harder I breathe,
where is my razor blade?

I just want it to disappear,
just rip open my skin.
Empty the darkness from deep within.
As the angry blood oozes out, I breathlessly shout,
where is my razor blade?

The overpowering need,
to control the harm.
I crave the sweet sharpness,
across my arm. Ah, the blissful aid,
where is my razor blade?

A beautiful silver, deceitfully dark
Unfaithfully long, venomously sharp.
Begging to carve out the lingering pain,
stop the screaming in my brain,
where is my razor blade?

Tear the blade across my wrist
redness paints me like a sinful kiss.
The evils released, bring illusions of peace,
as the rest of the world fades,
I’ve found my razor blade…

Imprint

Publication Date: 11-07-2009

All Rights Reserved