drunken poetry

darkheartsdontbreaktheybruise  asked:



Pussy is cute
And pussy is fun
If only pussy could be
Not so destructive
To the furniture
Such as the couch
Or the entertainment center
If they have these things in Prythian
One day Rhys will look at Feyre and say
“Wow, that pussy is so cute and worth it”
And then Feyre will say
Are you talking about my vagina

This silence;
uncomfortable and unbearable.
Haunts me from in and out.
This heart of mine;
shattered and battered.
Cries of pain and agony
grows stronger and deeper.
Crushed. Devastated. Anguished.
Yes,it hurts.
When I say I’m hard to love
you won’t believe me.
You’ll think
they are self-deprecating words
and merely a misunderstanding.
That maybe I just
don’t value myself enough.
But that’s because
when I say I’m hard to love
I am not describing
anything explosive.
I do not mean
that I will be
screaming through my lungs
or wielding weapons
with my words.
Rather, I will be patient
and kind
and lead you to believe
in things that do not exist.  
Because when I say
I’m hard to love
I mean that I
am a mirage.
You will mistakenly think
it only takes time
for me to become
something more.
But no matter how hard you try
you will not find
what you are looking for.
—  Mirage, V.P.

insert-username-here712  asked:

Can you write a poem of everyone's fav shadow bat

Yes I miss Azriel like from before, I used to write about him all the time and now I’m like *awkward face* but I still love him *cries* This one got a bit longer than the others, I hope you enjoy it *curtsies* @insert-username-here712


Azriel: A Sonnet (or actually not because fuck syllables and strophes, what are they called in English? Um. The paragraph things in poems? Stanzas??? This is what happens when you only talk about something in French.)

In a great land called Prythian
There lived a Illyrian called Azriel
The fandom loved him
Because he was Sad to the Max
And they wanted to cuddle him
In warm blankets
Or even sex him

What no one knew
Was the way that he grew
Hard at the sight of Cassian
“Oh no” he thought
“I cannot love my best friend”

And Yet
And yet gentle friends
He was gay for that
So one day when Mor came by
She said “hey”
“I think you have something
In your eye”

Azriel said “wut you talking ‘bout”
And she said
“I know a gay when I see it
We want you to be happy Az
Me and the fandom”

Azriel was rightfully confused
What is this thing you call ‘the fandom’
Mor merely shook her head
And said,
“Go to AO3. They speak of you there
In hushed whispers
They really want to you get laid
And be happy.”

So Azriel traveled to this dark, deep corner of the interwebs
When he arrived he was amazed
At the things that people says
“Yes, they want my happiness” he realized
And so he whispered to his shadows
Coming up with a plan
What it was
We shall never know

But be glad dear listener(reader)
Azriel will get his happy ending
One way or another

I tell my best friends my heart feels like a store
where people take
and never spend a single dime
and they take
and they take
till my limbs break off
and I’m surrounded by
empty shelves
and empty cash registers
all of us empty
to sum up, the sadness and anxiety
that is a store,
that is so empty
that has nothing,
where they take,
and they take,
and I’m nothing.
And yet, even with all the chaos that was going on, I was there sitting silently with a bottle in my hand, just wondering if your drunken thoughts led to me like mine led to you.
—  inhibited // excerpt from a book I’ll never write #115 ( offdxys )

anonymous asked:

write a poem about The Cabin and the Bowl of Soup


If these walls could talk
They would say
These FAE are Horny AF
But also we are sentimental
When Rhys comes in all temperamental
Looking for his mate
Because they have never been
On a proper date
And he wonders
How he will succeed
In a situation
Where Feyre is freaked out
Because Hey who isn’t freaked out
By the idea of mates and forever
But also maybe you will let down your guard
For a bowl of delicious soup
chicken noodle
Or Yankee Doodle
either way Rhys will find his mate

I’ll see you later
when I fall asleep
we keep this road trip
a reality I didn’t want to leave anyway
pick up on the page we left off on anyway
of attics and beach naps
and every time I just wanted to find the stars
you never wanted to though
you just weren’t the type
for a New Orleans wedding
or an overnight move to Manhattan
you were so stuck in the same place
I was never allowed to leave mine

©- one hundred stories down 2017

Aged 12 years

I appreciate those who choose their words carefully

Saying only a little, teasing at the deeper meaning

Those who age their thoughts like a 12 year old bottle of whiskey

I have a tendency to indulge in impulsive keening

Bleeding raw emotion only aged a few moments

Often feeling the fool for the things I say

Causing my own shame to foment

Flicking embers of toxic feelings into an ashtray

You soft spoken, mysterious few entice me

I wonder what potions your mind brews

How do you set your emotions free

It’s all I can do to prevent this sewage to spew

anonymous asked:

i need drunk poems of your favorite crackship. pls and thank u.


Cassian is a puppy
Who needs lots of love
He met a man
Who doesn’t know what that does
To someone with a sensitive heart
Who cannot hide the things
That his heart
Needs to feel
And so they had sex.


An ancient being (AmREN DUH)
who had lots of feeling
met a girl
who saw the future
and So when they talked
they realized
That they should be a ship
Because why the heck not
And they had some nice lesbian sex