Uneasy wish (am I worse)Leaves touch the air in solace of ash.Will you still love me because of how I am?Just a pile laying thereLike a starving child: your sweet, marzipan hands.
More than enoughGeneral love is when your mere existence is more than good enough for me.
PerhapsI've yet to imagine how the sage lives...Perhaps,Always busy yet always available for help.
Dream books: chapter 1: The assasin"That won’t be enough.""It already was.""But it doesn’t hurt at all…""Because you have nothing to feel it with…""I can still see you.""Yes, when you die, you still have the awareness.""It’s like… I’m still inside my body.""It will change soon.""Yea, I see it now.""Goodbye! Mission accomplished."
I hate to sleepI hate to sleep. Those untold legends of darkness, who's shadow is greater than any earthly possesses. Those metaphoric forms of death, those impure resurrections of your (so believed to be forgotten) ground-shaking traumas, or pillars of menace in past or future.But these are not bad. These are milestones.The real deal here is: Whenever I decide to set my eyes shut, I order my world of aware to go stop. I jump, shake my body, back to reality: "Where's my world, where's me?" I ask ‒Before my conscious world will fade to black.But what all this mess for? Why do I do this, when all Untouchable's treasure, land of wonder is there?Because it's a metaphor: it reminds me of how I did, or would close my eyes in reality.
Fire against fireIf you had enough from black, than you have to find something that is not black.
AdaptationWhen you see someone love who you hate, open your eyes big, so you can learn how to.
StressSpikes and wiresRasp the skin underneath.The Intestines:Paper crumple.
EmotionCan only reflect what's inside.
Bullied On Our Friendly Website DA There was once a two authors on a website that wanted to let their opinion out.But a famous author set to put them out.She took the flame of these little author’s hearts making them burn from blue to red.And here’s what she said,“Your little fire shall be extinguished because I want you to get the Fuck Out!”The tiny authors wept and cried.Wondering was it because they picked a side.Maybe if they had gone with the flow of everyone elsethey wouldn't have suffered being a different self?The small male author thought it was too much to handle and left.But the dainty female author stayed behind. HoweverThe light within her grew dimmer and dimmer.And its glow became barely a shimmer.Her originality became to be like everything else she owned: plastic.She wasn't real anymore; just another author following the trends.All hope was lost.No one to come save her.Sadness reigned within her, making her shallow and pale as Frost.Not
Suckerpunch SweetheartRed lipstick war paintEyeliner eyes.I am a soldier in my own war;A force split in two sides.I am a force of natureBring about my own raptureAnd I’ll bring you to your knees.Say pleaseLittle girl lost.Cut off my hairCut into my skinPretty princess girlCardinal sin.Let me inLet me in.Sugar in my veinsAnd poison in my heart;I can turn bloodInto a work of art.I won’t go there againWon’t do itI won’t.HandsA sea of handsAnd andsIn my head.A universe inside.Dead.Icy skinFiery eyesNobody knowsJust what's inside.
V o i c e sThese whispers in my head,trying to push me to the end.All I want is to go home,but then I remember,I've always been alone.
he/himsomeone came out to me recently, asked me to usehis correct pronouns when we’re alone,but says whenever i’m over at his home,‘please could you switch back to the wrong ones? i don’twant my parents to know who i am.’ so every time i sit at their tablefor mashed potatoes and peas, i listen to a father askinghis son how her day was and i hear him start to think that he’s aloneand i watch every wrong word they say strike like an axe intothe trunk of a young sapling who’s juststarting to grow into his own.i know they don’t know better, but it’s hard notto hate them when i am censoring every word i saybefore it comes out of my mouth, changing secrets intodinner time conversations, because a boy does not feelsafe enough in his own skin to come clean about somethingas pure as the foundation he has been built upon.later he tells me that he wishes he were strong enoughto just tell them, but he knows his father stillhas the c
absent resolvei.i cradle my hopewith both hands,as if holding it closewill give it the warmthto stay alive.when you come nearit flares and rustles,begging to take flight;yet i am both caressand cage.ii.we have confused our signals,mixed our drinks andnever together.closure looms ominousbut i would rather forgetthan be caught in thisluminous void ofperhaps -iii.i am weakand perhapsyou are blind,we, silent,are nothingperhaps we could beeverythingif only we spoke.iv.enigma,you have unknowinglytwisted yourselfin helical fundamentalsabout my identity,shaped me inabsence andthe embers ofa chance.i wish i knewwhen to releasethis frail hope.v.we're both drunkand you're shaking,caught in a momentneither here nor now.entwined fingersbring you back tothe present, and i lingerbut you are eager to eclipsethis vulnerability,so you run.vi.i'm too afraid to ask,but at least the question'sanswered:we're both cowards.
bound in retrospectpart i.let's talkabout wreckage and dreaming,about nights wept weary,and how city limitscompress to claim youwhen you run.let’s talkabout slippingaway early mo(u)rningand choosing dark over light;how eventually i stoppedwishing upon starsbecause really,what’s the point.let's talk;there is no true wayfor someone this self-consciousto let loose streams ofconsciousness,but i'm trying.interlude: youyou,you are an immersionheartbeatracing down my spine,along vertebrae as ifthey belong to youbut they shouldn’t,not now.you,you are long-limbed eyelashes,a study in faux-reluctance.you are a cagei never could penetratealthough you never had much troubleignoring my reluctance;penetration became a gamei never won.part ii.let’s talk;this was never a love story,but add enough adjectiveand i guess it can bewhatever you want it to be.warped to your ideal,turn me to my better angleand hide the flaws;hide the fa
Can I Get a Receipt?I gave the worldto youand all I gotin returnis bloodied, mutilated wristsand a death wish.
twenty-sixgive me the ocean;let the salt nip at my skinand sand crush beneath my soles.throw me to the sun;char my skin to the bone.sink me under the depthstill my lungs start to swimthat weightless embraceis how i feel with him.
PianoAt night someone plays the piano in my living roomThe song is mournfulAnd I hate it, the feelings it wakes in meA stirring hungerI find myself yearning for somethingNameless, resonating, the music echoes throughThe house, like a warm memoryHauntingClinging to the empty hallways There's a void inside my chestResembling the handsOf another soul
FinaleMy world is destroyed.It's okay.My tears will goTo the exact same place.