I've been told that if a person is good, they don't make you want to drown yourself in acid.
not the case with you dear, never the case with you
They don't make your words and the sounds you lovingly emit from your mouth seem feeble
there you go again, fucking not listening, you just don't listen.
They don't draw red lines over your heart with felt tip pens, guidlines for the scalpel.
fuck off, just leave me alone and stop coming back to me.
I believe I have met good people, may good people, who have kissed bruises and handed bandages.
none as good as you, no one is as perfect. i never had you and you fucking ruined me
I would like to know, if I person is capable of being good, will I be capable of loving them?
my sister used to tell me
that april showers
brought may flowers
but it's nearly june
and there are no blossoms bursting through my ribcage
and the only thing that is
growing on me
is the harsh lumps of reality
fed in doses by sad old men.
and the only other thing
are your eyes
and the way your voice sounds
when I know you are lying
I would give anything
for the may flowers to be growing inside my head
instead of these poisonous thoughts
your eyes are blue
like the colour my old lover would paint her nails,
perfect long nails that
slid down my skin every night
as I tried to hold her so tight
that we'd become one
it never worked.
like the notebook I used to write my secrets in
I thought, as a bundle of self-hatred and five shots of vodka
prompted me to burn it in my mothers back garden
blue like the guitar my best friend used to play
beautiful and eye catching
and it produced the most ugly sounds at his fingertips
to begin with
then it got so beautiful people would weep.
he works in an office
and his hands make ugly words now
blue like the jumper my mother used to wear
the one that had been my fathers
and she'd borrowed it from him the day he drove his car into the lake
his mind somewhere I never want to go.
last month I put that jumper in the ground with her
blue like heartbreak
so many shades
i am a leech
and I have known this
for a long while
as long as I can remember
every bad thing I know in this world
I have taken
and let it soak into my skin
I have never been myself
I have always been a parasitic
piece of shit
trying to survive
Nothing is ever my own
I am a copycat
a sick fuck
a waste of space
I am no one
and I am everyone I have ever met
but I only seem to
perfect the bad parts
it's the worst cliche
but they've told me that
after seven years of trying
to find you in this world
any skin you'd ever touched
has left my body
all hair you ever
dragged your fingers through
in the dark nights
has been lost
and you never wrote letters
and pixels don't really hold your
the energy that bounced off
of your skin is still floating around
the world somewhere
but it's tainted
by lesser beings
they have told me that all
remnants of you
have burnt away
so tell me why I still feel your hands
and your lips
and your smile against mine
and hear your laughter
and your voice
tell me why you are here
tell me why you have left me
I stopped smoking cigarettes the day that I ran out
Of the walls that held me
I was so tired of people telling me things I didn't want to hear
so I closed my ears
and blocked it out with white noise
I screamed and screamed as I ran back up the field
and I was so mad at myself
because I was more afraid of love than I was of throwing myself infront of the trains
and I forgot how to write, too.
I hope I am forgetting other things,
Like the hopeless plans I have for my future,
and the hate embedded into my heart.
I'm not though because it visits me all day.
I wish I were afraid
of the things you're meant to be afraid of
the big leap
because you don't want to hurt
because you're afraid of doing it wrong,
I wish I could forget that it doesn't matter anyway
my friend used to kiss me on the cheek
she told me that hugs were an
overrated form of physical "hello's"
but she never wore lipstick back then
so it was okay
I used to take bigs steps and my mother would tell me not to
because it was boyish
and not elegant
and that stopped because now I have nowhere to go
and no desire to get there.
And my heart still hurts like the first time you spoke about me
and I still want to slash my wrists
like the last time you wouldn't meet my eyes
and we used to be friends
and there is no lipstick on my cheek
and there's no fucking compassion in your
poor excuse of a
i turned to the fifteenth page of your heartbreak
and laughed because at that point
you'd given up all pretence of being sane
your words were dead spiders pressed into the paper
painted black with the blood that pumped from his cold heart
and the aorta was used to keep the page
you spoke on the last page of how broken blood feels
like needles falling from your skin
and how those needles could hurt no one but you
and he embedded eight knives in your back
one for every pair of legs he lay between as yours were firmly shut
and you hadn't been the same since.
so now there are bullets worming their way through his soul
and deep into his future
his blood is as red as the rest of them
stop the lines and the
lies and the
and the words
and the feelings and the
of nostalgic evenings
and afraid of
Buy a train ticket
and kiss a boy
and tell a girl that you once loved her with
everything in you.
Visit the grave of your old self,
the one embedded in your mothers eyes and
overgrown by her thinning hair
do not leave flowers.
smile and cry
as though you are at the end of a film
when you board the train
and not at the begining.
But you cannot buy the ticket
and you cannot kiss the boy
because once you have kissed him
there is no where to escape to.
you cannot buy the ticket because you are a child
you cannot kiss the boy because you are scared
you cannot visit the grave in your mothers eyes
because she won't look at you.
hold on tight because soon
soon everything will fall to peices
like the eggshells you
break without regret.
I wish that I always felt
how I feel when I am drunk
Like there is hope
and art and music
and laughter in the world for me to see
and that it is very important that I see it
I wish that I could be joyful and
and easy going
but I am not
I want a boy to break my heart
"I love you"
and then laugh in my face
I want a friend
to leave their knives
embedded in my back
and ask me if I am feeling unwell
I want a relative
to turn away from me
as though we were not bound by blood
I want a reason
to be so
or I want it
to leave me alone
and end my constant guilt.
I have no reason
wait wait wait
who are you
how can i cling to life
when i don't know who you are?
you are little parts of many people
and it is difficult to shake
you are one person that i quickly
disentangle our limbs and wallow in
and sometimes you are me
and the only way to get rid of that one
is a blade
or a bullet
or a pill
or a flame
oh dear oh dear
why am i here
I want to pack a bag.
And fucking get out.
I want to buy a ticket
And regret nothing
And once I lay on a bed
And told a man regret was the worst thing in the world
For me to be feeling right then.
I do not know if I can survive
Of this skin
And these eyes
And this blood in these veins
And this sky above my head.
But I swear that
I am trying
I used to think that I was a mermaid
trapped inside my own bathtub
and I used to think that I was asleep
and violently try to wake myself
I use to have dreams and my reality was
a little bit warped and I miss it
I miss it
I miss not being a realist
and knowing that realism and pessimism is the same
and I miss
not following the rules
and denying that four-plus-three-is-seven
because I could.
In growing up I have become childish
then we don't speak the same language
I always thought
That I'd spend my life
Reading the same sad stories
And crying over the same sad endings
And I'd listen to the same heartbreaking songs
And shed similar tears for each note
That pulled something away from me.
I thought that someones sadness
Expressed in art
Pulled pain into my heart
Expressed in art
Breaks me, too.
And I don't know
If I have lost myself
Or found myself
In the tears I have shed
For such enigmatic beauty
I don't know if my heart is broken
Because it has withered away to nothing
Or if it is so full
Of pain and happiness
And everything surrounding and
That it will burst out of my chest.
I know that it is hurting.
i met a boy who
showed me all of his cards and
smiled as he took mine
fuck capital letters
or subdued suicidal ideation
sometimes the lines in my skin do too,
and it never lasts to
the weak sun-light
My legs itch with the need to run
and I tell myself
at three am
that I'll do it at six
but by that time
I've had an hours sleep
and three cans
of just fucking get through the day
so I'm tired of breathing deep
doesn't work but I've been a mess lately does
you tell yourself it's good enough and
want to cry as you let the inner poet out
for the nocturnal hours only
and then she dies in your sleep.
I used to dream
Of being surprised
and possibly somewhat delighted
and time after time
was let down
by my hopes.
But one day I was surprised
and possibly somewhat delighted.
and it has not happened since.
Nor do I expect it to.
And it hurts more now.
as one final
I bought a pack of twenty
because you always hated
the way the nicotine made my breath
and your mothers curtains
I wandered from place to nostalgic place
sitting on slides and swings
and half open lochs
and my bed and a darkened allyway
and the middle of a field
with a cloud of smoke against
the skin you once loved
my lungs but I didn't stop.
On a park
Beneath a tree
And I saved four for the
doorstep of your house
because I couldn't walk past
I was on the third
when you walked out
plucked the cigarette out of my
and placed it
smoke stinging my eyes
and kissed you hard
before telling you kindly
to go fuck yourself
and I retreated to my kitchen
when the remnants of you
made my heart