when I say I love you

your mouth twitches slightly,
barely opening and curling up at the sides
like your hair curls around my forefinger when its just you and me in bed

you'll lay your head on my chest sweetly and timidly,
looking up at me with those bambi eyes
while I completely forget that I hate eye-contact

I just love your eyes, your hair, your trembling slightly-open mouth

when I say I love you

are you trying to say it back?

I hadn't lost anything but a few coins
yet the grief overwhelmed me

a snake slid into my mouth slowly and ebbed down my throat

I could feel it drag itself through me
my body nothing but a means to its end

I pushed my fingers in after it to try and catch it, missing it

failed again by dull reaction time

I felt it writhe around in my gut
here was nothing I could do
to stop it from eating away
at whatever it found deep inside

so I poisoned it,
streetlights outside my window were glowing tenderly,
I watched my shadow's mouth fill up

pills first, then *****, then blood

I wanted that little imp slithering around in my insides to die

even if it killed me too

I notice your
subtle plagiarisms

it could be a word I used once

or my angels leap from
my head onto your paper

you'll change the name of 'angel'
to "you",
meaning "I"

it's never too obvious

but I see my influence
I see my thievery mimicked beautifully

the thing that holds me back
is
sensitivity

I'm too sensitive to light,
I can't stand outside in the sun
not for too long

like bright white hospital halls,
sickly, sterile strip lights

it's being hooked up
to the machine
that scans my brain
while a strobe light flares up
my epileptic heart

its car headlights
with their beams set to high
on tired pedestrian eyes

I keep my eyes shut tight
if I need to face the sun

the beams raining down on my
pale winter boy skin

it hurts to be out there
it hurts to look

I asked you who you were and what you like to do and you responded with a list of girls you want to ****

I asked what music you listen to and what TV shows you watch and you responded by telling me that the girl at the coffee store counter in the black coat with the dyed hair and dark blue lipstick probably had a tight *****

I asked you if you care that I think you're defined by the young girls whos names don't even matter to you as you drag them through the mud

I asked if you thought a woman is worth anything more than tight jeans and fully-made faces

I asked if you thought that a woman had something more to offer her legs and whats between them

and you told me to shut it with that feminist *******
and help you get that girls number etched into your bedpost

I don't write that kind of poetry
you know the type,
pretty flowing words that trickle down the page like a quaint little waterfall in a fancy garden
while daisies open themselves up with so much confidence
without any doubt

and I say something about myself without saying anything at all

the three dimensional poems that you could take a stroll through
and you can lay in the summer grass by the lake
you could get lost in the meaning

even though you're not so certain what the meaning is,
at least not for sure

no, I'm not so good at that

my words are more like...
running through the forest while it's dark and cold
because you want to get home and you're positive
you just heard something rustle in the dead leaves behind you

like telling your blaring warning signs to calm the **** down,
it's just an uneasy feeling

like telling the paranoiac to grow up and walk the **** pathway

it's shameful, annoying,
it's just some dumb feeling

no,
I don't write the sweet paintings kind of poem

I write my heart out into my notebook before I scribble it out and decide I had better not bother

my poems are regret-
regretting putting something good in my butchered understanding of art and words

every piece is the best I can do
and that's about it

I could write something about not being able to find the right words
I was honestly planning on it,
I'm not so good with language
for someone who calls himself a poet

nevertheless, I am a believer in definitions
and surprisingly enough
I like words

I dress everything up in adverbs and poetic devices
still,
usually the things that make me happy don't make very good poems

although I'd still like to try for you

immortalising this feeling in any descriptor I can pull
out to describe it

I like making things pretty, especially with words
like I make myself look pretty when I know I might run into you

on the off-chance that you might notice
I sparkle when I see you
it's not just the glitter, either

I'm not wearing any blush, it's all natural

there's this thought in my head
a foreboding that it might turn bad

just like I might **** you off so bad that
I start to look more appealing to punch than the drywall

having said that, it doesn't really matter,
I'm always scared

you wouldn't hurt me like that

I trust you enough
to fall asleep next to you
because I know I won't wake up with knife marks

I trust you enough to be vulnerable, to be mentally ill

to tell you,
I'm not a normal kid
I'm not healthy

but know that you're not just an extension of my recovery

you're not my ego-boost machine
or a stuffed toy for nothing but empty affection

I really like you
the things you do,
the way you talk so posh

I want to be with you
the way you are with me,
the way you're so sweet and patient

I want to be better with you
to not be so much

don't misunderstand,
I don't depend on you

I can breathe on my own
and my heart doesn't stop when you go home in the morning

but I'd much rather sync my heartbeat with yours

and rest my pretty little head on your chest while I fall asleep

flipping tables and throwing computers out of windows,
thats me!

I love breaking monotony up into tiny pieces

trying to jump out of the window
the carnage begins as you hold me back,

"don't ******* touch me,"

I scream so loud
like an air raid siren telling you to get to a shelter before the bombs start dropping

like a rattlesnakes jittering tail,
this is your warning

because if you don't let go

I'll break your ribs and your jaw

I want to keep every bone
that I've broken in a fit of rage

I want to wear your authority around my neck
like I do your teeth

I want to throw you into the bonfire

my peers cheering me on can be the wide-eyed children with sparklers,

I'll be the fireworks that you can hear blowing up from miles away

you can be the king that burns instead of of a guy

you can be the head teachers, my parents, the entire police department  

I'll be defiant
foul-mouthed
and disrespectful

I want to be the problem child

god knows
I love getting angry

I'll burn this school to the ground

it'll burn for days and days

I'm a forest fire

every step I take is arson

a 7 day
is the only day
I can get into heaven

46 times a year
(not including the whole of july)
I'm allowed to try

7, 17, 27

lucky numbers

I didn't think I'd make it through 2017
a year of free passes
to let the angels walk me down the aisle
and marry me to the sky

on a 7 day
they- the angels-
will calm my trembling and convulsing body
clean up all of my *****
take out the part of my brain that makes me feel bad
grab hold of my bleeding wrists and bandage them with feathers and love

they hold my hands
lifting me up by the grace of god herself
and 700 eyes emerge
out of every wound and pore in my skin

and I become
my own angel
my own god

I will become
my own holy number 7

my heart isn't beating
its dying and resurrecting itself with more volts than it takes to power a whole highstreet
a thunderstorm of rebirth-
of hope
and of faith

transmigration,
between the you I see and the you I think I see

I turned the volume down as quiet as I could,
like I was protecting a secret

like I was the one confessing
and you were the jury

before I think to press play I calm myself
control my breathing
and
read with stable, steady
dilated pupils

what you have to say

it buzzes around my chest like glowflies
and I think about your voice

and I press the button

and I feel the electricity,
the lighting bolts,
before
I fall down on my bed
while
the eye of the storm
passes over

and I can't stop smiling

If I let you into my temple, my personal church of the redeemed

I trust you to not desecrate the children's graves

I trust you to not take my good will for granted

keep me sacred, keep me holy
keep me from falling from grace again

never take my forgiveness for granted
never forgive me unless I have earned it

break my body into smaller and smaller pieces until I'm nothing but ashes

burn my church down, throw my symbols into the sea

and once again, rebuild my holy place

any old shed will do

I will rise along with the sun in the morning
and bless you with a kiss from the light

you
make
my
heavy
heart
feel
weightless

I grew up
wanting to be you
because you were
cool and mature

the cigarettes,
the alcohol,
the ***

the peak teenage life
that this little boy
idolized

and in the end
I did end up like you

but I realized you've always been
a scared, scarred child
like me

and the life that we chose
isn't really a choice

it's the curse that came
from an old man's ***** hands

and while you tried to wash it off
you dragged me into the bathtub

and your
beautifully manicured hands
were filthy

you grabbed my wrist so hard
you might have broke it if I tried to resist

I wish I had snapped my arm out from your grip
and shouted for my brother

but I didn't do that
I kept quiet

because I wanted to be cool like you

hurt me if you really want to

you can't turn me off

and I promise
I won't ever say no

there isn't anything my unclean body couldn't bare through gritted teeth
and hyperventilation

I'll have fun,
even if I don't like it
even if I try and cut the ***** memories out

because I really do like the bad feeling

the willing victim.
Stockholm syndrome?
no.
It's not a person.
it's the feeling I can't escape.

I like to hurt
and I like every touch to burn holes in my skin like I do whenever I get sad

I like each word to be sharp and venomous like a cobra
no-  
a boa constrictor, wrapping itself around my tender heart and choking it until the only thing beating is you-

or anyone.
I don't mind.

just make me cry and
I'll do whatever you say.

I don't want to be clean.

I know I'm not the best
but I'm pretty **** impressive

sure, yeah, I used to do those stupid violent things

and I still have those stupid urges to defend myself from an invisible threat
and the sinking feeling won't ever go away

and yeah, I was expelled because I was a bad kid

but I am a good student


I got a C in english.


okay, a C isn't so impressive but hear me out

an unmotivated, unmedicated, angry year 10

who missed every third lesson because

he was hiding from the gunshots he could hear over his literature teacher

crawling out of the classroom on his knees desperately trying to stay safe

curled up on the floor, crying

I thought I had died
or was going to die

I tried to **** myself a couple of days after

and nothing seemed worth it

but I sat down in the canteen

desks arranged perfectly like they hadn't been flipped over and over in fear of the looming threat of failure every ******* day

and I was shaking while I held that pen

and I wrote my stained soul and heavy heart and dried blood onto that test paper

and I got a C.

that C proves I still have worth-
even after all my academic failures.
and now?

I'm medicated, motivated,
dedicated

give me a chance to prove it

I'll be the best risk you'll ever take.

I choose my bad influences very carefully,
nothing malicious
nothing mean

hippies and faux-punk kids that don't particularly believe in anything
but being kind

the human aspects of addiction

sharing needles is a kindness, a generous gesture

the disease in my blood, addiction

along with the ***

friendship, comradary, its a wonderful hardship to bare with one another

its sad to be united over this,

but if we're going to ruin ourselves and die

at least we won't do it alone

don't try to tempt me out of bed with the promise of your body

your skin could never be as soft as my sheets

don't ever touch me, got that?

my body belongs in my room
in my bed

don't talk to me

don't even think about me

you all have filthy minds

don't taint me with your worry

I don't need you

all I need is my bed

I've lost my way with words recently, you know that
I mean, I stutter like a nervous wreck and the things I say are pretentious as all hell
but even so
you make me want to write something sweet and sincere
you make me want to shout ****** ******- my heart is beating so fast!
you make me want to laugh so hard we fall in the mud and even though we're filthy we keep on laughing like the morons we are
I want to be still for you, no more fits and no more tremors
but most of all?
I want to kiss you
and enjoy the simple pleasures of being two teenagers in love

I think a long time before i choose my words and once they're said, they're said.
I don't believe in editing. I don't believe in altering words to make them sound pretty.
if they sound disgustingly horrid or bland then that's fine- thats how they are
the ugly is still art
and in just being art, albeit a plain and boring or terrible piece, is something special
and it's something beutiful

and maybe this phrasing is bland or not that spectacular,
maybe these verses are too long or maybe I'm not using enough poetic devices and I could do with some more adjectives

but i believe in ugly art

because words that don't care how they sound and paintings that don't care how they look and books with boring covers are art after all

and art is ugly, bland, disgusting

but art, in its own terrible way

is beautiful

There was ***** and stolen cigarettes
There were long nights in her bed
There was a 10 year old learning about things he shouldn't know
There was secrecy, "our little secret"

She made me feel special
She was older and mature
This stuff was mature;
Even if it hurt
Even if I bled
Even if made me sick

I learned that a child's body is a play thing,
Locked inside a damp, broken toy box until it was to be used again
I learned that a child's mind was of little value without its sweet and soft body

No child ever came out of that house, that locked toybox  

A child died in that house,
Mind damaged beyond repair
But thank goodness it's body is still in tact
An empty body,
An empty husk of a child,
It's much easier to use

Without that body this child is worthless

His body was the scene of the crime that he was never permitted to leave

The home battlefield of a surrendered side shown no mercy by the aggressor

If he looks down for too long then the memory of ***** hands pressing on his throat and spreading his legs open return

There was nowhere he was safe

Impurity had burrowed under his skin

his insides had paid the price

I live vicariously through artists more talented than me

I steal their words, their look, their fashion

Their trends and their beliefs and their lives

Because I hate myself and my art
I hate my look and my fashion
I hate my trends and beliefs

And I hate my life!

So I've found it much more preferable to be a shadow of a great

Than the shape of something small and pathetic yet original

There isn't a creative bone in my body

I just replicate things that are better than me

I was shaking
staring at the damp cracked ground, avoiding your eyes at all costs

The weight of my thoughts pushing me over and making me hunch

I said a lot of dumbed down things that I didn't really mean
because I didn't think you would understand
or care, really

I did everything I could to keep you as far away as possible

"I'm just.. a tired person. Complex. I have a lot of things going on, yeah."

"Can you tell me about it?"

It kind of caught me off guard, most people don't try that hard to know me

"There's not much to me."
Simple, something I assumed you'd take at face value

"I want to know you.
Everything about you."

It scared me, like you were trying to hurt me or like you were trying to get some kind of twisted confession from me

I pushed those thoughts aside, because you aren't like that

With a slight chuckle I asked,
"Why on Earth would you want to know that?"

"Because I like you,"

I tried to avoid your face still,
But I couldn't help it

You must have had me under a trance

Every time you spoke my distance dissolved

"You okay?"

You smiled in the way that you do

I was smiling too

Then you took my hand

And for once in my life

There was no distance