"um... is he okay?"
"who knows? just leave him be"

"what a ****"
"he's alright"
"not really"

"what's his problem?"
"he thinks the world is out to get him"

do they think i cannot hear them?
whispering about me so blatantly

it's as if they've forgotten i have ears
or maybe they just don't care anymore.

if so, we're more alike than they'd care to admit
for i too have long since lost the ability to give a ****.

some family.

comparing bodies
a (never) once (never) over
from across the room
sizing you up, i have
such a kink
for everything your body is

such a kink
for comparing you to me

such a kink
if kinks were self esteem

such a kink
for everything i can’t be

but **** do i feel good
when your body covers mine;
being blanketed
in hopeless aspiration,
it feels sublime
this perspiration,
when i can’t feel the weight of what i lack

only the bulk of what you’ve got

all i want to do
is preach

about how much i don't care

like maybe
if i say it enough times

these idiots might finally believe me

at most, i'm sleeping my demons away
or so i say at three AM
another night spent awake

well i guess i'll never be lonely
shoulders perfect perches
for perilous shadows

oh hold thy holy rosary
beads between bitten fingers;
abandoned God forever ago

but sometimes religion
clings like a second skin
and it's nice to talk to the silence

on my knees
for sin or saints, to please or plead
i'm a fifty:fifty on morality

church pews and statues,
but if i don't believe, they can't hurt me
the devil can't do me harm

i abandoned confessionals
when it became clear to me
that apologies mean nothing when you

repeat and repeat,
unrepentant, really
'least i can do is be honest

and say to you
whoever's listening
i'm not sorry for existing

sometimes i hear your laughter in my head and it sends shivers down my spine
it’s two am and i’ve lost count of all the ways to say “i love you” with the swell of panic throbbing in my throat, my chest
i love you and i’m not ready to try again
i love you and i’m not sure about the proximity, how much distance i need to keep so adoration doesn’t devolve into dispute
i love you and i can’t quite figure out the ways in which i do
i love you

it’s half past two
there’s a war trapped behind the bars that jail these flower spitting sponges i call lungs
and someone is dangling the key a touch too far out of reach, my heart a nervous flutter of don’t-break-in and
wow-your-head-feels-right-on-my-chest even if i can’t breathe properly
i have roses in my windpipe and my lips are stained rouge
you’re playing loves me, loves me not with the thorns clenched between my teeth

we swapped slurry sentences in a smoke garden haze and
i remember the exact path from your brow to your mouth, travelled by my wanderlusting eyes
the shape of it slotting sweetly against mine, nicotine and gin and the relief of feelings freed
so now, in sober sunlight, away from drunken darkness, i am afraid

your eyes hold storms of unspoken conclusions that you’ve yet to say
but my anxiety has already heard and i am afraid;
when i shift my centre of gravity to sit down to earth with you, lines of my body aligned with yours
the unyielding firmness of your limbs makes my head ache and i am afraid

i look at you and fret that all those feathery words, softly spoken and taboo
were just old thoughts, splintered fragments of a past affection reminisced into a fantasy by one too many and close proximity,
just retired comforts woken from sleep in the wake of recent heartbreak

my buddy keeps me chained to the bed
he's like a dark shadow, consuming and-
and my pal, the one that's there when i look into the past,
thinks that he can be a good friend;
they double team me, pin me down,
choke me 'til i feel sick
'til tears leak from shadowed eyes.
it's one hell of a *******, let me tell you
i barely leave the bedroom
i've barely left the house in months

see my last lover cheated on me
so i'm sticking to friends with benefits now—
they don't mind sharing me
and sometimes they invite more chums along.
i'd give their names but you'd lose interest;
nobody wants to talk about my love life
once they can put faces to my promiscuity

all this company
and i'm alone as can be
did you know it's been over three months
since anybody touched me?
since i touched anybody else?
"what about your lovers"
they're teases, really—what else could drive me to tears?
i shed three today
i think they call that growing

but i could still see his shadow behind my eyelids
hear his voice inside my mind
and then i was three years old again,
no lovers, no threesomes, no gang bangs
just screaming and tears and
"big boys don't cry"
'daddy, i'm three'
his new girlfriend washes me clean
'why is daddy angry?'
"let me shampoo your hair, there's sick everywhere"

back in the moment and i'm eighteen years old
i taste acid in my throat.
there's a broken bowl.
another lover━this one cool and callous and uncaring━
she comes and sweeps me back to bed;
she's efficient like that,
i no longer care if i'm living or dead.
i still feel sick but-
i'm fine. all these friends slash lovers
it's okay because they're mine.
you don't know how much it means to a lonely child
to have something he can hold onto,
to say, "i'm gonna live with these guys for the rest of my life."

you are chaotic, and beautifully broken
standing stoic and silent
but the earth thrums with your screams

there is no romance to be found in pain
fret not about idealism and misconception;
i know how you suffer

but there's so much love in you,
you could make the soulless feel again
too much passion for you to know what to do with

never shown enough compassion to understand
that your mind, ill as it may be, is gorgeous
you are not awful, but awe-inspiring

hard work wears you down
but your hands are still so soft;
they were meant to be held, and kissed

you were born to be adored
and feared and wanted, to confuse with your complexity
so that only the best of people will stand with you

side by side with you, with open eyes
and open arms and open hearts
there is war in your chest and these friends will bring you peace

the world has, since birth, shown you destruction
volleyed hatred and scorn in your direction
but here is its reconciliation:

these people that love you are soldiers
ready to help you win the wars that explode in the spaces between your ribs
they will help you breathe, and smile, and sleep

i don't know when i started putting everybody else before myself
it was probably back when she called me obnoxious, or when he started ******* behind my back
or when you told me i was too absorbed in my problems, that i needed to "get my **** sorted"

i thought i was, in all honesty

i didn't realise it was such a crime to be open about therapy,
that talking about my problems was selfish of me,
that's what they tell you to do in therapy:
talk, think, open up, discuss
was it wrong for me to practice honesty about what's haunting me in your company?
maybe you just didn't want to know about that side of me
and maybe that said more about you than it did about me
but by the time i'd come to realise that much
it was already too late, and the doors had been shut

i have this one friend - she worries about me
she knows how many stories i listen to, how many walls i'm breaking through
she tells me that my health is important
i know this
but it's like it doesn't matter
not when it's me
i tell everyone that they need to look after themselves but i don't really care about my own well-being
maybe those rules just don't apply to me
maybe i'm a hypocrite, or perhaps self-loathing is a good excuse

i just want to help those who come to me
my self-employment doesn't make me any money
perhaps i'm the one paying the price
but it's okay because i know i've saved lives
that's not to say it doesn't wear down on me
my career is short-lived compared to those who practice this professionally
but i can no longer remember what it was like before i started offering arms and shoulders and pieces of my heart
without taking the time to replace the parts

i get thank you's every once in a while
i tell them, "honestly, it's never a problem"
"never" is a lie
but i wouldn't admit that, no, really, it's fine
i don't mind offering my support and advice
my insomnia means sleep is a rare gift and it comes at indecent times
but if you call me at four AM, even if i was asleep i'll stay on the line
sleep might be a gift but i'd rather preserve the gift of life

sometimes i ask myself how many times i'll have to talk down a loved one from suicide
my heart, with abandon, beats a hopeful rhythm of "never", and my mind whispers "that's a lie"
i recall to mind being thirteen, maybe fourteen years old,
curled into the bed post, night light shining
tears blinding, stinging my eyes
an arm-full of red and a yearning inside
that murmured "one more time and everything will be fine"

i swallow down the acid, even though it burns,
and force my leaden tongue to form assurances and love letters that speak of better days
so many of them have no idea how close i came
they don't need to know about that trigger
just another loaded gun
i'd rather them point it at me than have them aiming for themselves

i just want to help, make them know they're not alone
let my voice ring in their ears, "you will never be on your own"
have my friendship swimming in their veins so they no longer need to bleed
all those demons flooding their arteries will make no match for me
and when it all gets too much, i'll scream into some empty void
let them pour their sadness into me while i'm spewing out my own
i'm strong enough to bleed and carry on being what they need - they can spill their tears all over me, i promise it won't finish me

i'll ignore the salt in my wounds that shakes me to the bone
let them bury themselves inside these broken ribs and find a place to call home.

as if he knew
the peculiar pictures
behind my eyelids,
sleepless in sleep, ******* bruises
so bittersweet
to dream of you still
i hate you so much
and not at all, all at once

never trust him again
and he... he still misses me
he trusted me—he TRUSTS me
he trusts my steady quiet and
my shaking hands and
this and that of me
i missed him, i think
maybe, distractedly
but not really

only in a lie
and a liar isn’t me but
he makes me speak them so
since my honesty would hurt him
earnest and afraid, my admission:
i do not want to touch
his emotions
and so to curb the awkward truth
i missed him
and none the wiser

i’m not quite the boy
that i used to be:
i give up on people now

do you remember
the boy you used to see?
he’d never stop clinging,
white knuckled and
bruising

this is the new me
still fighting but
living, too; breathing
without asphyxiating
under the strain of holding on

it’s bitter but it’s sweet
no more dedicating time
to fixing other people mind’s
and forgetting about mine

these shoulders are yours
i’m listening to your words
and these eyes see you

i am still him
that soft and sleepless boy
but now a man, grown

i will love you
but i will love myself too

i need a starting line so i can finish this
tell me where you end
and i begin
so i can map out the joins in our souls
and i can cut them off

emotional amputee,
the feel of your absence trips me up
but i'll learn to live without you
because i have to
and i'm stronger than this, than us

the stories i've spun━fantasy, make believe
trying to make myself believe
that there's a version of this hopeless chronicle
where the ending is happy

but we both know
i'm ******* chronic

pull the trigger.
i'll kick up the dust, a sprinting start
as if running away from problems
has a podium, has medals, prestige━
i could win the whole world
but never the spark in your eyes;
i'll never be rewarded by your lovesick smiles

so many sunsets i watched
trembling below the horizon
and wished the earth would **** me up the same,

the rush of blood in my veins,
louder than the speeding cars
drag racing through streets
and i thought to step out into the road and
let them rush me to other realms

where maybe
my fantasies
all of them, the happy endings
might be a reality

the worst part of hating you
is how i know that i don't
not really, not truly.
only in moments,
a kind of hatred matched
only by senseless love

hatred inspired by anger
and pain, and
“******* for making me feel like this,
for making me feel this way,
making me feel so deeply—
for making me feel at all.
for making me feel. period.
*******”

i don't like feelings,
and, sometimes, i don't like you
though i will always love you
and that's the truth
so ******* it, *******

you hollowed me out
like a bongo drum
then hit me 'til your hands
were the only things i recognised
and filled me with the sound of you
and gave me a heartbeat
painful and stuttering

i lost my rhythm,
getting lost in you.
so i hate you, i swear i do
but i just can't hate you
as much as i love you
and that's the grinding truth

he tells him he's missed him,
even though that makes no sense at all.
a smile lights up his features as he looks upon him,
hands gripping in just the right places,
firm squeezes that say: i've missed this, touching you

it only reaches his eyes because he's such a good liar
(but he does miss touching him, all the time.
loves him even when he hates him.
loves him even though he never misses him.
loves him even though he could replace him
without a second thought.)

honest where it matters, of course,
enough to convince them all
he's the epitome of truth
then later, lying through his back teeth, easily,
like chewing his favourite sweets,
no difference in expression:
insincerity masked by a perfect illusion of sincerity

"what reason would i have to lie to you?" he asks
"i don't need to lie to you; i don't care about you"
because everyone knows
the best lies are saved for loved ones
as we manipulate ourselves into believing
"this is for the best"

he tells him he's missed him,
even though that makes no sense at all.
clothes shed, a trail to the bedroom,
a private place where both can be themselves:
here, he's genuinely honest
stripped bare in more ways than one.

he tells him he loves him,
and it makes perfect sense
even though his love is tainted, empty;
better to say he cares,
but that's love for him―
as close as he'll ever be.

he smiles when he hears it,
"i love you too",
and this time it reaches his eyes,
even though his heart
doesn't race
like a lover's would.

is this what heartbreak feels like?
i can't remember
if i've ever felt it before

my chest feels like
something knotted
too tight, too much,
unable to be undone

it's under my ribs,
sitting soundly beneath the sternum;
it's in my throat,
like a lump i can't throw up

it's the pincers squeezing
at the back of my eyes
trying their best, though still failing,
to make me cry

it's supposed to be a good thing
that we moved on,
that you rid me from your system

i thought i rid you too
but the confirmation of your fresh start
has made me feel
like i'm getting nowhere fast,
nowhere soon

i've no right to be so undone,
lost the right to hurt for us
a long time ago, but

i guess heartbreak doesn't give a ****
about time or circumstance
it shatters you when it pleases,
and you don't know
if you can fix together the pieces

fingers curl into loose fists,
grasping softly at the frigid air in hopes of
feeling the temperature change.

january, i adore you.

a fresh start, a blank slate: one entire year
of endless possibility.
january, you are freezing;
but with you comes change.

i love you, i do. but please excuse
the way my hands hold out
to grasp at March’s warmer breaths

i, too, wish to breathe a new life
warm and
full of sunshine

and so they tell me,
"you don't deserve nice things"
well perhaps I'd be
inclined to agree
but here's the deal:
when **** gets real,
I don't give a **** what you think of me

and you're over the sea
so why should your opinion bother me?
I've dedicated far too much time
to two-faced, self-serving
insert profanity that rhymes;
if you don't love me,
that's fine
I'm over wanting people to be mine

"oh, read this, George thinks he's so cool"
no, not really
I'm just refusing to be some tool
that you think you can use.
oh, you miss me?
***** you, you ******* liar
I'm no ******* fool

grades aside, papers don't matter:
even if I'd failed school
I'd still have more brains than you,
so spin your lies
and think you're clever
but I've seen through them all
and I'm so much better
than you realise,
ah, your blind eyes

egotistical? maybe sometimes
just a little,
but at least I don't con the people I call friends
and when I say I have their backs
I have them 'til the very end.
see here's the ******* truth:
I'm always ******* honest,
so to stick to my word,
here's something I want heard:

I'm not gonna miss you, your stupid ways, or your empty words

when he laughs, and that tug of lips,
the smile lines of his cheeks
they spark a flutter in my chest,

a butterfly blushes at his sunflowers

all those happy sounds
that brighten the garden within me;
i can have a summer in december

and honey soft eyes drink me deep
granting me ambrosia
for a long and peaceful sleep

in his arms i feel at ease

asked this blue thing 'bout how it feels to feel,
see, i can't grammar correctly
incoherent with emotional controversy, i believe
that my humanity is now a political catastrophe
******* it, stop policing me.
dare i live my life without an explanation, how?

rearrange the order for my indignant tones
just as you misinterpret every other word

an answer to every probing curiosity--a light word
for the darkness in your intentions.
speaking in tongues, how is it that this isn't over yet?
i'm getting ... inconsistent, irrational, yellow
like sparks flickering, a pinwheel of doubt

and red for the spin of insecurity, insincerity, breaking
the protocols for social interactions,
because you tell me i am not allowed to feel, i feel

scared.

the weight of all my previous selves
is perching at my back
if i look slumped, not steady
i’ll be fine, it’s just temporary
maybe. hopefully.
i feel so heavy

is there a future me ahead
or will i finally settle?
when i know me, when i’ve found myself
will it be set in stone
bricks and mortar
whispering promises of home

or do i wash away again
like mud on concrete?
if the rain pours, i slip away
but then, but then
it’s okay! because then, then
the sun shines on a stronger me beneath

so i think myself finally whole because
i can hold the weight of the world
i am concrete.
i am washed away.
i am resurfaced clean, if bruised,
a pathway for all to find steady feet

‘til the cracks in the concrete reappear
‘cause i know, i know
i’ll let you walk over me,
that somebody will plant a seed in me
the roots will shove up and up
break through me
‘til shattered but still existing is all i can be

i am constantly remaking myself,
constantly being remade.
is anybody anybody
if we’re all endlessly changed?
this sense of self i have this day
i have no faith that it’ll stay

how many drill bits to the brain
does it take to make concrete fall away?
how many new faces
‘til a man, this man, that man, the man
‘til I go insane?

this is an open letter
for me to be able to say
i just don't think i can do this
anymore, because...
i just can't do this anymore

if i'm pulling away,
it's because i think i ****** up
or it's because you did
but i'm too self-loathing
to think i deserve an apology

you think you're so cool,
because you support
all the good causes
but your self-declared integrity
and morality, and importance--

it's all meaningless;
you are a ******* bully,
whether you realise it
or not,
the kind of kid that says
"i hate hypocrites,"

as you preach about trust
whilst lying
through your razor-sharp teeth;
you tear through others
like slabs of meat,
a ruthless carnivore
indulging on others' self-esteem

i can't do this anymore,
can't pretend your words
are water off my back,
**** it
if i wanted a shower
i'd go to the bathroom,

i don't need a shower
i'm already clean,
but you?
you're filthy, you disgust me
but i love you anyway
and that's why i can't do this

i'm sick of loving what makes me ill
so i'm not gonna talk,
not gonna listen,
not gonna offer myself up
for you to dig your knife and fork in.
i'm done with this.

you will drown, you will drown
you will drown
and i only like you for the taste
of blood in my mouth

you will drown me, you will drown me
you will drown me
and she sees it, too
the way you **** me under your skin

oh, darling, you're gonna burn
i'm already burning;
i think it's time you joined me,
searing sunlight smiles sparkling, laced

with plasma, ichor,
these white teeth take a bite
and i remember you're mortal
for the copper tang on my tongue

i only like you for the taste of blood in my mouth
i only like you for the taste of blood in my mouth
i only like you for the taste of...
there is no taste to describe the feeling of falling in love

i wish i could lie to myself better,
maybe it'd make me more convincing
when you tell me you love me
and i say i don't love you at all

i felt it
right up in my feet
from the floor above
when you
slammed that door

i felt it
rattle my ribs and
shake my bones and
rattle me
to the core

i felt it
in my chest when
you said you were leaving
and i think
i got internal bleeding

i felt it
who am i talking about?
i felt it
what am i talking about?
i felt it
who are you?

i felt it
when i lost any
sense of who you
are and
what you mean
to me

i felt it
when you ruined us
and i felt it when
you touched
my soul
just to rip it apart

i promise you
the pills you swallowed
couldn’t possibly have tasted
as bitter as the resentment
she must’ve felt
knowing you put your life in her hands

you could not ruin yourself
as much as you’ve ruined her

i know you deserve the universe
and i'm just a star,
burning bright but burning fast
burning out
a cold cluster collapsing in on itself,
a black hole;
i will **** you in,
bend and break your light
and swallow you whole
'til you're as lost in me as i am in you

i know you deserve the universe
and i'm just a star,
burning bright but burning fast
burning out
a could cluster collapsing in on itself:
i'm not enough.
pass me by, seek your galaxies
it will be enough for me
just to feel you in my orbit
at least once
before i implode.

i feel better
when my bones threaten my skin,
stretching it,
pushing against it
like they're about to burst through

i love myself better
and like myself more
when i stop taking care of myself,
just like i did before

and you can call this a relapse
but i'm tired,
tired and tired of being tired,
tired of hating myself

so when i skip a meal,
don't coax food into my mouth:
all i'll want to do
is spit it back out

i won't drop as far this time,
just enough that
my shirts hang
away from my chest again,
away from my stomach

i'll be high
on self-love
when i treat my body
with the resentment i feel towards it

oh i'll be healthier
when i'm unhealthy

i'll be happier
when i'm skin and bones

god, i forgot what it felt like to love you freely
without denial, without repression
just plain, simple, acceptance.

last time, though free, it burned
my wings on fire
and so much for flying.

but now i love you
with an ache inside for how i somehow
miss what never was,
never—but almost. almost.

i love you from a distance,
love you from afar
with a gentle sort of pain
that i don't so much mind anymore

it's kind of comforting
soothing in its familiarity

i guess i didn't forget how it felt
to love you freely
not in this way, at least
because this?

despite occasional jealousy
and anxiety-wrought anger

this... this is new. and it's
okay. good.
better.
like a balm on sore wounds

where before you scorched me,
now i just feel warm
and solid. whole.

certain in the knowledge
that this, undefinable as it may be,
is a love that will define me
without consuming me

and i love this love
i love you
calmly now, a little sadly
but mostly
liberally, easily

freely

what a thing
to fall in love with life
anywhere
except the city of your birth

the night slipped by in blurs that later i’ll only recall as
weakness, salted and sticking,
suffocating symphony
of strangers’ scorn and lack of sympathy
when my emotions took ahold of me,
and let me fall apart
exposed, like a nerve, raw and throbbing

why’d you come to a singles party with a soulmate?
ah, i didn’t think you could see
the ghost that lingers,
ghost of all the things he did to me
clings like lovers’ fingers gripping tight and bruising flesh
this time, i’m not moaning
there’re no marks on my skin, just

pain i can’t cherish and
i must confess
you felt like the devil but you looked
like a god, and how
i couldn’t comprehend the correlation
between the face of an angel wearing the sneer of beast,
as your serpent tongue did intoxicate me
with equal measures of lust and loathing
for both myself and you, our
relationship like my stubborn swallowing
of stomach turning tequila
just to prove something:
i can take the burn
put on a brave face so you can’t see how much i’m restraining

i’m not afraid to say it,
i need it out there so the world knows
how much i love you and how much i treasure you,
and how i’m not ready for you to go
but you deserve to be free of pain
even if life won’t be the same

i’m so thankful you kept your daddy happy
long enough for me to meet him
and that you two shared so many memories
so many journeys, so many stories
and i’m so thankful you became my baby girl too,
that the memories you two had together
are memories you let me see,
and so thankful i have my own memories of him and you and me

i’ve loved you dearly, even when you were naughty
and i’ve loved you as you were happy, playing with the hose
i’ve loved you as you sun bathed
and as you’ve cuddled with me in the cold,
and i’ve loved you as you ate treats
and got excited for fresh meat,
i’ve loved you jealous of the new puppy
and i’ve loved you bright and smart and sneaky

and i love you now as you tell me you’re ready to go
and i’ll always, always love you, more than you’ll ever know.

We don't talk much anymore;
It's like a rift grew between us
Not overly large, but significant
Enough to make me feel cautious
About trying to bridge the gap.

Last time, you were angry with me
For trying to speak to you after so long
And I guess you made me nervous;
Every time I try to lay a brick,
I fall off the foundations of a bridge
Too weak to support all this anxiety

But how was I supposed to talk to you again
Without starting up a conversation?

That's why we're here, now―or maybe
It's all in my head. Who knows?
I don't know; I just feel it, this abyss
You're on the other side and I'm torn
Between looking to you and looking down

So maybe we're still best friends
Or maybe you think I'm a total ****
And honestly, I really was just busy
And sometimes just too depressed
And sometimes just too exhausted
But it's not like you made an effort either

I know we're still friends;
Maybe I'm projecting, maybe I'm paranoid
But I feel like you're angry with me
Or disappointed―not sure which'd be worse.

I still love you even if now you only like me.
Tell me I'm wrong; tell me I'm an idiot
Tell me we're as tight as we were two months ago
Or is it three now? You know I'm **** with time

Tell me I'm wrong.
It'll be the first time in my life where admitting it would be beautiful.

don't tell me to stop while you're asking for more
i don't know how to say no to you
please stop crying over me, i'm sick of being the bad guy
i don't know what's right and what's wrong
'cause i'm feeling both every time we're close

when we're so intimately intertwined and
it's like every breath you breathe is mine
your heart thumps like a bass drum and my veins shiver;
every arch of your spine
is a momentary ascent
that reminds me just how much closer you are to heaven than i am

i could never be good enough for you no matter how hard i try and
i've been feeling guilty for not being enough
every single day since i met you

you were the first of them all
to make me smile and laugh so much

you were like a sister to me,
and beautiful in so many ways

your voice was one i could listen to for hours
and your art awed me

i can't listen to Halsey
without thinking of you singing her songs—not a perfect voice,

but still brilliant, with something earthy to your tones
that had me feeling grounded.

well, on some level you turned out to be
just as bitter and spiteful as me

who knew? i didn't see our end coming
until you two ended and i was stuck in the middle

your anger made me angry;
your salt turned me into an ocean of disdain

i hadn't been quite as hateful over anybody
as i had been over you, for a very long time,

and it's been months, but now
i can finally think of you without any resentment

you're complicated, and perhaps a little broken,
but so am i

you're not as mature as you once seemed,
but, at times, neither am i

you're still talented, and you deserve good in your life
more than i do

so even though you'll never read this:
this is me, doing something i rarely ever do

this is me, wishing you well
and making peace with something shattered

instead of letting myself bleed over it.

in love, yes
with people, no

more inclined, i think
to fall for experiences

and animals and trees
and the taste of coffee in the morning

and the feel of accomplishment
after a long night spent writing

in love, i am
with maybe some people

no one personal,
two idols at most

in love, yes
with people, no

more inclined, i think
to fall for the sunset

and a relieving gust of breeze
on a humid day

and the art hung
on the walls of rustic cafes

in love, yes
with no one in particular

in love with life
even on days spent wishing for its end

a toxic sort of love, perhaps
perfectly suited for the likes of me

chemically imbalanced,
in brain and body

god, words, where do you start?
when i get like this, i just write my thoughts
is that the same as speaking from the heart?
what heart, what heart?
this thing that beats against my ribs
i'm sure it's just a hollow shell;
pumps blood and oxygen
allows me to live through this hell
but there's nothing more to it
i'm not doing so well

do rhymes make pain sound simpler?
i have a bad habit of using them when i'm heartbroken
rhymes are used to undermine meaning, according to my old English teacher
half rhymes and nursery rhymes and rhyming couplets and sentences left open

to interpretation, to ambiguity, to aching wounds and clinical analysis
i'm thinking of pretentious hipsters and all my therapists as i'm writing this

"the mechanism which allows you to feel is broken"
it wasn't the best movie but that line stuck with me
i think the mechanism which allows me to feel is broken
don't worry, Harry, i know how you feel, Harry
i, too, use the adverb; i, too, feel badly.

the sharp things that cut me, the dull things that bruise me
everything i should feel is either absent or agony.
love, they say; let love in, she heals your thoughts and broken skin!
fickle *****, she is, what lies i've heard her spin.
do you love me when you lie to me, darling love o' mine?
do you love me when you trace your fingers over the nubs of another's spine?
love o' mine, love o' mine, that Touch was supposed to be mine,
divine, divine, beloved and reverent and MINE

it's a good thing i don't want to hold onto you anymore
the rope burns were finally sleeping into my core.
my god, these splinters, i'm bleeding from my fingers
as i try to reach out for something that isn't withered,
because the flowers that you bloomed are shrivelled and abused
i refuse to water them, give them life anew
does that make me a murderer?
well you murdered them, too.

it doesn't matter how friendly
or how affectionate
i may be with others

whether they're friends,
past crushes
or even past lovers

because my fingers
write sweet nothings
and my mouth might sing love songs

but for the past...
ever since that dream
it's been you all along

running through my mind
so much
i'm tempted to ask if your legs are tired.

did i just use a pickup line
in poetry,
one that's long since expired?

possibly, though i won't apologise.
i'm one of those old souls
always just a little behind;

but i don't mind being behind
if you're in front of me,
i'll enjoy the view

and no, that wasn't ******
i promise
i just enjoy looking at you

it's been a wild ride, one of those roller coasters that make you sick every time
but the thrill is worth the nights spent shivering over buckets at the edge of your bed
and you've given me more downward plunges than anyone has, anyone since her
but the crawl to the top was so slow that i thought i loved the drop more
i've always lived fast, too reckless, too uncaring of my own worth
and staring down into oblivion as it steamed and smoked was its own kind of drug;

as a kid i was scared of darkness but that ride made me feel alive
i just had to close my eyes when it got dark, but eventually i got so used to darkness
i didn't have to close my eyes at all, and it took me too long to realise
your drug was not a medicine, there were no doctors writing you down on a prescription
i picked you up from slumming with the wrong crowd and injected you into my veins
just like you tempted me to do so, and now i'm feeling low from living high

the cost of euphoria is way too much, and now i know i'm dying inside
it's in the unhealthy coping mechanisms and the days spent wasting away in bed,
the bruises under my eyes and the way i chew through half the fridge
then spend three days eating nothing but the grounds left at the bottom of a coffee mug
don't get me wrong, there were times where you and i were so, so good but the cost of
living high is a debt i'll be paying for the next twenty years of my life - if i survive that long

i love you
          i'm sorry
                    i don't know what i did

don't reprimand me
for doing as you do.

we both wear the wounds of warriors
on our skin like faded tattoos—

warriors, not survivors,
still fighting for our lives.

don't reprimand me
for doing as you do.

i know the bitter taste of hypocrisy
as well as you do;

we perpetuate these cycles
like we just can't help ourselves

and the way you speak of yourself,
some broken poem in love with its pain, hurts me

i will be angry, and i will lash out
i do not know how to function normally

emotions?
no thank you.

sociopath, little boy, *******, pathetic apathetic *******
what a ******* i am,

what does the label matter?
all of it overrides my love; you've made that clear.

what a failure,
always breaking the things i care about

like they cost nothing,
even though i feel the debt deep down.

i try, i try so hard to fix them,
to make up for sins that i didn't even commit

but

all i end up doing is adding my own to the list.

i feel very alone in these moments
where i don't know who to talk to,
don't know who's ready for me
or if there's anyone at all who is

times like these make me feel as though
i can help but not be helped and
i shouldn't complain, i'm not lonely
but i'm just feeling so lo

i tell my friends it's just my meds,
the dose just isn't quite right
but what if it's not? what if it's me
and my fear of vulnerability?

please, i don't want you to go
like all the others who came before
listened to me talk, answer their questions
then turned their back on us

i guess the weight of my problems
is part of the cause; i'll never cut
down to the root, because the mass
just sinks it further

and i guess the weight is part of the cause
they choose to sink or swim,
and away they go, fleeing fast
as i tread the water, breathing shallow

These days, I feel I've lost my spark
That flicker of creativity.
Well yes, I lit the candle;
I knew it was time for it to burn,
That eventually it'd burn out:
The dulling light emanating faint warmth.

But I think there's something poetic, too
About blunt truths
And being so honest it feels bland—
Bland enough to make you feel.

please don't shake me
'cause i'm bottling all of this up and i don't want to explode
i'm begging you to keep my cap sealed shut
tight, so nothing spills
i'm not capable of cleaning up after myself so let's just do everyone a favour
and avoid making a mess

i wanna go over there
edison's beautiful somewhere
i don't know where that is
but lately i feel as if
it's some sort of afterlife
and i really wouldn't mind

23:46 // 30.12.17

they say a child can grow up conditioning themselves
to forget
all the trauma they've experienced;
they say they quite literally push it
to the back of their minds, as a way of coping,
a way to deal with the pain―without actually dealing with it.

it'll all come crashing back, eventually
everyone knows that a dam is a temporary structure,
that eventually the chemicals in the water
will erode the wood and
break it apart

it all comes rushing in
and escapes through blood-shot eyes,
drooling, sobbing coughs and panic-slick wheezes.

i never fully managed to forget my father
though i'm sure there are things i don't remember―
after all, that's an awful lot of hatred
and anger
for only several incidents, and a lifetime of an alcoholic's neglect...
isn't it?

but you―you i managed to block out completely
to the point where i knew the phrase "emotional abuse"
but couldn't quite be sure why i applied it to you;
it was just something i knew
instinctively

how foolish it was for me to break the dam myself,
out of some morbid, masochistic curiosity:
"what did she do? what did she do to me? why?"
and then i remembered

all the sleepless nights spent reading to you,
lulling your insomniac mind (though not as bad as mind)
and soothing the supposed nightmares you had:
nightmares that you, conveniently, only suffered
when i was asleep―and i was hardly ever sleeping

all the memories you blurred between me
and your last boyfriend; all the ways
you made me feel like ****, comparing me
to a **** bag that cheated on you
and then lured you in again with falsities and
repeated apologies. you fell for it every time,
and i had to wonder: why am i not good enough
compared to that?

the way you asked me to watch you in the bath,
whilst you drew on your skin and told me:
"this is what i do to avoid cutting myself"
and i thought:
"i'm still cutting"
but i sacrificed my own stability to ensure your safety

******* martyr, i was
how disgusting to allow myself to be manipulated by you,
even after the hours you left me guessing out of spite
whether or not you'd burned your skin with that lighter
just because i didn't want to spoil your mood with my own

the holiday i spent in my dream city was spoiled
and stained and joyless, as you ****** the soul out of me
by burning images into my mind:
you and him, sharing a bath, looking after his family's kids.
why the **** would you do that to me?
more importantly, why the ****
did i let you? and still love you?

so many more incidents, so many more
broken promises and sick lies;
the way you hid me from your family
and only trusted me not to cheat because i'm demisexual;
you made sure i'd never emotionally connect with anybody else
and find attraction in them,
lest i move on from you and find another

one that wouldn't abuse me
like you did

just this
this is all i need
just this

orchestral symphony
my quiet solitude
cup of coffee

just this
none of that
just this

i don't
need you or
anyone else

just this
this is all i need
​​​​​​​just this

my body is not a line you can draw parallels to
i am unfamiliar, and distinct, all curved and cracked edges
i am not straight.

my body is not a line you can draw parallels to
but i'll still find a way to sketch our similarities, a comparison;
shirts off and tracing the patterns of conventional beauty
like a dot-to-dot that doesn't align with the mass of me,
all my dips and swells:
a child that can't colour inside the lines

sometimes the ***** of my nose makes me wonder
how often i must lie to myself,
and my reflection repeats "i'm a real boy"
and we repeat, and repeat, and repeat until the mirror breaks.

i am real.
breathing.
alive.

fingertips pressed to my cheeks, and then
squeezing at the flesh of my hips
i push and stretch and pinch
this way and that
messing, fiddling, curious and carping;
but when i'm done, i don't ... do anything
other than walk away

despite the critical caricature of my image
this is not a confession of self hatred, but in fact
the opposite is true.

this is self-acceptance.
this is love.
this is learning.
this is healing.

i didn't notice when i stopped trying to please my eyes
i just know that i did
and once i focused on me, not my mirror
i was happier with what i saw anyway

see, my scars are more visible in my eyes than on my skin, but
if you look closely enough
you can see the trajectory from despair to kindness
wounds dressed with watercolours, and smiles
and a promise that i'd give myself a second chance

and life got one too

"people are afraid to merge"
there's shadows on the walls,
stuck like glue
I've never seen anybody cling
so hard
the way shadows cling to walls
the way lovers might do

with significant others and
away from the crowds;
you're my hidey hole, my safety
my excuse
not to linger round
"come over," they say
not today, not today

they're loyal to these bricks
we made vows with anxiety
paint cracks and wallpaper
rips
but nothing will rip us
from these walls.
shadows, I see them clinging
for dear life
and not living

life on the freeway,
bet that's a fast one.
"people are afraid to merge"
standing out the top of a convertible
arms in the air
yelling, "I'm alive, I'm alive!"
and seconds away from tumbling
over the edge.
when his head hit the concrete
I bet his last thought was "finally"

i can't explain the way this makes me feel
i don't believe; you told me it wouldn't hurt me if i didn't
it still hurts me
so i let go, i let it leave
still it does me harm

and all those preachers
with their talk of gods and spirits
i only believe in one kind of ghost
the echo of existence
and demons of history
mine, yours, theirs

let it go, let it leave
but there's still movement in the mirrors
so drink my coffee like it's morphine
and numb the pain with sleeplessness
god forbid a nightmare come to life
stay awake
they'll do no harm

i dream of him in shades of blue
yellow, purple and green
and knuckles dusters do their job,
sweeping dirt away with a single touch
because i
am a filthy stain on your best gown.
he was being thoughtful, cleaning up a mess

it's all my fault, really
i inspire rage and discomfort
and i try to let go, but
i'm the one that needs to be left behind
and if you let me go, if you let me leave
i can't do you harm

don't believe in me,
believe in your ghosts
exorcise me, please, and maybe i'll sleep
no more morphine, no more bloodshot eyes
just a place to lay my demons to rest
bury them with my body
almost, i'd find myself blessed

touch me not, but also do
i hate your hands but i love them, too
proceed with caution, i know not how to trust
and when i say so: stop, you must
a brush of fingers might make me flinch
but if you give a mile, i might give an inch
i know i'm difficult, there's little to admire
but if you stay, you'll see through my ire
i'm trying to learn, to understand love
to figure out that touch isn't to be afraid of
i want to learn how to be in love
and i think you just might be the one
with whom i'll make it to the long run
so touch me now, i'll touch you too
because these eyes are seeing you
and i never want them to close again
i think you're my happy never end

dusk settles over the hilltops
and you find me
back resting against a tree trunk
wondering
"whose spine is sturdier?"
raising a cancer stick to my lips,
refusing to inhale after ******* in the smoke,
and i think
"coward"
and i know that i will never
be rooted;
i will never
stay loyal to one patch of earth
unlike this oak that supports me

holding the smog
between my lips
is a little more dangerous
than Augustus' metaphor
but it's sure as hell
less dangerous
than letting it clog my lungs―unless
storing it for a moment before exhaling
is likely to give me mouth cancer
instead of lung cancer

well, i've never been one for commitment
i think i'd rather spit
and pretend
that the tumour
is being expelled
than know there's something
deep inside
that grows every time i so much as breathe

oh, love,
what an illness you are
both of you:
the feeling, and the holder of that pet-name
no chemotherapy
is going to save me,
not now

i think i'll hand myself over
to ignorance
and wait for the problem
to go away

my immune system has always been impressive