I want you.
And wanting is heavy,
Breaking in waves and never drifting apart.
I want you inside me;
*** is the only way I know how to form connections.
Cheap and sacred,
Meaningless and potent.
I want you to know me.
See my sadness and loss and understand they’re not all of me better than I do.
I want you to fill me;
Glaring holes and gaping chasms.
Pour light into me and soothe absences I should know how to heal myself.
Fix my rot,
Want me though I’m broken and lacking.
See me, unfinished and trying and with eyes that should help but follow you,
And pick me though I am the devourer of worlds, already devoured more than once myself.
I want you, and the want is so heavy.
Though I don’t break apart beneath it, or anything else.
All I do is stand here, wanting,
And my wanting wants you.
Jul 29, 2021
Jul 29, 2021 at 1:30 PM UTC
Hold me.
Make me feel safe
And small
And hideable
Put your arms around me
So that the world can’t get past
Give me your care
And absolution for my needing it
Jun 30, 2021
Jun 30, 2021 at 1:23 PM UTC
I could burst with my feelings
for you. Like a balloon.
Filled with hot air, babe. Tssssssssshhhhh.
Jun 9, 2021
Jun 9, 2021 at 11:56 PM UTC
Unrealistically enamoured with you.
As in, we are an unrealistic pairing.
As in, if you ever /were/ to reciprocate my affection, we would both have to pray that my stupid crush-obsession turned into something real.
As in, before you discovered how emotionally stunted and unhealthy I am.
As in, maybe I can’t feel real things for other people, and maybe trying to touch you would only reveal you to be smoke.
Unrealistic, unrealistic, unrealistic, unrealistic, unrealistic.
As in, I think you’re wildly uninterested in me;
I think I’m the opposite of your type;
I think I confuse any type of fondness for a faint glimmer of hope;
I think I should ******* give up;
But I have an addict’s brain and it keeps chasing the idea of us round and around and around, wearing grooves into the earth.
As if by doing so I can tire myself out of the idea.
As if by doing so the cracks will bleed into reality.
I think I should ******* give up.
Apr 8, 2021
Apr 8, 2021 at 4:27 PM UTC
Ghost,
Tell no secrets of mine
And I won’t pull you into the corporeal.
Forget the taste of life I left on your lips,
The wine of my blood you drank as an offering,
The honey of my skin.
Speak not of what was given too freely,
Memories that should have suffered our same demise.
Ghost,
Speak not my name.
If not for me, then for fear that I know your name too
And how to use it against you.
Feb 16, 2021
Feb 16, 2021 at 1:15 PM UTC
Thunk, clack,
There is the sound of brick laid on brick,
Their harsh edges meeting as you build a wall.
P-R-O-T-E-C-T Y-O-U-R-S-E-L-F,
The Gameshow.
The audience knows when the lights flash to repeat the words.
Their enthusiasm is a bloodlust,
And you are just waiting for the blood mist,
A knife in your ribs,
Pain,
Betrayal.
So— THUNK, CLACK—
You build a wall.
Feb 15, 2021
Feb 15, 2021 at 6:49 AM UTC
Behind six feet of glass,
You watch the sharks swim,
And know that you would be left in ribbons by them.
But the water is impossible blue,
And you’ve forgotten wetness.
Your fingers tap—
Tap—
On the glass, considering.
For a moment,
You see cracks spiderwebbing.
For a moment,
You imagine the glass breaking, water rushing out.
You can see the sharks lying on the floor,
Gills fluttering futilely, bodies struggling under the weight of themselves,
While your clothes lie heavy against your slick skin,
Soaked.
But you think of their eyes, unblinking, uncomprehending,
Pained.
So you stay behind six feet of glass,
Forgetting what pain feels like,
Along with everything else.
Feb 2, 2021
Feb 2, 2021 at 2:09 PM UTC
1) We f*cked to be less lonely.
2) In unbroken silence, lips slowly fuse.
3) Strings at my wrists, tied inescapably.
4) Without speaking, I turned to stone.
5) Left ribboned, abandoned on the floor.
6) Behind glass, bulletproof, subject to unreality.
Jan 22, 2021
Jan 22, 2021 at 11:08 AM UTC
1. Head buzzing with recriminations, I’m lost.
2. Tired of abandonments, I left early.
3. A fork: the answer or unknown?
4. Stinging hornet knives slash ocean sharp.
5. **** you. Now ******** silence deafens.
Dec 5, 2020
Dec 5, 2020 at 1:16 PM UTC
Lingering past expiration dates,
the fridge smells
and you ****
Black clouds don’t lift,
they loiter, intruding,
circling the drain.
Dec 5, 2020
Dec 5, 2020 at 1:11 PM UTC