My mind is constantly fighting
To convince me
That I do not like writing as much as I thought I did
I still write because it's what I have been doing for some time now
Even if it doesn't make sense to me now or ever
I still do it
Because I lack purpose
And I don't know what makes me happy
So I write fighting my mind
constantly giving up and then resorting
To pen down what I don't feel in a moment
People tell me that I can write
And then I tell them it makes me happy
But the truth is it makes me less miserable sometimes
A feeling of puking out my acidic thoughts on the table
That are underlined with fear of these people
I try not to care about my mind or the overactive people in it
And I blot words like I have a lot of time and money...
Someday, I'll stop because words come to those who seek it not survive on it.
Apr 6, 2019
Apr 6, 2019 at 5:11 PM UTC
I'm so small
smallest
dot
explosion
patience
distance
time
existence
maybe smaller.
Aug 26, 2018
Aug 26, 2018 at 3:09 AM UTC
i want you to beat me up
real bad
please please let me bleed completely
before infancy clots at the back of my mind
don't wait for me to be tired
break me all at once
grind my feelings into a powdery mess
so that when someone enters our bedroom they slip on the floor and see a stretch mark-ed ceiling
to not know pain but just how ironical numbness is
and then hug me
like you would a voodoo soft toy
with the scratched leather wings
of a bewitched witch who has seen it all sober
but still can't tell a sheep's wool from snakeskin
caress my dilapidated knees
without once telling me to stand up on my own or for myself
all i want from you is
to **** me at dawn
i'll know that i was loved
enough or.... at least.
Aug 19, 2018
Aug 19, 2018 at 9:17 AM UTC
Morning blue night
pouring into our time,
dying seems so sweet in silence.
Jul 27, 2018
Jul 27, 2018 at 6:04 AM UTC
I am having writer's block
and experiencing all this anger
and hunger and love and regret,
I feel like I just don't have a bowl
for all these incredible feelings.
I just don't have enough respect for words anymore.
I want to make a cake out of this psychedelia
and I don't even have a sweet tooth.
Where do I put all of it?
Not how.... where?
I feel like drinking water without pills is vain.
Air left in my stomach
makes my mind a ****** stalker
who'll chase you down the road
suddenly have concussions and die in front of you
and make you call the police for a whole new different reason.
Writer's block is ghost town
and I am still human without a soul.
How to die beautifully?
Perhaps when the sun shines the brightest in the dusk
burning everyone more than ever.
Jul 21, 2018
Jul 21, 2018 at 2:10 AM UTC
What do you feel
after losing this particular battle?
Sitting in an empty farmland,
a speechless sky.
Get up now.
Home is far,
your mother is dead.
You only want water right now,
not love not memories.
In this moment
air is existing better than you
the horizon is more depressed than you because it knows home is beyond
and others are dying
others will die before you
Home is far
the distance is not the issue,
realisation of stars in a lonely night sky is.
Who wants to walk miles
after killing thousands of bad monsters in real life?
Home is far, I know.
Home is believable.
Home is the light you see
everytime you blink.
Apr 29, 2018
Apr 29, 2018 at 1:00 PM UTC
I sold this moment
for the price of
momentary happiness.
Memories are not refundable.
Mar 31, 2018
Mar 31, 2018 at 4:16 AM UTC
I think
as artists
we owe a lot to pain.
Put on
a robe of thorns
and write
about the nice weather outside
and that delicious burger
you had today.
Write about happiness
when you're in pain-
beauty.
Mar 20, 2018
Mar 20, 2018 at 6:59 AM UTC