on a night where we're not quite in
our right minds
we say all sorts of different things,
and who knows how much of it
either of us really means?
but regardless of genuinity,
we said what we wanted to
and in the end, it was for the benefit of who?
then when it came to me, you didn't even say
you had to go.
you were up & done;
~freshly satisfied and ghosting like a pro
Dec 3, 2020
Dec 3, 2020 at 7:18 PM UTC
there is a supernova
that resides in your eyes;
on the cusp of exploding,
waiting to shower everything with the light
you hold within;
soon,
the galaxies and all the stars
will be aflame with the
spark of your soul.
Dec 3, 2020
Dec 3, 2020 at 7:07 PM UTC
the stinging settles and my heart becomes heavier,
with new lines on my soul that were probably ******* inevitable.
~when did i develop an affinity for odd numbers
Dec 3, 2020
Dec 3, 2020 at 7:06 PM UTC
instead of broken plates and dripping sinks,
tonight
my self-shame is visible in the way
the extract burns my tongue so prominently
that noodles feel like lemons and
taste like the nothing
that i'm so desperately trying to escape.
processed pasta and citrus-scented breath
have me gulping,
as the the air that reaches my chest drowns
in the same acidity as the rage that i feel.
this is a different numbness than what i felt when
i created alternative versions of myself,
just to run from the version of everyone else around me.
i guess, what, all my efforts have been forsaken, and did any of
it matter in the ******* first place?
-i guess i lied when i said
there would be no dripping sinks-
Dec 3, 2020
Dec 3, 2020 at 7:05 PM UTC
the sting of a shot of lemon extract
sets my tongue and throat on fire,
but at least it's not a raging **** in my arm
that would scar and
inevitably make me feel
even worse about my
body image.
maybe the flame in my throat will roast my
vocal chords
and i can
read poetry
83% more aggressively than i already do.
-sorry, i didn't text back immediately; i was wondering when to start wallowing in self-shame-
Dec 3, 2020
Dec 3, 2020 at 7:04 PM UTC
the way
that i spent
nearly countless hours of
my precious time
psychoanalyzing
nonexistent nuances
in any
desperate attempt
to escape the silent shouting
void around me;
only to be left
in the same void once more
the moment i got
an ounce of clarity.
~it's astounding, but not in the good way
Dec 3, 2020
Dec 3, 2020 at 7:03 PM UTC
this is a test
to see how this works,
and if
this will still be here.
and if it's not, i guess that's
just how the world is supposed to work.
...
but it's still here,
so i don't really
know how
to process this now,
i suppose.
i doubt this is a metaphor
and even if it were,
i have no subject it would be for.
Dec 3, 2020
Dec 3, 2020 at 7:01 PM UTC
as the trees go through their annual metamorphosis,
I form another internal skin,
purging my existence of every trace of you that i can
and just like the skin of the trees,
i will make sure he
leaves.
Dec 3, 2020
Dec 3, 2020 at 7:00 PM UTC
you've never truly cried until
it becomes difficult for you to breathe,
and crying becomes so
normal,
it's now part of your daily routine
that is, if you can drag yourself out of the prison that is your bed,
to even form a "normal routine"
your body is empty and never seems to be filled
you are emptiness, a neverending pit,
and you wish that
it could just be
*******
different
Dec 3, 2020
Dec 3, 2020 at 6:59 PM UTC
after i was told about the dangers of cadmium,
i never really used oil paints,
or acrylic;
i'm more of a watercolor girl myself.
~but if i'm honest, i’m not really much of a painter in the first place
Dec 3, 2020
Dec 3, 2020 at 6:57 PM UTC