Humiliation is a
Tool,
Allowance is a
Fool.

Your status depends on
The control you can
Hold,

And those whom you can
Fold.

Your life depends on nothing
But a silver
Tongue
And a
Golden eye,

A burning will to live
And a will to
Sacrifice.

And I think ‘bout
Everything
More than just
Anything

That the universe could
Give,

Sometimes it means
Everything
Sometimes it means
Nothing

At all.

A man would give all of
Him
Just to lose most of it,
Just to get some of it back,

Or nothing

At all.

I, I’ve,
I, I’ve—

I’ve dug a grave
Deep into the ground
Filled with hail and rain
And foul

Words that burrow
Further
Than any other
Worm

Than any other
Word

Painted portraits
Contorted faces
They’re laced
With malice
And filled
With hatred

The pictures of the
Dead
They stare
Straight ahead

No goal
In mind
No destination
In sight

When they give their
Final bow
How’s the world to
Spin around

When the weight befalls
A fallen tapestry
Without a sound

Every step you take
Is disturbance
And breaking of the
Silence

The wake

That resides
With
The fallen,
The silent,
The gone.

If “I love you”
Was a burden,
Would you still
Eagerly return it?

If “I hate you”
Was a warning
Would you still
Say it so easily?

“I mean it, really I do.”
Then why is it filled
With insincerity?

A joke,
            A bluff,
                         It always is.

But do you

Weigh
           The meaning
                                  Of the words you spit?

As I sing this song,
I sing with ghosts,
Sit with the lost,
Harmonising with those

Who tell a tale
That’s long and old.
With an ending
That’s never been told.

They show me all
The grief they’ve seen,
Peeling paint
And tear streaks.

I think I’ll stay here for a while,
Until the world quiets down.

If I were to tell you
All the stories
In my
Head,

Would you believe me
Even
If I
Said

That:

I see mortal war
Waging
In your
Plan,

I see me staring numbly
At the destruction
You are
Clad

In?

Fight me,
Fight me,
Tell another lie,

I’ll believe you
Once I die

And you close
Both my eyes.

Fight me,
Fight me,
Tell me again

That you are
Not
A foe,

But a friend.

Smite me,
Smite me,
Oh, God above.

Is my imagination
The same as your creation?

Spite me,
Spite me,
Oh, my dear friend.

Are you willing
To take me on

With your words
And not your hands?

How do I cross
a line that hasn’t been drawn,
How do I hold
the might of a thundering storm,
How do I kiss
the sea until it withdraws?

How do I break
A wall that hasn’t been built,
How do I pick
the flowers without letting them wilt,

How do I kiss
The sea until it withdraws?

How do I
Kiss
The sky

Until it withdraws?

I have signed a form
That I can’t turn back from.
I have raised a hand

Of which

cannot be undone.

I have held a blood-stained blade
That’s ruined another,
Scars, wounds, words and all,
Isn’t red a horrible colour?

Isn’t red a horrible colour?

I have made a deal with the devil
And it's given me a choice:

Be the monster
I always have been
Or
Fix myself
With a roll of dice,

Stain my hair
Bronze, silver and gold
Or
Dig through the dirt
At my feet,

Bite my tongue and
Hold my throat
Or
Clasp my hands together,
On my knees.

Isn’t red a beautiful colour?

Fly me away
To the moon
And fill my head up
With all of
You.

A million restless nights, and then
A million
More.

Haven’t you had enough
Time in my head
To settle the
Score?

I close my eyes
And let the truth fade,

Blissful ignorance
Is what brings me no
Pain.

If I pretend not to know
So much,
Too much,
Will you stay the same?

The world has never been
so quiet or loud,
So slow yet fast,
So full yet empty,

And even at the risk of
Life or death,
We still snicker
under
our breaths

And whisper like it’s gossip—

Joking about the heat,
How stuffy the air gets,
How squeaky our shoes are,
How creaky the tables are—

Quiet murmurs that loudly echo
In the suffocating silence

Like rats sneaking away,

Or ants tracing the lines

That have been ingrained into
The floor after years and years
Of torment,

Or the tiles in the ceiling

That have been
dented
and marred,
Dusted and wiped.

Even in the darkness there’s small
Beams of lights
from phones
Turning
on and

computers being typed on.

The decorations are hushed,
The colours are faded,
Not as bright as they used to be,
Couldn’t be.

The wind burns with
foreboding
And the sun with
impatience,

It doesn’t end even
When it’s over,

For everyone is
still

Running.

Am I real,
Are you real,
Are we real,
Is it real,

Can I feel?
Do you feel?
Can we feel?
Does it feel?

Is the sky really sunny?
Is the water really running?
Is the wind really whistling?
Is the sun really blistering?

Are we products
Of a conduct
That relinquishers
Are fond of,

Are we subjects
To a subject
Where the solution
Is reject,

Are we fools
To a tool
That doesn’t know
It’s being used,

Are we falling
For a faux
That’s already been
Exposed,

And do we really know

What’s real?

Slumped against a wall
Around the back of a
Home,

A week without a rest
and just
A lifetime to
Go.

A golden crown rests heavily
on my head,
Achievement rests light on
My heart,

Bracing for the second when
I start
Seeing stars.

Success is sacrifice,
And sacrifice is pain.
What is a winner without
A life of cruel shame?

Happiness is temporary,
Climbing the ranks is
Life.

I look at fate,
Fate looks back at me,
And I accept the hardship
with

A smile.

I look into the mirror
That’s
Foggy and blurred,

And wrap myself around
The shape
I see in return.

Put a face to name,
And name to face,

Turn my back and suddenly,
That’s

Not

The

Case?

Watching from afar
As another cries,

Helpless to do anything but
Keep it inside

And escape the mess
that’s only mine,
Navigate the maze
Inside their mind.

Holding out a hand I could never take,
slamming on a door that I couldn’t

Break,

But now that you’re
holding out
the key to

me,

One can finally
See—


Past the

mirror

Image.

How could I live?
How
Could I be?

When you’re so far
And I’m alone,
When you’re not there
For me

To call

Home,

To guide me
By
My
Hand?

To tell me who the
Hell I am,

And where
I
Should stand?

Leave me
Here to go,
To go bone dry,

And run away
From
A million eyes.

Run your hands back
Through my blood

And tell me,
Really,
That

You’re not gone.

Cold, cold ice,
And a

Roll of dice,
Do you

Hear the cries
Of the
Scamp’ring mice

Running
For their lives,

Biting
Down two lies,

And a
Broken

Set of
Eyes.

Axe in my hand,
head in the plan,
blood pools around my feet

Where I stand.

Raised in surrender,
Fallen contender,
Will you still be in front of me
When the war has ended?

Arrow in my hand,
A face off in the plan,
Guilt pools around my feet

Where I stand.

The price that you pay,
The winnings I take,
The sacrifice

I am

Unwilling to make?

Don’t die on me now,
My heart kisses the ground,
Winter melts away as the
Sun comes around.

I drop to my knees
Among the dirt and wheat
As I fall to a man
As unloving as me.

Your claws in my own,
And an evil that goads
At us
laughs at the victory

Of taking your throne.

I hope when I’m buried
Under an aging tree
I see your face,
carved into the bark

Staring back at me.

I am the words they carved
Into my skin,
The amalgamate
Of everything I’ve sinned.

My hands light fire to all that
I can touch,
Burning for a day
Before it turns to dust,

It turns to dust.

“Fight fire with fire,” they spit,
Doesn’t make it not
Burn like acid.

Rain pours down
Onto my skin,
And sure enough, it
Hurts like acid,

Like
Acid.

Didn’t mean a single word that they said,
Doesn’t mean
You didn’t mean
For it to happen

My arms are made of wood,
And yours are steel.
Just because you’re in pain
Doesn’t mean others can’t
Feel,

Everyone still feels.

Everything still
Feels.

“Fight fire with fire,” they spit,
Doesn’t make it not
Burn like acid.

Rain pours down
Onto my skin,
But it doesn’t make it not
Burn

Like

Acid.

It’s so much easier to like
Them
Isn’t it?

Much more convenient
For you
To walk away from me

And make up

A million

And one

Excuses
Why you need to leave.

Would it really hurt you more
Than me
To tell me in my face that

It’s so much easier to like
Them

Isn’t it?

If you really love me,
Why won’t you show it?
If you really love me,
Why won’t you say it?

Why won’t you show me that
                                                     you
Don’t love me anymore?
Why won’t you tell me that you

Don’t want me anymore?
That you don’t care, you don’t care,
You care? Don’t you say?
Why don’t you walk away?

Why won’t you send me away,

Like how you
                         Always
Let my presence          fade?

Like how you

                         Loved me?

When the world grows
too loud or too fast,
it’s a good idea
to take a step back
and huddle away
into an empty space
where neither sound
nor time
can hurt you,

let silence envelop
your soul—not your self.

Eventually
the grass will grow
and the wind will settle,
all will slow
like in a lush meadow,

and far away
will the struggle drift.

The sky will grow white
with clouds that never rain,
gardens will grow green
without a single ****,

the sun will beat down
not bullets but care,
that nurtures the grass blades
through growth
and lifts the vapour into
the air.

Dimensions and galaxies will
pause,
for the universe cannot
feed.

And all will be.

Sun beating down
the tide comes around
with the gusts of
wind—adrenaline

rushes by as the sea
hushes the rustle of the trees
and the blinding rays of gold
lining the clouds above

Like a tear in the blue
And the light shining through
The comfortable blanket
the tangled net

That is a peaceful day
Coming to an end.

Sometimes it feels like
I haven’t done anything right
That’s enough to care about
And somehow
That’s worse than
Doing everything wrong,
At least then,
it’s noticeable
Enough
To care about
And deep down I know it well
I shouldn’t fall back
into bad,
Bad habits
But I can never help it
And
It doesn’t matter anymore
which way I go
Downstream or uphill
I’ll follow life’s flow
And if I don’t end up
where I yearn to be
It doesn’t matter
‘Cause it wasn’t up to me

I don’t want to die,
I want to cease to exist.
To never have been born
And never have lived
For my soul and body to disappear
For any memory of me to be gone
To dissolve into nothingness and
Never have been anything at all

If I was a bird my wings would be clipped by a kid running around with scissors because its parents didn’t really care or shot by a man with a gun because the government doesn’t mind.

If I was a shark I would eat a meal that contained plastic scraps because proper trash disposal wasn’t a thing or get caught in a net and have my fins cut off to be sold on a market full of people who would eat anything they could get their hands on just so they rest of me could be thrown back into the water to rot and waste away.

If I was the sun I would have to exist knowing that people scream at me to burn hotter and brighter or dimmer and colder every second, minute and hour because of the extreme climate they gathered on their own planet.

If I was an angel my halo would be ripped off my head and thrown away like trash or I’d be on earth like every cliché romance plot ever and get shot and dissected by “scientists” who claim to mean good and crave to do bad because there is a reason happy endings only exist in fictional stories.

If I was human I’d be nothing short of disappointed.

Then again we are never good at being anything more than hypocritical.

I care. Really, I do.
I’m a monster and a ******,
                    but I still have a heart,
                                                albeit rather
unfortunately.

I’m trying my best to be
   less of a no one and more of a someone,
                                                        more of a person.
To care more,
          to love more,
                     to take less
                        and give more.

I don’t care if it leaves me

broken.

But in some way I still

do.

It’s selfish to put myself before everyone else,
                                                          Yes, I know that-
And it’s horrid that I think I should treat myself
to the privilege of wanting something
that isn’t going to go to
                         someone else.
                     Yes, I know that too-

And it’s such a pity that I can’t bring myself
to tear my heart out of my chest
or rip my soul out of my body
and give it to you like I desperately want to.
Because I care.

Really,

         I do.

There’s more times than I can count
That I’ve wondered whether I was enough.
That I’ve wondered if I was good.

I can’t create art that people fall in love with
I can’t be there to support those I love
I can’t be pretty or smart or socially acceptably good.

I don’t know why
I really don’t

Sometimes I feel like
I’m not trying hard enough
And sometimes I feel like
I’m trying too hard
For something that can’t happen

So tell me,
For all that I love,
Am I enough?
Am I good?

I crave validation.
I want—no, need it like a lifeline,
Like a child in the face of a sweet treat,
Like a bird to a worm writhing from the ground,
Like a starving man at the mere sight of food,
Like a wolf to whoever dares harm its pack.
It sears through my body like white, burning pain,
It rips me of my sight to consequence,
It’s a drowning poison, yes.
But how am I supposed to let go?
How am I supposed to not look at any sort of praise and think,
God, I want that.
It tears me apart like a knife does in snow,
Jelly,
         Water,
                     Air,
But I would be a liar to say that isn’t what I want.
Is it a fault of mine that I desire with all my ****** up being
for something that isn’t a momentary
“Okay,”
              “Alright,”
                      ­           “Good job,”
                                                       “You’re fine,”
It’s not, it’s not okay or alright or good or fine,
I need someone to scream at me that what I’ve done is perfect,
More than great,
More than amazing,
More than wonderful, or spectacular,
More than perfect.
And if I can’t have that,
Then at least yell at me that what I’ve done is nothing,
At least beat the ****** **** out of me
And tell me to go **** myself.
Because that hurts less than
A bunch of half-hearted responses that
I never know how to interpret over text,
And never know how to comprehend in speech.
Just spare me the misery, that’s all I need.
I’d prefer you be cruel than make me guess
What you’re thinking.
Because it always eventually occurs to me that
Neither what you’re thinking or saying
Are the validation I crave.
So just save us all the trouble
And put me out of my ****** misery
Already.
Because if I’m not everything,
Then what can I be but nothing?

Is it my fault
That I look at someone
And feel repulsed
By the way their
Body flows?
That I can’t look at anyone
And not rip
And pick apart
Every little flaw they have;
A crooked smile,
Lopsided eyes,
A tilted nose,
Hairy limbs,
Flaky skin,
Tilted lips,
An asymmetrical face,
A too-big forehead,
Puffy cheeks,
A bloated stomach,
Humongous thighs,
Giant arms,
A wide frame,
Bushy eyebrows,
Monkey ears,
Uneven feet,
Messed up hands,
A normality in a flawed creation
Yet it’s all that catches my eyes
When I look at
People in the lifts,
In the shops,
On the street,
In the corridors,
In a home,
In a room,
In the mirror.
“Wrong! Wrong!” My brain screams
In terror
It’s right, I suppose,
That monster in the reflection must be
The consequences of an
Error.

Don’t leave me here alone
Where I can’t see
Where the light won’t consume me whole
When it was never meant to be

I’ve wished on a shooting star
that isn’t really there
And God forbid I stay in that
Place where no one really cares

But I can’t run forever
From this inevitable cave in
A hundred shattered glasses
With bloodstains that I kin

Melted sand, whatever,
it’s my own ****** loss
But not even the fine print
Ever told me the cost

To being alive
To waking up per day

So if I stay in the darkness
Don’t be surprised if I don’t come out again.

Woken up from a dream,
the world the same
as it’d been left
My bed still creaks,
The sky still rains,
The birds still scream my fading name
My heart still beats,
My legs still break
I’ll burn to death in the wildfire
And wake up,
Still the same.

We can never be normal again,
We can never be the same again.
Is that how things were always meant
To be in the end?

I see you in the bathroom mirror
Looking back at me with the same face
Every time I go back
To that place.

Was it ever, really, truly home?
Or the only landmark you know?
Will I ever go back to that room
And talk to you?

Did we actually mean it as a joke?
Or was that the only way we could cope?
Will   I   ever   go   back   to   that   room
                                                            ­       And     talk
                                                            ­                         to     you?