Don't you just hate it?
When pain, turns poetic.
Why does it never stay ugly?
Disgusting.
Why the depth?
I'm a Poet.
Because of this, I can never feel pain
Without seeing the beauty.
I hate it

The Smallest Coffins Are The Heaviest
I'm not ready to bear such a weight
Never will I be
Please get better.

Apparently it feels like
Everything you’ve ever lost
Come back to you
Craving. Fearing. Wanting
Failed attempts at imagining it
The struggle between
Letting your mind wonder
And trying not to lose it

Her voice tastes just like
Childhood memories
Joyfully lonely
Vividly sweet with a sour pinch of grazed knees
It burns with flavour
And I think I want to love her

So many things I try to tell you
So many things I try to say
But my words all fall like empires
On a sea of dead white wood
.
.
.

Confusion
Uncertainty
Fear

The monsters under my bed.

I write
So you can read
The way I feel
Because, the way I feel
I can never say