I’ve not yet found home within myself,
astray in a place so dark and hollow.
Redecorated my insides,
still my heart does not follow.
My veins are filled with poison
and my teeth are turning yellow.
flesh plastered in scars,
the only company I have are my demons and sorrow.
The lights need mending,
and the engine has to go.
My soul requires burnishing,
maybe I’ll feel at home tomorrow.
I’ve saved a spot in my heart for you.
If you’re ever lost and need a warm home.
This spot is everlasting.
Throughout the years to come
and all the potential lovers I will roam.
A piece of me,
to call your very own.
At 3am when I’m lonely and my mind neurotic.
I find comfort in messaging you,
Although now purely platonic.
I sink deep into old memories,
Where you would hold and adore me.
Lust and love are what makes life worth living.
Now I’m just high all time and everything’s boring.
Not until recently had I fathomed my impact as lover.
I played heedlessly with your mind,
Leaving you no chance to recover.
I left you thinking there was no way out,
That this was the final labyrinth.
You never should have had felt like you needed to resort to that ****.
I never should have smiled that day at the sad boy in the plaid shirt and gold Rolex counterfeit
Nostalgic for a life I never lived.
These False memories keep me sane.
A rapturous child with so much potential.
I want to be small again.
The melodic drum of his laughter was intoxicating.
Chaotic energy burst from his stomach in the most enticing way possible.
It’s rare for two people to see the same truth.
That’s how genuine connections are made,
They see it and share it.
Her fingertips were Icy
and her eyes rather glazed.
A desecrated body
with an endearingly brazen face.
Meandering flesh, rich in mortality and fable.
Her skin mapped a journey,
juncture she could no longer able.
Scared arms marked moments,
of suicidal salvation.
Unwary and wide eyed,
too juvenile to be taken.
The smell of stale smoke lingers through our hair,
A staunch like presence,
but never fully there.
Yellow stained fingers,
and blood soaked knuckles..
hammy-downs that don’t fit quite right, awake critiquing ourselves late at night.
Hoping and preying not to become what we’re destined to be.
Drifting through the slums,
Seeking some kind of pleasure.
Friends and family succumbing to ice,
Melbourne’s national treasure.
Young souls corrupted,
so much potential forsaken.
And it’s total annihilation.
— The End —