I hate how my voice gets when I speak to strangers so I prefer to stay as quiet as possible

I'm so glad you called me out of the blue today it's felt so long since I've been comfortable

enough to speak without thinking too far ahead.

Peaceful mornings more vivid to picture than yesterday;

This time last year--stuck holding on to hope without reason,
Sipping leftover champagne walking you to the bustop

And gone you went just as that version of you is gone still

And it is beyond debate that I'm in a better place now.

And for a little while
after I’m gone
they will tell stories about me
some true
some false
good memories
bad memories
but only for a little while
because after awhile
I am no longer making new memories
only old memories linger
like all old memories
they fade and eventually are forgotten
so in the end
I am just a forgotten memory
that once may or may not existed

Scorched earth dripping from my fingers (you know how sometimes the smell of smoke can save lives?

and how sometimes I'd prefer I slept in)
glistening a while as the pieces crumble into invisibility.

I'm ever waiting

To become what I make, and

I don't mind if you let me think I'm winning the race until I've lost you
completely

If I don't speak please don't take it to heart, my best years are gone but you can have my ghost

If you wish to. I'll be here. Ever writhing, tied to my promise: no longer screaming. My silence

Is the best gift you could ever wish from me, if you knew me well-enough you'd know that to be true.

I've took on so many names and faces and manipulation tactics, at this point I'm a one-man-cult

Victimising shadow's,

I'm kind to myself now but I still feel nothing mostly, but that doesn't have to be your problem
Any longer

Than you make it, I've grown up some with little option otherwise. I'm yours I'm yours I'm yours, for as long as I'm willing to be dragged around.

Fallen weak,

Ever-bleeding as long I can breathe without thinking.
Some memories are better left untouched and some regrets taken to the grave and some people left to crumble themselves to nothing again and again, undisturbed for as long as can be expected.

Don't wait up for me, you'll end up as good as a prayer for the dead to return.

Raise a glass and drink up til the bottle is done;
Here's to addictions unconquered
Here's to suicides attached to names not known well enough to grieve for
Here's to the burden one passes onto another when one gets too comfortable
Here's to those who cared when no one else did
Here's to those adolescent walks in the dark chasing shadows
Here's to us speaking til we fell asleep mid sentences
Here's to the lovers who kicked us out the house then kicked us in the head for leaving
Here's to walking in circles with each step painless for the first time in forever & staring out into nothing astounded
Here's to smoking for the first time in months and thinking back to one night years before and the self-inflicted concussions that followed
Here's to the faces we can't look at anymore without our chests caving inward & hating ourselves
Here's to the fascia tissue unzipped & exposed and cringed at & regretted & better left forgotten the next morning
Here's to our sorries telepathically sent & unsent
Here's to forgiveness reached in silence
Here's to time healing nothing but changing everything
Here's to first kisses and final goodbyes
Here's to when she wore his dress for the first time and he her boots
Every vice has it's versa and every versa it's vice, right? right. so
Here's to holding hands with another for another first with heart pounding and surrounding eyes staring or going out of their way not to stare the closer they'd get
Here's to saying **** everyone & everything else when you know beyond a doubt what's right is right
Here's to ugly faces made pretty up-close and seeing pretty faces turn ugly
Here's to spending those last pennies on the first pack of cigarettes in years and looking into foodbanks & catshelters incase nothing got better
Here's to laughing hysterically after getting told you were cheated on, knowing you won't be the paranoid ******* for breaking up again and the hangover-like realisation two days later when the worthlessness settled in
Here's to those lonely walks home covered in blood & punching busstops & ******* in the middle of the street undisturbed by a single soul in-passing
Here's to that hour writhing in a floored mattress screaming the same name over & over again to no answer
Here's to things not working out as planned and it being upto you for that to be for a reason,
Here's to being comatosed & frostbit in pisssoaked jeans as crying family waited for the ambulance to arrive
(surely, I'm not the only one who was supposed to die at thirteen but didn't?)
Here's to the writers who changed how we wrote, the gentle man obsessed with mud turnt muck & thunderstorms & ******* and the pretty French boy and the boundless reclusive femcel before her time
Here's to the men & women we could never become
Here's to love stated but no longer felt, and vice versa and vice versa.

And
Here's to this, the final top up of the night! -too drunk or too tired? either or- and what a night it's been, considering the weight of all those nights before;

Here's to all those loves that never worked out & all those suicidal nights alone trembling with fear of the following day & the next, all leading to you and I sharing this wonderful day together.
Honestly? I wouldn't trade it for the world

Your absence will be so felt I cannot picture it until it happens
and I breathe in the air of a room you will never breathe in again.
A good day often preludes the worst news. You were gone as soon
as I found out you were hospitalised.
Your sly remarks, and laughter that took so much effort to get,  I always feel so empty reading that kind of news, that was yesterday and I had things to do today and so I had to sleep and wake up and sleep again, dreaming about telling family about your passing, it's always a confusing first few minute's after waking up to face the next day after a death.

I thought you were about to die atleast ten years ago,
You were in a bad state but survived and seeked salvation in the Holy Father and I do hope you found peace in his light, I hope you were not too scared although it's a side too terrifying to empathise with until you make it there or you don't,
And I'm so glad I got to meet you again and know you again
And you will be missed, you did exist and stated your presence until old age
and you were a fine old man with your own stubborn sense of care and humour and it's hard to believe I heard your voice just weeks ago
-but it always is, isn't it? At this point I will be surrounded by death until I die myself, so it is and so be it-
You were gold washed out by sunlight and buried in sand, as you limped and trembled with every step and sat and spoke in a burnt voice with rectangular spectacles dipping the bridge of your bruised-looking nose
Papercrowns and bad jokes from cheap crackers on the last two Christmas', death always expected and life always taken for granted when living in the moment
  bored as hell and passing time that has all so clearly passed now.

I am not looking forward to seeing your empty silent chair, it all hit me today although I kept myself busy, but
I always end up alone and in agonising pain some point of the day or another
and I've had the whole day to process your death and every other death and draw all my same useless conclusions and hypothesis and rerun memories in a way to make sense of a person no longer being. So it is, so be it.

I walk through every day staring out head blank as **** and barely say a word to anyone and aslong as I'm unbothered I stay that way. I saw some traits in you that went beyond any blood-relation, perhaps that says so much more about me though, atleast, if nothing else, we could both agree: it was always a good night to stay inside.

Hysteria Hysteria Hysteria.

pain bespeaks pain okay
   you're entitled to go sadmasc when life has you itching faking like a ***** if you must say so
think i hear rats squeaking outside but I'm too scared to look my eyes have been draggled
        wounds bleed endless in my mind all day like a backdrop stream that never runs out I'm used to it get a grip it's okay
I use to dream of a lover and a dream we could embody an army,
   A million different souls that loved in unison and twitched together in one room at night
But what's your issue sir that lover'd say to me; our sibilance is all we really have in common anyway
The world around is crazy we're all born soft, get crushed and numb or get in other people's way
That's the way I've learnt, I see selfishness unfold from people who always startout with the best intentions.

The wolrd is so forver clear when everyone remains strangers,
Let the days drag on-- I'm comfortable
inhaling and exhaling the air from the same room every night
Like cigarette smoke, so relaxing so that I ignore the soft nipping peeling my lungs like a cruel diseased kiss, clawing for blood and making ribbons out of my skin.