Did I not ask for pain?


I'm thinking of you, little girl,
who stared too long at the squirrels in the street
or at the birds in the backyards, missing their heads
poor animal, sweet thing
What a brutal way to go

I heard you wanted to know
what it felt like
I heard you wanted to see for yourself

stagnant and still
longing for the thrash
the sort of craving that comes
from boredom, quiet, rash
delusions of suffering, and yet
the pain is true

happiness is presented with
curiosity, and question
while despair
is the long, drawn period
wonderment and finality
hope is the 'looking forward'

low to the ground
i can't see it all
but i can see what matters

your soul is screaming through me

on quiet days

us, as usual
laughter, Muse, Luca + Chris
a false welcoming
that you noticed first
nature's assault
memories of Saturn
that you noticed first
freezing time
I'll hold on to you
when the wind comes our way
that I'll notice first

I'm on a list of things that look dead
at a distance
think of an existence
like an oil painting peeled

I miss my friends
It would be
so easy to see them
It could be
so easy to see them

but I am still here,
it seems

to die before my
music gets heard
to sing and yet
no one could know
the words of my song
that is the life
that is a life

I'm told to think of a man
and I think of your jaw
I think of the thinness of your lips
This is how it goes
The sigh was grand and my body was whole
It says that I miss you,
that your arms wrapped well
around my back, under my legs
I'm found burdened by the yearning
My eyes want to well and tear
But the sting shifts into anger
It has always been anger with you,
on my own accord
the act I got caught up in
The challenge of sweetness,
testing my faux purity's limits
It was never your fault,
Call yourself a monster, maybe I'll oppose you
maybe I'll spend hours reminding you of your heart
you Inglorious *******
I have a catch, an idea, for your ego
Tell yourself that you ruined me
Remind yourself each day
that you are the beast who broke my heart
It's pathetic
I didn't need you for that
I once thought that you were only my reminder
that a love like yours didn't exist for people like me
But I was wrong
I always knew
But I got lost in the distraction
I lost my dearest love in your pursuit
You, who cursed me with your affairs
You, who mocked me with secret lovers
You, who tormented me with my own time
Strangle me with expectation,
Raising the heat, raising the tension
Make me useless, make me kind
Make me pointless, make me kind
Make me silent, mute, garbage
Make me completely deteriorate
Spouting intuition translated into madness
I cannot remember 3 months ago to 15
my mind's last attempt to spare me
from the constant & pulsating misery
that was thinking of you
You were not a lesson
You were not worth it,
You were not worth the "wisdom"
Nothing was gained, only wasted
No matter created, only destroyed
You reduced me with a single hand
to dull and ***** rubble
Ready for you to walk over
crush me slightly with your weight
place your footprint
mark where you've been
It wasn't worth it
Not after a period of silence
For you to show your face unwarranted
You mistook me for a pleasant encounter
You should have known better
After it all
After it all
After it all
You have no right to speak to me this way
After it all
I'm still writing poems about you
It's embarrassing
I'm humiliated
It wasn't worth it
You were not worth it
I think of a man,
I think of my greatest waste of time

It is taking every piece of strength within me to keep pursuing my business on earth.
If I found it in me to want to keep trying, the Earth will find a way to swallow me, still.
Either way, it seems, I will always have unfinished business.
Is it more tragic then, to take things into my own hands, or moreso for wanting to live and then being struck by unhappy fate in the midst of my work?
And do I pursue tragedy?
Yes. I do.
So here I am, mustering all the will I can to keep trudging.
So we shall see how far I can tread this path.

New York has this certain smell that I just haven't gotten used to
Although it isn't particularly bad
Like old clothes and old land and
Sewing needles and wool jackets
That you bought at the thrift store
While you were downtown freezing
You could've sworn it was 60 degrees that day
It smells of eating rice each day for lunch
And cheap dining hall cake
And the wind doesn't smell like the lake
And the lake doesn't smell like the sioux
And there's more color in the trees here
And you can't help but smell that too

can you hear me from up here?
i know my being here makes you there
though i still feel as if
you are there, and so i am here
it takes long for my steps to land
my voice might ring forever,
though i can't hear it
can't bear to be near
the atmosphere which shields me
from you
from myself
and every little meteoroid
that i witness time and time again
how quickly they all fall to you

blunt blunt poetry
no rhythm no
meaning no
language thought-through only
heart only
soul

hypocrisy is a beautiful phenomena
that humans can't help but indulge in