I cannot say
of the daydreams, why they come and go
so fleetingly.

I cannot say
how often I dreamt
of Columbine or suicide.

I cannot say
how many times
I took substances
to get out of my mind.

I cannot say how many nights I fell asleep
counting
compounds like most people count sheep.

All I can say
is that I sought relief;

Do we ever get to know?

I feel as though I am fading
faster than the memory of you.

I admit I thought of your body
on occasion, last year. You gave
me those memories and it's time
move on, been holding on for too
long. Give me the courage to let go.

That numb, unfeeling sensation became dear to me, a state of mind accompanying serotonin depletion which meant I could no longer feel. A part of me misses
its darkness. Halfway in-between
checking myself out and going back
to those few, all-too-brief years spent
in the throes of junkiedom, it struck me:

It's the things people don't do that they truly regret.
You can laugh at how awkward you were,
You can't laugh at what never was.
No point living halfway,
All or nothing.
"If I don't go crazy I'll lose my mind,
I saw a life before me but now I'm blind,
I want to go to heaven, never been there before,
I want to go to heaven, so you give me some more".

Give me a decent cloak with a proper hood please.
Merci beaucoup.

An infinitesimal, subtle feeling grows
as the beats change. Once again, dance
with some grace. Let the sway show just how
transitions attack and fade. By the stars, what

a heavenly place! I say it and shiver, half-scoffing,
Wholly wondering, whether I should wander onto
another plane. The other half always did reside in Hades.
In the half-light I lied, hear my chthonic falsity and decide.


I am not afraid but, there is so much work to do
and I don't think I can do it without you.

I lost it, lost you, lost me;
I'm not, I am. Somebody
come back and remind
me why, been working
so hard to get to that
place.
Have you even one iota
of post-human faith?
I almost died, all I
wanted was to feel
love.
So many beautiful
people and I feel so
detached.
Without a
sense of self
what am I really about?

His head wasn't in the right ♇lace.

She'll want to do emotional
and I don't know if I can.

I may write like a narcissist, but
I do not love myself.

My boundaries are messy, I am
messed up. I wanted to tell you