You speak the language of despair.
I can hear you calling out from the depths of hell.
I know because I've been there.
My dear, I understand all too well.
Slowly killing yourself, but nobody cares.
Truth of the matter is, they're just scared.

You're the manifestation of all their worst fears.
A reflection of their darkest desires.
Everything they try to repress:
(drugs, rock n' roll, ***.)
Dancing with the devil in fire.
They close their eyes to it.
No wonder they're so distressed.

But there's another class out there,
and of them, I say,
Beware!
They don't understand but pretend to care.
Their lives are such a bore that they'll drink from your sins.
They'll tell you encouraging words as you struggle to swim.
But you're nothing more than a jester to them.
If you ever make it to the shore,
they'll just push you back in.

People are okay with sunsets, and rainstorms, and oceans.
People are not okay with "you are the type of person who first gave people the idea to build temples."
That is how I see you.

There is nothing left
Only you, remaining years
Remaining tears
For a pink tinted jar
Small
******
Smells like jasmine tea
With some crumbled dreams

Sing a song, you sing, silent
Crushed sternum
Heart melted want to run away
Trying not to, trying not to
See you with honest eyes
Talk to you with childish voice
I hear you rush
I hear you beat
I am in your arteries
I am sorry for your stomachache
I can't do anything with the heat on your back

Change the glasses, we are going to
Libraries
Abandoned ones
Come home when no one's there
Go to school on holidays
We can't find each other
"Sorry, you aren't the one I am looking for"
That's how you do not grow
That's how you go to bathroom in the middle of nights
Thank you--

The heart splattered -- split in two is better
It's no longer of menstrual moods
It's no longer of cyclical downfall
It becomes a fate, an already finished piece
The said hidden new beginning
The said some who can't make it to the sequel

The back aches where wings used to be
It's another world issues
Political pain and illnesses
One doesn't remember any
The first cry carefully saved
Woman, behold, your son!

Look, here is your mother
Softened hands and tell you'll never let go
Look, here is your mother
The eyes you blend with ours
The body I dried to keep yours moisty enough ---
Just how much love can your heart take?

I need a good cry but
you don't want to see me cry.
You never understand what it is to cry.

The social world, the so-called maturity,
I don't know, if I learn to pretend,
would I still be able to be sincere?

Little poppies, little hell flames,
Do you do no harm?

You flicker.  I cannot touch you.
I put my hands among the flames.  Nothing burns

And it exhausts me to watch you
Flickering like that, wrinkly and clear red, like the skin of a mouth.

A mouth just bloodied.
Little ****** skirts!

There are fumes I cannot touch.
Where are your opiates, your nauseous capsules?

If I could bleed, or sleep! -
If my mouth could marry a hurt like that!

Or your liquors seep to me, in this glass capsule,
Dulling and stilling.

But colorless.  Colorless.

Sweaty face bright purple and greasy
I used to hide my body between the pages
But he told me to not read any more

Itchy head heated enough to make tea
My eyes are now how the trees say my name
My eyes are now the leeches I put in empty tampons

Sweaty neck I only want some traces of lips
Sweaty palms I only want some other fingers
Sweaty thighs I only want to walk well

******* sad wrapped in plastic
Cranky child trapped in old wrinkling skin
It may well be irrational excuses

Womb nervous and not worthy
Cerebral excuses, hormonal excuses
Highly sensitive person excuses

Delayed maturity excuses
Premenstrual syndrome excuses
Premature menopause excuses

Abusive motherhood at 5
Traumatic childhood at 18
What happens in between stays in between