The quill immerses into the inkwell,
and pulls out slowly, careful not to drip.
The hand trembles with excitement to spell,
it moves across the page with only the tip.

The author breathes deep, the muse speaks softly,
words come easily, flowing like water.
The muse commands, the scribe follows blindly.
The words appear faster, the hand a blur.

A smile plays at her lips, her breath catches.
The ink like a tattoo, leaves a dark trail.
Faster, her hand, Fire, leaves only ashes.
The muse completes the symphony, hands fail.

The quill falls, the author breathes out a sigh.
The black spreads. This writing can satisfy.

fingers seeking
release
gutting desperately
only finding
emptiness
the ghost of someone elses hands
the memory of love
pain swells forward
turned off

I’m an addict
It’s obvious

It’s in the way I drink
Desperately pouring into my gut
To finally let a smile grace my lips
To mask my constant pain

It’s in the things I do at night
Phone in one hand
The other reaching down
Endlessly searching for another wave
Just one more moment of bliss
Before I go back to reality

It’s in the way I swallow my pills
Trying to will them to be stronger
Begging each extra tablet
To be just a little too much

It’s in the emptiness of my soul
The numbness of my heart
The agony in my head
And the recklessness of my spirit
I know it’s inside me
A few years and you’ll see
It’ll be quite obvious
I’m an addict

The closest thing to
heaven I've known was between
her hips and her thighs

5:50 PM
16/5/20

From the mind of a naughty girl;
                 in that sinful place
                 there is temptation
                 and by placing your finger there
                 you will bring out the devil in her.

The trees are very nice to me
They block the sun and give me leaves
They let me climb on their limbs
So I can be free

The trees are pretty shy like me
They don’t like others among other things
They shy away from others like them
Sometimes they get along in the end

The trees have nice crowns like me
Mine is a mess but theirs is so pretty
I tell them all the time
They don’t like to share designs

They shy away from each other
And keep their own crowns
Crown shyness, I say
As I feel the same

chills.
shaking.
sweating.
insecure.
normal.
can’t stop thinking.
obsessive.
disorder.
compulsive.
no real problems.
doesn’t care
even though he says he does.
bite back tears.
smile but you can’t.
meaningless noise.
it’s all in your head.
want acceptance.
can’t get it.
all in your head.
can’t face monsters under your bed.
past wounds opening up.
bleed.
don’t like how they look at him.
don’t wanna sleep.
feel imperfect.
wish i was perfect.
small things get to me.
wish i had her body.
wonder if he’d like me more if—





what if—






what could—





why is—






how does—




they don’t—




does he—





i wonder—





not alone.
have someone.
not enough.
greedy *****.
hold internal grudges.
mind can’t get enough.
it feeds of corpses of past feelings.



swallows you up.
try not to cry.
smile and laugh.
talk and eat.





try to swallow it up,
but it eats you alive.
a parasite
destroying you from inside.
if you can acknowledge it’s root,
you will someday understand—



the key to happiness—



it’s right in your hand.







“but









why do i keep losing it, mother?”






“sometimes, you need to get the fog out of your mind.”




“how do i get the fog away?”





“face your problems,



even if it’s to your dismay.”





“but mother, i know this. it seems really easy. could you please stop with these riddles,
and help me find that key?”





“but honey all i’ve got to say is,






some kids have lost the key,




but try to find it on their own.





you are a weakling, as they say.




















stop crying about how hard it is
to live your easy day.”