Us, lonely creatures, we’ve got something special: we can rebuild ourselves several times,
only from the pieces we saved on the way down on a night not unlike this one
under a moon not unlike
the colour of your skin since you’ve been giving yourself away without reason
only to maybe stop the ticking in your head
time is running
time is flying
time is taking a spaceship to where you want to be but never will be able to reach
because that’s what you found out when you screamed your way into this world and somehow you managed to stop the screaming
even if you’re just as terrified as when you first saw the light you never asked for.
Find me, universe. Even you forgot where you tossed me.
You are a melancholic soul, child.
You turned yourself inside out and still haven’t found the source of this feeling.
Some things shouldn’t be seen during the day.
Clean up all your vulnerable parts and stack them under the carpet.
Pack up your heart and tape it shut.
Don’t let the red escape, because red is poisonous and you’ve got so much venom inside your mouth
that you forgot what being pure tastes like.
I’ve been seeing red
I’ve been breathing red
I’ve been crying red.
Does loneliness mean anything anymore?
You’ve chewed it up and spit it out so many times
10 times each morning and
20 times each night just to keep it under control.
Where is your control?
Where is your essence?
Where is your patience?
You’ll need it when every inch of you asks for harmony in a million different ways that go against each other
and which voices are you supposed to listen to when you’ve been talking to yourself so much you forgot what your own voice sounds like?
Home is nowhere and everywhere all at once
and sometimes I find it within myself but
sometimes this body is a strange building I’ve never set foot in before.
I let the wind cleanse me from the inside out.
His whispers are comforting; his touch is the rebirth I crave.
May I try again? I’m not quite sure I understand what it means to live in this world.
I’m still longing for the one I left.