It's always the eyes that get me.

For a walking black hole of emotion,

I sure keep swirling back to them.

When it's all said and done with,

I've become one of the unthinking majority.

The bones ache again.

Can't seem to dislodge this knife in between my spine, either.

Well.

Almost a year anyway.

I'm not quite sure if my mental strength is eclipsed by the sheer exhaustion just merely existing and trudging day by day.

I'm tired of these circles.

I step out of one to get swallowed by a bigger one each time.

Here I find myself retreating physically into smaller and smaller spaces, my mind growing too big for its own good.

How does it feel to have patterns traced on your flesh, never realising that the more you push

The more you slip

You spin around in patterns in a frozen monument to your failures

These numbers and figures didn't speak as loud as my heart.

Everyone's at my back, pushing me forward.

It's true what I heard then.

I can't be left alone.

This will happen again and again.

The flesh remembered the skin being tugged away

The mind remembered disarray

The soul going back to a long winter


Pull me back to land.

I'll kiss the winter flowers.

To write your name in frozen hours.

Long winter in hearts into brittle flowers.


Our eyes are blind, but we can still see, can't we?

A piece of red string was cut recently,

Even if I didn't feel it,

I saw time itself unravel, unexisting.

O sweet starling, starlight.

Understand we can't reach out anymore

There's a hole in my heart where you left, walked out on me with the best thing that's ever happened to me.

Will I bite the hand that feeds?

Not quite, I believe.

The grief follows rage, like remora with the sharks swimming along.


Swallow the pride and continue fighting.

How long do you want to be moved by your own thoughts which are discretionary?


Pray Hell and high tide never comes for you.


I'll be riding at the peak of their crests, screaming.

I find myself staring at rows of dairy products to no particular reason.

The pleasure of pressure brings no joy

Walking down old haunts against a flow of faces I will never remember.

Drowning sight in rose-tinted glasses

What if I don't want anything anymore?

These crown of thorns sewn into my skull to be a king of fools.