a little bird told me
to stop smoking so much

a little bird told me
to get better

a little bird told me
that I am loved

I told the little bird
to mind her own **** business

When I die
I want a pigeon on my gravestone
Why?
Because that's what it is
How I will be remembered
People will walk past me not caring
Unless I'm specific, I won't matter
They will trot past not noticing my name
Maybe I'll steal a quick glance
And maybe children will stare in wonder
Maybe someone will look and genuinely care
Or maybe not  
I am like a pigeon in life and death
People just don't care
I'm just something to inhabit the background
Something that could be great but probably never will be
I spare thoughts for pigeons
But who would care about that creepy boy that sits and talks to birds?

WHEN THE NIGHTS ARE LONG AND DARK AND THE GHOSTS COME FOR YOU

WHEN THE PEOPLE OF THIS WORLD ARE CRUEL AND UNJUST
GIVING YOU BRUISES AND ****** NOSES

WHEN YOU ARE RUNNING DOWN AN EMPTY PARKING LOT
CHASED BY A HOODED MAN WITH A KNIFE

GIVE THEM A GREAT BIG HUG!

BECAUSE LOVE AND COMPASSION
WILL MAKE ALL YOUR PROBLEMS GO AWAY!

I will not last without you here

I cannot live alone

I cannot live without you

I can barely live at all

Please,

my guardian angel,

please don't leave me

ask him to hold you
why? because you are lonely?
or are you just cold?

kids like drugs and feeling good but drugs are easier to get I guess

I was shaking
staring at the damp cracked ground, avoiding your eyes at all costs

The weight of my thoughts pushing me over and making me hunch

I said a lot of dumbed down things that I didn't really mean
because I didn't think you would understand
or care, really

I did everything I could to keep you as far away as possible

"I'm just.. a tired person. Complex. I have a lot of things going on, yeah."

"Can you tell me about it?"

It kind of caught me off guard, most people don't try that hard to know me

"There's not much to me."
Simple, something I assumed you'd take at face value

"I want to know you.
Everything about you."

It scared me, like you were trying to hurt me or like you were trying to get some kind of twisted confession from me

I pushed those thoughts aside, because you aren't like that

With a slight chuckle I asked,
"Why on Earth would you want to know that?"

"Because I like you,"

I tried to avoid your face still,
But I couldn't help it

You must have had me under a trance

Every time you spoke my distance dissolved

"You okay?"

You smiled in the way that you do

I was smiling too

Then you took my hand

And for once in my life

There was no distance

If I let you into my temple, my personal church of the redeemed

I trust you to not desecrate the children's graves

I trust you to not take my good will for granted

keep me sacred, keep me holy
keep me from falling from grace again

never take my forgiveness for granted
never forgive me unless I have earned it

break my body into smaller and smaller pieces until I'm nothing but ashes

burn my church down, throw my symbols into the sea

and once again, rebuild my holy place

any old shed will do

I will rise along with the sun in the morning
and bless you with a kiss from the light

Early morning driving

The road is quiet now

The sky looks beautiful this time of year

The streetlights look like fireflies

I wish hospitals didn't have to stay open all the time

I've never seen a sunrise before

I wish the day didn't have to start again

It was loud and bright and now there's nothing

I wonder if I'll see tomorrow

There are people everywhere

There is red everywhere

The ground isn't comfortable

I'm tired

Sweet dreams

"There will surly be a place for you," a wise old woman said
"Not on god's green earth, only in heaven above, will there be a place for you."

I know I'm not the best
but I'm pretty **** impressive

sure, yeah, I used to do those stupid violent things

and I still have those stupid urges to defend myself from an invisible threat
and the sinking feeling won't ever go away

and yeah, I was expelled because I was a bad kid

but I am a good student


I got a C in english.


okay, a C isn't so impressive but hear me out

an unmotivated, unmedicated, angry year 10

who missed every third lesson because

he was hiding from the gunshots he could hear over his literature teacher

crawling out of the classroom on his knees desperately trying to stay safe

curled up on the floor, crying

I thought I had died
or was going to die

I tried to **** myself a couple of days after

and nothing seemed worth it

but I sat down in the canteen

desks arranged perfectly like they hadn't been flipped over and over in fear of the looming threat of failure every ******* day

and I was shaking while I held that pen

and I wrote my stained soul and heavy heart and dried blood onto that test paper

and I got a C.

that C proves I still have worth-
even after all my academic failures.
and now?

I'm medicated, motivated,
dedicated

give me a chance to prove it

I'll be the best risk you'll ever take.

I love her. She's beautiful. She is gone forever.
Her name will always bring me aches.
Always.

I fear her. She's horrific. She won't leave me alone.
Her name will always make me flinch.
Always.

I need her. She's serene. Her time is fleeting.
Her name will always be.
Always.

I am not her. She's something, at least. She will always be within me, but never outwardly will I pay her mind.
She will always be with me.
Whether I like it or not,
Always.

There was ***** and stolen cigarettes
There were long nights in her bed
There was a 10 year old learning about things he shouldn't know
There was secrecy, "our little secret"

She made me feel special
She was older and mature
This stuff was mature;
Even if it hurt
Even if I bled
Even if made me sick

I learned that a child's body is a play thing,
Locked inside a damp, broken toy box until it was to be used again
I learned that a child's mind was of little value without its sweet and soft body

No child ever came out of that house, that locked toybox  

A child died in that house,
Mind damaged beyond repair
But thank goodness it's body is still in tact
An empty body,
An empty husk of a child,
It's much easier to use

Without that body this child is worthless

You never know what your last meeting will be

With you it was nice,

We talked about silly things and the struggles we share-

The things that made us bond in the first place

We talked about the world, our gods, our eyes, everything

We talked about the way we things look to us

The fact we seemed to be colourblind in a world of spectre

And we said our goodbyes

And that was that.

So long, old friend

Have a nice day

I live vicariously through artists more talented than me

I steal their words, their look, their fashion

Their trends and their beliefs and their lives

Because I hate myself and my art
I hate my look and my fashion
I hate my trends and beliefs

And I hate my life!

So I've found it much more preferable to be a shadow of a great

Than the shape of something small and pathetic yet original

There isn't a creative bone in my body

I just replicate things that are better than me

my life is sadness

As if you didn't already know that,
I'm a teenager after all

But this isn't a poem about a sad wasted life

It's a bland poem about a sad artist

Nothing I can ever do will make it meaningful

There's no point to it

I can create,

Write some profound or empty poetry

Make some genius or contrived music

Paint some ugly or beautiful pictures

gentrify my sadness,

make it pretty
make it art

It doesn't make it anything more than a black hole

a black hole that throws out a portrait of a boy with a million eyes that can't see anything

I realise now
that sadness

no matter how much I dress it up

Is sadness

And even if it's pretty or artistic

it's never going to be more than that

there was definitely a spark
it could have been a match to a gas leak
the striplights could have all blown at once
everyone else in the world besides you and me could have gone up in flames

I didn't hear it, I didn't see it,
but I know something happened

because god,
my heart is on fire

I choose my bad influences very carefully,
nothing malicious
nothing mean

hippies and faux-punk kids that don't particularly believe in anything
but being kind

the human aspects of addiction

sharing needles is a kindness, a generous gesture

the disease in my blood, addiction

along with the ***

friendship, comradary, its a wonderful hardship to bare with one another

its sad to be united over this,

but if we're going to ruin ourselves and die

at least we won't do it alone

you do not find peace nor take comfort in transience

you never have and never will

the cycle of grief is the only consistency

There's a man on the radio trying to show the audience how to grow onions

Who has the heart to tell him he's mistaken?

NOT OF SADNESS OR PAIN DO I THINK OF YOU

LITTLE GIRL, YOU ARE NOT SO LITTLE ANYMORE

I STILL AM, THOUGH I HAVE LEARNED MUCH THROUGHOUT MY FEW YEARS

IT IS NOT NOSTALGIA AND IT IS NOT LOVE OR HURT THAT COMPELS ME TO WRITE ABOUT YOU

MY MIND JUST WONDERS TO YOU FROM TIME TO TIME

THINKING OF WHAT COULD HAVE BEEN

AND WHAT WILL NEVER BE

my heart isn't beating
its dying and resurrecting itself with more volts than it takes to power a whole highstreet
a thunderstorm of rebirth-
of hope
and of faith

transmigration,
between the you I see and the you I think I see

I turned the volume down as quiet as I could,
like I was protecting a secret

like I was the one confessing
and you were the jury

before I think to press play I calm myself
control my breathing
and
read with stable, steady
dilated pupils

what you have to say

it buzzes around my chest like glowflies
and I think about your voice

and I press the button

and I feel the electricity,
the lighting bolts,
before
I fall down on my bed
while
the eye of the storm
passes over

and I can't stop smiling

The dog barks at the mailman, some school kids catch the bus, the sun goes up before going down

A spider climbs across the mirror and she doesn't know the shape of a human being

The dog settles down in his bed, the kids walk home together sweet treats in hand, the lesser stars start to love themselves

The spider got whacked by a hardback book and she doesn't know what a human is

Victor Frankenstien went shopping through morgues and cemeteries and picked out only the very best features,
stitching them together with string and tape

the flowing black hair and the delicate pale skin,
it should have been perfect

but once the lightning struck and the creature opened his glassy eye the truth was revealed

you can't make a person that way
not a good one anyway

the hair was matted and the skin that looked so fresh on a corpse was jaundice

the monster was a monster by design, even if it was not intentional

I understand what it means to take what seems so beautiful on other bodies and stitch it together haphazardly trying to make something perfect

I have Victors hands, the hands that play god

but more than that,
I have the sickly skin and the glazed-over eyes

I have the very best things I saw in everyone else

a gentle angel with one million eyes to watch over her children,
I took her kindness
a wretched holy beast that could never be hurt, I took his aggression

I stole ideas and attitudes that resonated with me,
I stole the rebellion that I saw the righteous wear in books and on TV
I stole the heart that some sweet girl wore on her sleeve with faith in the world around her
I plagiarized, I became everything I thought was beautiful

with my Frankenstein hands I had created a self to live in, an idea to thrive in my useless body

I thought I could live as the perfect boy, the perfect person

but the ideas split off, still inside me
growing and expanding and bulging out of my skin
my bones crack under the weight of so many people within

the sweet, the angry, they were always at odds

a monster, a monster that lies in poppy fields and dreams about love

a sweetheart, a sweetheart that slices rats in half just to see what their insides look like

I am not the perfect thing I wanted to be
I am fractured like the bones I had to rip apart to make them fit

I am too little too late and too much too soon all in one,
not enough, never enough, far too much to bear

I am the god I swore was dead,
I am taxidermy animals that don't look quite right

I am fractures of what I wanted to be

I am Frankenstein
but
I am also Frankenstein's monster

the dreams where we talk,
just talk, are much worse than in
the ones you **** me

you will always scream at us that we're fake
you'll cry that you don't understand how we work
you complain that our way of thinking is scary
you don't even try to understand us-
you all hate us so much

and it's funny really.

because while you're over there- complaining about us

you want to be us so badly and you try as hard as you can to be just like us

but you're not

and that makes us laugh

because you're always going to be that way

and we're always going to be better than you

call that narcissism? sure, why not

I call it a fact

It's no good

I don't know why it's not,

it's just not enough

it is not lacking in any aspect,

don't misunderstand that

it's just

no good

His body was the scene of the crime that he was never permitted to leave

The home battlefield of a surrendered side shown no mercy by the aggressor

If he looks down for too long then the memory of ***** hands pressing on his throat and spreading his legs open return

There was nowhere he was safe

Impurity had burrowed under his skin

his insides had paid the price

HE'LL TRIP YOU UP AND YOU'LL FALL DOWN THE STAIRCASE AND WHEN YOU REACH THE BOTTOM HE'LL HUG YOU AND KISS YOUR BRUISES AND CALL AN AMBULANCE FOR YOU AND PRETEND THAT HURTING YOU WAS NEVER HIS INTENTION BUT IT'S HARD TO BELIEVE THAT WHEN HE HAS DONE THIS SO MANY TIMES BEFORE

I TOLD YOU THAT I WAS DYING AND YOU TOOK ONE LOOK AT MY BLEEDING THROAT AND TOLD ME NOT TO GET BLOOD ON YOUR NEW SHIRT