in maths i was told that numbers rule our lives,
that every detail can be measured, counted, put into figures and digits and statistics.
i laughed at the idea.
but now i believe there is some truth in those words,
that numbers are in fact the one thing that rules over our small existence,
be it the number of friends at the dinner table
celebrating a pay-rise or a birthday or simply just to compensate for the hours since they were last united.
or maybe this importance can be found
in the number of pounds in your back pocket
or the pounds of food on the table in front of you,
the amount of fuel you fill your body with,
the pounds that you shed as you decide you no longer need fuel
and the numbers in front of you begin to decrease.
there are numbers everywhere.
there are numbers at the tips of your fingers as you determine
how much you need,
counting out each tiny pill as you prepare to swallow them like candy
and finally get the sweet release you so desperately crave.
perhaps the numbers are found in the length of rope as you stand at the top
counting down from ten, anticipating
the grand finale, unless you take
from your maths lessons and decide instead to calculate the dimensions, the
length and the depth to travel with the blade as it so delicately graces your skin,
breaking the ice at last.

in maths i was told that numbers rule our lives,
but looking back, i think you’ll find that they rule more over death.

not to kink shame but
i prefer being sliced up
than hit with rubber

"i'm fat" she says.
the words roll off her tongue so effortlessly
as though she has said it numerous times before
in front of harsh reflections which
cut deep into her heart.
a shiver runs down her cold,
starved body, beneath layers and layers
of thick insulated clothes.

my spine remains still,
safe from the cold as it cowers behind thick
white blankets of insecurities,
invisible in a mass of mcdonalds.

Your smile,
Your constant reminders that I'm okay,
Your disease curing laugh,
Your constant generosity.
My trust that you'll always be there.
I'm not sure what broke me.

The delicate internal sting
As your lips brushed gently over mine
Until we fought silently with our mouths.
The heart wrenching pain after
As I tried not to cry,
Knowing I'm not good enough,
That I never will be and yet still
You stay by my side.

But it's not the same.

My tears which have not stopped since
Then are drowning me in an
Ocean of my own pain;
My sea of sadness embraces me
As I watch you leave and I
Know you regret everything.

Maybe that's what broke me.
My longing for you as my sick
And evil brain envisions you
Leaving until eventually

You do.

And I can't bear to watch.

happiness.
the sort that comes from nothing,
from sitting among chaos with you
and only you.
the kind that fills the emptiness
left in the space where i feel nothing.

not temporary happiness,
not the fake, material happiness,
not happiness that can be measured and compared.
just pure, innocent happiness.
despite my empty, loneliness,
happiness.

the simple, wholesome happiness
that only you can bring.
quiet, nothingy happiness.
you.

i don't really have a name for
this happiness,
which seems so abstract and rare,

but i have decided to call it love.

around me i see the world
it is not as you might think
it is an illusion.
at first, where you might see its beauty and life,
i see a world of pain,
a world of deceit and suffering.
past cafes i walk, a spy in a foreign world,
couples huddled together upkeeping the illusion that love is real,
needlessly trusting eachother when they both know the pain to come.
children laughing and playing
unaware of the suffering they will have to endure
in later life.

if they live to see later life,
that is.
some do not,
they see like i do:
aware of the pain they are in.

wishing to end it.

if the only way to feel
is by feeling pain
why do i allow myself to feel?
i'd rather end my suffering,
feel nothing at all forever
than continue in a world of pain

I am a God
I create worlds with my fingertips on this canvas of a body
With my bare hands I erupt volcanoes from a wrinkled visage
Burning valleys gather on my legs, a desperate cry for help as I run through useless ideas.

I am a God,
I create worlds at my fingertips,
But this one is broken.

Look at me, look
In my
Eyes, and you will
See that I'm perfectly fine.

sometimes i **** myself
in my mind
just a little
just enough to see how everyone would be better without me
just enough to isolate myself a while
but it's not real
and every day i regret that i'm still here