a cataract of emotion overflowing.
there’s no end in sight.
no wet floor signs.
no life jackets.

i’ve always had a problem pouring too much.
spilling my guts on the floor,
making a mess of it all,
waiting to see how far i could possibly -
fall.

i don’t mean to
i didn’t mean to

my cup is empty and still it never ends.
the water on the floor is turning to ice.
it’s getting colder and colder -
i’m running further and further.

i don’t mean to
i didn’t mean to

i’ll keep trying to run.

-

I sit in stillness,
My soul scrapping at my skin trying to break through.
No matter the self care or the nourishment I feed my soul,
It still resides.
My flesh just a blanket for what lies within.
I sweat,
I eat,
I smoke,
But I will never be able to escape the forever sugar rush.

And so I observed as my leg began to shake in the comfort of my own bed, and the chewing of my cheek in the shower became more noticeable. I had finally realised it was back

He looked at me,
The way the sky looks at the rain,
Waiting for patiently for the relief.
Hands intertwining around my waist like vines,
Every touch felt.
Warm lips pressed against mine that has been worn.
Heal them I say as if they have been broken so many times before.
I love you,
I love you.

the river knows
as does the grey

of the rain
the dark windows

of the church know
and the confetti

of leaves wet
upon the cobblestones

he isgone

to ng ue ti pp ed      
                               in to the            
                                              in fi ni te

heis gone

That girl sitting there
is a beautiful tragedy
her mind is an aghast
her body
is her grave
her bones
ache
while her throat is being strangled
whats wrong with her mind
cant ever be untangled.
she,
is a beautiful tragedy

When reeds are dead and a straw to thatch the marshes,
And feathered pampas-grass rides into the wind
Like aged warriors westward, tragic, thinned
Of half their tribe, and over the flattened rushes,
Stripped of its secret, open, stark and bleak,
Blackens afar the half-forgotten creek,—
Then leans on me the weight of the year, and crushes
My heart.  I know that Beauty must ail and die,
And will be born again,—but ah, to see
Beauty stiffened, staring up at the sky!
Oh, Autumn!  Autumn!—What is the Spring to me?

my tea has gone sour overnight
the stars must have mixed with milk
dreams dancing into my two white pillows
why does night slip away so suddenly

tones of sadness find me early morning
I try to unsap my fatigue and fall
stumbling into the room where we keep our food
which keeps us alive

sip my new fresh tea from my country
red and warm and hugging
I miss the accents of my land
craving something familiar (like you) but not

maybe we are all so incurably alone
spinning around this globe individually
unstoppable in solidarity
maybe this was how it was meant to be.

even the darkest minds can drip gold;
pink roses can bloom behind ****** chain link fences,
as leaves can stay orange as they float in puddles reflecting gray.

there’s always stars in the dark.