Call it cynical, call it whatever you like
But don't you dare revel in those 'self-help' lies
You can plaster that smile
On your young tired face
Project the illusion of confidence, happiness even.

But the darkness is in your lashes
And that acid, in the soil of your mind
So let yourself ******* feel it
Because the flowers are being killed anyway
Even if you smile.

There's broken glass on the floor
Each slither; it's you
Extend your hand, pick some up
Curl your hand into a fist
And crush.

Your skin is punctured with glass slashes
Ripe blood trickles through
You feel alive and as though you've died
All in one crimson drop
But those glass slashes, they're true
Unlike that self-help smile you think has people fooled.

I am not sure what this numbness is
I can feel longing aching in my bones
My desires are whimsical and paradisiacal
I crave touch
And the tickle of breath on the small of my neck
I want to feel warmth against me
I yearn for hands in tangled hair
And lips caressing cheeks.
What it would be to feel alive.
What it would be to stay up all night.
What it would be to stand in the chilling winter air
inhaling your fumes of smoke, tainting my innocence.
What it would be to feel whole
But I am not in love (with you) and there is a void where my heart used to be.

It's not that I don't like you, you know.
No, it's not that.
Are you ready for my excuse?
Well, here it is, although mingled with truth.
Some days, I'm out of my own control, you know.
I wake up but don't get up,
My sheets and mind hold me,
I don't want to go.
It's not that you annoy me, you know.
But on alternate mornings
That's what it seems.
Hear my cliche:
"It's not you - it's me."
But only those, 'in the know', can know, you know.
You are on the outskirts
Of my dark tousled hair
You look into my eyes, only to realise
There is nothing there.
Once the night has taken me
I sleep without sound
But then in the morning
My feet won't touch the ground.
You can't understand, no matter how hard you try.
I know it frustrates you and brings a tear to the eye.
You don't want to blame me but I know that you do.
But you don't feel this thing that's bluer than blue.
I can't explain it, you know.
That was my poor attempt to try.
Just look at it like this. I try to stand up
But my limbs turn to stone
Following in the footsteps of my heart.