This isnt real. This it's all a bad dream. But the only way out isn't as easy as it seems. If I fail I'm stuck here forever and if I don't then another dream will be never.

do not date a girl
who writes.
she will internalize
everything,
carve poems
into your eyelashes
instead of
kissing them,

she will analyze you,
calculate age
from the rings
your coffee cup
leaves
instead of refilling it.

she will memorize
the way your
lips curl around steam,
but not that you
take it
two sugars,
no cream.

she will read your
palm instead of
holding it
against her chest.

she will not
blink
when you leave,
because she is
already
romanticizing it.

We are critical.

We find flaws in
everything we see
because nobody
wants to write
about perfection,
even though sometimes
we wish we could just stay
staring into that
unblemished surface.

2. We are never satisfied.

We live our lives upon
mountains of
scrunched up
bits of refill and
ideas we gave up
trying to
express.

3. We never forget.

We write words about
eye contact made
three months ago
that we replay over
and over in our minds
even though it
stopped
being relevant.

4. We are fickle.**

Our emotions flash
from one
to the other
like strobe lighting that
disorientates us
until we feel as if
the world
will never be still.

5. We are exposed.

We don't know how
to keep our feelings
to ourselves so
we'll write them
down for
you to find
'accidentally'.

6. We are vulnerable.

We wear our
hearts on our sleeves
and won't lift a
muscle to fight back
if somebody tries
to break it
because we thrive
from the pain.

7. We will never stop.

We will never stop
feeling and
we will never stop
hurting,
we will never stop
breaking and
bleeding and
loving
even though the cycle
is endless
and we know what's
coming next.


We are addicted
to agony,
but we agonise
for the art.

It's late and I don't know why I am writing,
What demons am I fighting?
The mourning of a past,
Filled with "regrets and gratitude",
And a dance never asked,
Another drink to pass the time,
Another cigarette to fill an empty line,
Drummers that don't have anything to say,
And singers filled with too much nostalgia,
I can't shake it,
What else is there but another cart to gather,
Making sense like a shampoo that doesn't lather,
Try to be the former and less the latter,
No sense.

Open the bottle
Tilt the flow
Down the poison
Easy it goes

Blurred out vision
No straight line
Tilt it back
Feeling fine

Fourth drink down
One more pill
Stomach turns
Crazy ill

Half the bottle
Can not stand
Force it more
Hear the band

Head is spinning
Up on top
Fingers numb
Have to stop

No more ***
I want it more
Body craving
I am a *****