.
.

i have no things to say
for you to hear

right now
i just want a corner
i just want keys compressing

it's the only music i know how to make
it's the only thing that responds to my touch
the only thing i want to share my feelings with


i'm tired of feelings
i'm tired of my body
i'm tired of myself
i'm tired of reaching out
i don't reach out
i need help
i hate ...

sometimes there is a music i can make
song birthed from death
a lullaby to remind myself of hope

but there are times where there is no light
there is no music
there is no one to share
anything i'd like to share
my soul
is bare
for no
thing
but the

air











the spaces
i strain to
find an
echo












the length of
open my
eyes to things that hurt












the times i'd
like to
shrivel away












.

As if anger is never enough when it comes to me fleetingly, sparingly,
sweetly if you'd believe it,
I'd taste it and spew it back out into rainbows that land in thorns surrounding you
I want to hurt you, I want to be alone

My whole life I've been trying to help people
I've been trying to help and draining myself
I'm used to the kind of air that leeches off of me,
the kind of folks that leech off of me,
the state of being of shame, for the ways I can't keep myself alive

And I try and stop trying, live and keep dying
moving and stopping
If I open my eyes near you I become too repulsed to keep rhythm
If I listen to you I sink faster into the places where I can't feel

But with you before I've felt the sky in a million flavors
And I've cried in a million colors
And now, I have a million ways to say that I'm confused.
But I'm done.

*******, you *******
******* for being ****** up and not being able to be fixed
and not being able to fix yourself
******* for representing all the unhealthy relationships in my life
(read: ALL the relationships in my life)
******* for your two-facedness, for the things that were ****** up then,
for the things that are ****** up now and for
you pretending that it isn’t this way
pretending to be holding the truth
be speaking the truth
be slurring the truth
you are unknowing of the truth
I am not knowing of what’s true
and good,
but you are not it.

So leave, leave, leave, and take her with you,
and pretend as if you have me in your heart
but forget me. Please don’t speak to me.
And don’t cry to me.

And at some point, eat. And at some point, sleep.
Between the meaningless bouts of *******, *******, *******,
and pretending to be finding the things
you find meaningful
You haven’t thought about them in a while, have you

I’m angry at you and I’m angrier at myself
But at least I’m proud of myself
Because whatever hurts me now makes me grow
I can handle being alone and learn independence, and it will
be my weapon against you and everyone like you.

I don’t love you. I don’t know what that kind of love is and I hope to not find it for a while.

Close.
Run, and don’t look back. Those were the last words you told yourself before you stopped talking. The last memory you chose to take with you into nowhere.
You think of the stars now. The stars and the sky that you didn’t look at long enough. You wish you could open your eyes now. You wish you didn’t have eyes to open.
You hold yourself so you can love and be loved. You don’t love yourself but you don’t trust anyone else to try. You don’t know what love is, other than a part of an existence you don’t want to forge.
You growl. You hear a growl. You don’t know the difference, or what’s in your head. There is pressure, and with that ceaseless compression comes the freedom to stop caring.
You have no beliefs, not even that another moment will come, and especially not that it should.
You’ve been trying for a while now to find your body, while denying that you never left. You’re well-versed in fighting against yourself. You’ve practiced on both sides, enough to stall out a win for eternity.
You can put off opening your eyes as long as you want, while pretending there is nothing to see…
Open.

it's worth
noticing                                                           the light
beyond
the lengths of
shadow

i don't know why i
do the things i do sometimes
i don't know how to try sometimes
i only want to cry

i don't know how my head works
i don't know why so many things
hurt i can't think i can't
speak the rains that sting me
can't communicate across the gaps
between we

sometimes
sometimes i don't want to be
sometimes i wish someone would break me
sometimes i don't know how many times
i can't count seconds but i can count smiles
because there are so few sometimes my thoughts
are circles and knots that can't be unraveled at least
not by me but no one else is keeping track either and
i'll lose myself and keep losing myself and keep
coming to places where i don't know what to do with myself until i

fall

To those who like
(you could say I'm fishing
to see who's)
reading between
(paying attention to
the meaning of)
the lines

There is no
.
to this poem

In all my life I never tried to
.
out the wisdom I didn't know

I re
ac
(hed)
ted
the wrong way a few
x

I still do at
x
but I care about *s
and try not to care about #s

I pay attention to i's
both of them

One day someone will find me in the
lab
r
(nth degree - the lengths I'd go to to hide and wish to be found)

I think that's the
.