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the dead bird Nov 2019
If my soul is a plant,
then you are the sunlight
that keeps me alive.

You are the bones of my skeleton.
You support the weight of my body -
the structure that keeps me together.

If I am a balloon, you are the string
that pulls me back down to Earth
whenever I begin to drift away.

You are summer, spring and fall;
you are all of the color and beauty
of every sunrise to ever exist.

The giver of my wings,
you taught me how to spread my feathers,
and showed me how to soar.

You are the moon of my planet,
controlling the tides of my oceans
that pull towards your magnetic being.

My beating heart with arms and legs,
you are the only light I see
shining at the end of this dark tunnel.

You are my home.
the dead bird Apr 2019
my worst habit is my tendency
to binge
on absolutely everything.

you remind me, constantly.
to that I say,
my precious
as I consume

i don’t like my sober mind.
i feel too much like
my mother,
whose worries eat her alive.

inebriation gives me
the power
to not give a ****!
something i lack when in sober thought.

it’s like anything and everything
causes a stress and worry
i just want to be away from it
for a little while.

that little awhile
being every day
at every chance i get.
do you think addiction is a mental illness? asking for a “friend”
the dead bird Mar 2019
the calendar now marks
that it's been over a year
since I've last had your taste.
I should be proud
of myself
- and I am -
but more so, I am
surrounded by frustration.

I cannot write code like I used to.
Neither can I
find the words to write poetry
like I used to.
With you,
my creativity and passion
came effortlessly:
like turning on a tap
from which the essence
whenever I took
my next hit.

Now, it's been
over a year from you;
and the passion from which
you robbed me of
is starting to come back.

I refuse to let
my memories of you
that which I love.

My subdued passion
for programming,
video games,
and literature
shall not be dull forever.

With every new moon
that passes,
the fog in the mirror
continues to fade,
as my reflection
becomes clear.

And with it,
I feel (more than anything)
the ambition
that which you stole from me
ever-so-slowly return.

I so desperately
searched for my soul
while in your grasp.
Clouded by your embrace,
I lost myself,
and saw only the image you painted
in the mirror.

In time I will find myself again.

One year clean
is something to celebrate.
been clean from speed a year and haven't wrote anything because it's hard for me to come up with anything of remote quality without the drug. at least that's what it feels like on my end. ah well, one year clean celebration poem.
the dead bird Dec 2017
I wake
from dreams of you
like ocean waves
that crash
upon the shore

a second
before I remember
no longer mine

I don't want
to be


if I
keep my eyes shut
these waves will swallow me again,
drowning me
in memories of you

but memories
become regrets -
and my mind is a hurricane
with rain like
a storm of thoughts

thoughts like

this could have
been avoided
if I didn't let my emotions
play me
like a puppet

how now
our days together
will be replaced
with somebody else
and the sun will set
all the same

no longer
a person
in your life
but a story
you tell

trying to say,
I’m sorry and
you're right
it’s my fault
I was wrong

I'll be here
when you want me
i didn't mean what i said when i was drunk and i'm sorry i acted the way i did towards you
  Dec 2017 the dead bird
i want to bleed out all the sadness
until my ****** runs out of color
and becomes clear again

i want to scrub myself like a bathroom floor
hard and rough
until all the dirt comes off
so maybe, even just for a few days,
yeah maybe i could shine

or i shouldn't shower
wait for some weeks
won't even ****
i don't want my bathroom get *****
if i have to **** i will **** on my hands
and carefully put it in the trash bin
for my landlady's turkey to eat

how i wish i could just throw away
all these dishes
and not be found out

i want the time to stop so i can rest awhile
and not just procrastinate
i want to really rest
like an unpopular mountain, like an unknown lake
i want it to be very still and silent i can hear my own blood rushing

but what if i have diarrhea
and can't **** so neatly like i always did
what if it's been a week and it won't stop
and it won't even get me skinny

i'm so homesick i order a hainanese rice
i'm so homesick i don't want to not sleep even though it's the finals week
i'm so homesick i want to drop out of school
i'm so homesick everything becomes empty and hurts

i've been collecting empty beer cans because i don't want my landlady to tell my mother that i drink

i want to dry myself in the sun but
i can't
even get out of bed to turn
on the light
don't open the window and take a nap
it's the rainy season
the dead bird Nov 2017
Clouds like smoke fill the sky,
Pearl white ash becomes grime.
Sleep beckons me with its embrace,
Dreaming to strangle me
Under blankets of black.

Time devours feeling,
But death consumes everything.
I am the dirt underneath your nails,
Leave me to rot.
I want to decay with you.

If you know the words, sing along:
Indifferent hands control us all.
Chaos, destruction, escape -
As it begins,
So it will end.
the dead bird Jul 2017
I make jokes about how I starve myself because I am starving myself

if I didn't make it look
this good,
someone might think
there's something wrong
this doesn't count
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