there is an empty space
i'm just not sure I'm allowed to take it

i will stare at it wondering
then turn away hesitant

when i finally gain the courage
someone will have taken my place

if i get closer
i get scared
that i don't mean
what i say
instead
i pick on the skin
around
my nails.

I have all these scenarios playing out in my head
Because I keep wondering what life would be like instead
Of waiting for the future, I imagine it myself
Cause I know, life won't turn out as I hoped
They'll fall apart
I'll fall with them
These images in my head will fade
None of them will be real
All these scenarios
Will only ever remain
As words.

if the clothes hanging in my closet
start getting bigger
i know
i'm either eating too much
or hiding under sweaters

if they all turn from black to white
i feel like I'm asking for attention
i look in the mirror
and force my smile away
"don't get ahead of yourself
you're losing direction"

i need to feel bad about myself
to get the right motivation
hide under sweaters
that shield me from affection

my urge to pop a
child's
balloon
and watch them cry
as i laugh
is
overwhelming

it's on par with my urge
to shove
a knife in my throat
just to
see
what happens

how morbid. i know

but aren't we all?

i like the rain
the sound
makes me feel like i'm alone
so when i'm in the shower
i cover my ears
so it sounds like the rain
and thunder
oddly enough
even cold water
begins to feel
warm

when you light a match
watch the flame
burn it black
wisps of smoke
reach your fingers
it's warm
it's exciting
then you put it out
it's still warm
part of it
permanently black
vulnerable
so you let it
crumble

i'm sure there's a metaphor in there somewhere




Once I lit a match. I wanted to watch the fire. I watched the fire burn the wood and turn it to ash. It was turning black. I saw wisps of smoke curling between my fingers, as the flames got nearer. I could feel the heat. Before I got burnt, I blew out the fire. And the flame was gone, but that black wood, that ash, still remained.
That’s when I had a thought. Maybe that’s what happens when you decide to be bad. When you choose to be evil instead of good. When you give up doing good for doing bad.
Maybe when you make that choice, a fire ignites in you. A fire so bright, you can’t see anything else. But it’s like bliss. Blinding bliss. And you let that fire burn when you continue to be bad. It makes you want to do worse. Because it feels right. It feels like you can finally be seen. But that fire, that flame, it’s burning you, to your core. It turns everything black.
Eventually, you extinguish the fire. You don’t want it anymore. But you don’t know that it might be too late. Your heart, your soul, your mind. It’s all gone. It’s black. It’s ash. It’s a part of you now, a part you can’t get rid of. It’s still there; it won’t just disappear.

if only we could exist
for a single moment
at only one place
for only a memory
that would be solely ours

but we are flesh and blood
we travel and continue
to exist at different times
in different places
we cannot seem to stop
yet we believe
our existence
is extraordinary

when will we realise
that even the extraordinary
is ordinary?

~

in a British accent

i do not fear solitude
i fear being left alone after already having someone so close
i'd rather enjoy my own company;
it is for this reason, amongst others,
i think myself to be quite fascinating

~

i lack the lyricism
they all expect
me to have when
i'm feeling miserable
and can't confess
with my tongue
but instead
have to express
in writing
because it's best
to have an outlet
so you don't
regress
into patterns
you thought
you left and
disregard the
feelings you
expelled
because they
haven't disappeared
and are merely
suppressed
and then i
ask myself
*"what the **** am i doing?"

I don't care enough about me
Or you
Or why the world spins
I can't even sleep
And somehow you think
That I'm hanging
Onto your every word
You are my muse
And I'm a flighty bird
With no direction
And listen
I understand
You love the attention
The gazing
The movie star treatment
And inspiration
Is hard to come by
So take what you need
I'll gladly concede
But leave me
Out of your dreams
I must be
Out of my mind
No that's you
I'm alright

i just don't feel like smiling
but i can be nice
sometimes
it's august
used to be july
stating the obvious
isn't a crime
neither is smiling
once in a while
take a look
inside my mind
you'll see how
august
turns to july

I like the physical
Feeling
of vertigo
and dizziness
reeling
back
from blurry
ceilings
and voices
I can't
keep
around me
revealing
lines on
my wrists
with excuses
I can't sleep
I like the physical
feeling
of blood
on my skin
reeling
back
with pleasure
and sin
revelling
in the
metallic
taste
the peeling
back of
layers
with haste
The physical
feeling
of pain
that is
leaving
is beyond
those who
want to
keep
living

cherry-picked words
taste sweeter on
my tongue
than your hand-picked
cherries

i believe that if
i don't eat
three meals
a day
i'll feel better
about myself
it's
not
working

a chill that you feel in your bones
when you know
how far you'll go
then you hold it in
the familiar feeling
when the cold settles in
and you don't
even know
there is ice on your window

We said hello in passing
Laughed with each other in groups
One day, there would be five between us
And I couldn't meet your eyes
Then it became three
And then only one
Then our knees were pressed together
Then your hand slipped into mine
And I could feel you laugh
Your voice rang in my ears
And mine in yours
But slowly your fingers lost their grip
Or maybe mine did
Our hands fell
Someone sled in between us
Then it became three
Then it was five
And suddenly we were strangers again
Who laughed with each other in groups
Who only said hello in passing
Friendly, maybe even friends
But not quite the same.

Turns out we don't need to use that many.

I don't have a dream
Is that strange?
Is it supposed to be?
It isn't to me. At all.
I don't know anything
But why do I have to have a dream?
I won't find one
Even if I do,
I won't
Follow
It.

I don't know what's wrong with me.
But I just got so angry. Frustrated.
I wanted to yell.
I didn't. There were people around.
I was cutting an apple, peeling the skin off.
It was bright red
And it was glistening under the light.
I had the knife in my hand
And for a second - no it was more than just one second -
I wanted to throw it.
And I wanted it to hurt.
And I wanted to see the glistening again.
But I don't know who I was aiming for.
Them,
me
or the apple.

"Let me in?" I asked
She said, "Could you please go back"
Gave her my hand,
But she let it fall.

I picked it back up
But she was already gone;
I watched her walk away,
Smiling at the Sun
And I melted.

She was in the rain,
She was in the grass,
And I couldn't help but smile
When I saw her laugh.

I wanted people to see what I saw
Because it's better to be held
Than holding on
To nothing, nothing at all

She wanted to be by herself
And I swear I understood
Alone, but not lonely
But what about me?

Why couldn't she understand
That she was too good
For this world and its people
And to just stay hidden

She pushed me away
I couldn't be with her
But I watched and I smiled
So imagine the others
How would they see what I saw?

Now she's gone
And I remember everything
Every moment, every smile,
Every crinkle of her eyes

I'm not fine
She left without a word
And no one seems to know
But me and a few others

She was too good
For this world
She was too good to just
Sit in her world

I wanted her to be loved
The way I love her
And now I'm not fine
Because all I can do is remember.

She wanted to be by herself
Just her in her innocent world
And I swear I understood
She was alone, not lonely
But what about me?

I remember the inside:
A little red; a bit of grey.
Rows of leather seats and carpeted floors.
But it was when the journey began,
And I sat down,
My feet dangling over the edge,
Just like my anticipation -
They told me we'll be under the sea.
But I felt us moving;
The slow hum I heard eased me.
My eyes flickered to the window,
My parents' voices faded,
As I watched my reflection.
Then I noticed her. In the window.
I recognized her,
From where we had left.
It was while I was on my feet,
Hand clasped in my mother's,
But eyes fixed on her.
The girl sat waiting, sketchbook in her lap,
Pencil in her hand with her legs crossed.
It was crowded and clamorous,
Yet she paid no attention,
Her gaze set on her art,
Her movements steady.
The girl's raven hair was tied
And I think she wore something blue.
We went in together.
We sat on the left,
She sat on the right,
And drew.
And drew.
And drew.
And her pencil left dark marks on snow-like paper,
As her hands moved fast, then slow.
I couldn't help but watch.
I strained to look away,
But the window only showed…
Black. Bricks.
Darker than her hair. And her pencil.
We were underwater, but I didn't care.
I was more intrigued by the girl
Who sat so close, but was so far away.
Practically living in a different world.
I was helpless, shy, way too curious.
I wondered what she was thinking. And drawing.
It was pure, innocent, fascination.
Then the train stopped.
She stopped.
I stopped.
Because we had arrived.
We left.
She was gone.
I was bored.
Again.

He died that day.
That man.
I may have gone there to **** him,
And I may have wanted him to die,
But he died
Because he fell upon my sword.
Willingly.
He died.
But I wished he hadn't.
I wanted him to live a little longer
So he could see me burn down his kingdom
And all the people in it.
And then
I would have killed him.
That night.

I don't feel like myself
I feel like yelling
I feel like crying
And I don't feel like writing
But here I am
.
.
.
Because it's supposed to help
They said it helps

I can see the way
Your rhymes they play
Your head
You've got that blame
On pause
Now hit repeat
I don't do rhymes
Patterns
Circles
Or anything
That spins my head
Because I get dizzy
And then my head hurts
Then I get awkward
And I don't like it.
Then I get nauseous
And I hate it.
And then someone out there
Decides to hit
Repeat.

Wanting to be like someone
And wanting to be someone
Are two very different things.
....one is identity theft!

To be or to be the other one.....that is the question.

Why
Does living need to hurt?
I thought God was kind.
Were they all lies?
We might just be blind.

Oh wait,
I don't even believe
In him; it isn't real.

If it was, we would all
Be fine.

I pray.