Baby is lifeless baby is used out of her control. baby’s mind is drenched in spirits, baby’s whole soul is intoxicated out of her power. Baby can’t feel a thing.
Baby likes attention, baby likes eyeliner to morph into her god.
Baby likes to party; so baby can conceal weaknesses that she can’t attend to. Baby has lost what’s inside. Because baby is tiered, and baby hasn’t anyone by her side to tame her. baby likes to see how far she can pull away from care until she is lost. Until she is crumbled by the side of the road thrown out by the cab under city lights which shelter baby’s innocence. Innocence she longs to annihilate to prove her strength, independence perhaps.
Baby can’t feel; baby has her tears inhaled by spirits before she can let them treacle down her skin. Damaged tissue, layers of fatigue from stranger’s touch. Baby thinks she is a toy baby lets herself to be played with because she plays with those toys in reverse. She mirrors those she fears and hates the morning after.
But baby is grown. And, baby can live to forget and baby erases the regrets in her ego and her laughter. Baby thinks its okay and baby says it’s fun, but this baby is lacking nurture, milk. Gilded milk of age. Baby grew up lost, baby grew up a clown. These nights, these repetitive nights are countless revenge upon that foetus she hates. Foetus was a clown foetus had no power foetus was a peasant to beauty. Baby is a slave to beauty now, baby loses time for beauty. baby just needs validation.
Evil begins to spawn within her in the disguise of self-defence, as baby grew, she wanted to hurt, her ability to hurt was her weapon of retaliation to all those who rejected her. They become her victims in a new life, played by people in the night. Those she attacks, she pains by absence, ignorance. Baby simply wants to reverse roles baby just wants the power. Baby likes to think she needs no other soul in this world, her ego convinces her that alone is a soul mate itself and that peace can only be found within. Maybe love awaits her in another life. So baby inflicts pain instead.
Being alone, baby self-sabotages in an act where she is most social, as her liver suffers from poisons and she smiles through her teeth knowing her head might shatter within in any moment. Baby pretends its fun and baby soughts to find fun in a new body to conclude her self sabotage. When they touch her in the wrong places during the acts of the night baby hurts inside. but baby pretends for a moment that this lust is love as she abides to her plan. Her plan is a success when she questions herself in regrets the next morning. Regret is forbidden so baby laughs instead. I call it a romanticization of a lack of self worth.  Actually no I’m just intoxicated.
Mother observes from above and mother scolds’ baby, lectures her to swear to never put herself through it again because her baby is so golden. But baby always flees from her mother and baby hides it all from her mother. Mother knows best but baby can’t understand. Because how many times did mother say that this cycle won’t erase loneliness that this wont compare to the love her baby deserves. And how many times did mother give baby false expectations because baby still goes to sleep in a cold bed every night.
Baby stops for a moment as she writes to search for the full moon. It disappears. Was baby dreaming did baby just want a full moon to liger upon her for dramatization?

                                                                                 -
It hurts her to say but baby is gnawing inside to find a cure for the lack she feels. Although ego holds strong above the water, seeking to drown people to reach land, but under ego she bleeds she lost her compass under waters. Love and lust pull her feet under water, creatures of desire bite and ceases her float. Baby drowns in this ocean of lusting.

                                                                      -
Baby is me in the night, baby is my alcoholism and baby is my ego my weakness my ongoing search for validation or love. Mother is my soul mother knows this is a vicious cycle but baby escapes home and escapes from mother.

12/12/23
Maybe I can begin to tragically write this pursuit of heartache just in the lifecycle in where it is slowly forming, slowly cracking out of its shell. When the honeymoon destination has not yet dawned but I wake up at 7am to you worrying and questioning me already.
When I’m lying vulnerable in the arms of a stranger who I met last week and I just pretend and I reassure on pillow talk that this is my this I my honest whole self I am not lying to you. I swear ive not been begging not been on my knees by my bedside praying hands bleeding as I write prayers to the guys up there to give me a vessel of affection and attention. You wrap my hair round your fingers and I start to crochet your emotions in my bare hands where you cant see. And I laugh amidst it and you ask me why I laugh and it brush it under those covers playfully as I play some more.
And I don’t play I don’t gamble but I gauge that I might begin more, who is deceiving who I can’t figure it out because I am so bleak in my heart. I was praying for you to come so I can feel something and be more than a machine I don’t want to pursue a career in acting I want to be real but before I see it form into any beauty I see it burst in flames. And your grey hair alludes to your need for security do I make you angry that I am so young with so much of the world to see with so many possibilities under my sleeve. I am comfortable in your presence in your quiet street and the quiet walk home when I look homeless. I listen to these songs in anticipation of reminiscing what we have started.
I like to write I like to feel and you have reignited this within me but you don’t know what ill say. I want you to be so sickly addicted that your downfall is at my length. Im being dramatic im trying to play a villain in the prequel of events because maybe the roles will reverse and my ego will be bruised and im always bruised but its too delicate to hurt there.

17/12/2023
I love and I hate the reignition of feeling you have set alight so so so nonchalantly you are so dim so quiet I gnaw for loud screams. I long for you to show me how violent you can be and slap me and then plaster me in your arms  and kiss my bruises.
I’ve been dropped on into the town centre of liminality my heart sits on the brick wall of the station waiting. Waiting for the train to pass and the moon is kissed to tightly into itself I tightrope across and seat myself on the edge. Pierced, it impales me not like you do it reminds me a bit. I scratch the skin off my hands I have never been so anxious so sick over a body I don’t even know. You heard me you heard me write the other days and you took the cards, you slit me open when I slept under you and you gouged the cards from out my chest and stitched them onto my breast on show for you to play and stroke. And manipulate and tease. And took your fist and shoved it so deep down my throat that I cannot fathom a sentence to collect nor am I heard anyway. You told me you are not a narcissist but I am no clown and now I am. You are the king of swords you can slice me anywhere from any place and slice my skin deeply. I’m agonising from the inside I am powerless my hands you tied them behind my back you sick. It still lets me to prevail the streets numbly oh im just so numb so monotone ament I.

I like him like this. He is a beast towering over the feeble souls, knowing we are in his power.
I lose sense of myself and act within his fantasy,
reborn each night.

There are too many hours in his night, he rejects the clock, tears out the handles, discards the rest to the fire. It consumes a false reality in its blaze and the dark lasts for years. We never age but we have lay here for so long. Mentally, I have become more youth, he extracts any knowledge I had in my ****** life, any experience, all my opinion. Violently he injects me with a stream of his blood to drown it out of me. I bathe in a red glaze which treacles orgasmically down my flesh. I am his clone, part of him always pervades within me. Nothing is real, I live in his video game.

He was beastly restless I wanted to disperse from the room, throw myself over the ledge which gaped onto soulless streetlights.
The LED would have made my black hairs so iridescent if you let my lie down there dead, parched neatly over the drains.

Then you slapped me and I was on the floor in between your legs, my hair wrapped around your right hand and treading over your knee. I was ornate in red lipstick, I was your doll, you were my player. I was the robot I was the programmed one I was a cell paralysed in a body. He sculpted his arms around my torso, his fingers melted into the curve of my jawline. As if to kiss me, yet the cigarette **** disintegrated into my left cheek leaving him permanently there. Pain or pleasure I forgot; I was so immune to his presence forever lingering on my skin in scars.

It was when you would bruise me gently to the serenade of the sunset and the pink skies darted into your gaze and it was hypnotic.
I was locked within you and you slit me open slightly every evening. Wounds healed quickly but the bruises stayed, I have always wanted tattoos and you were such a beautiful artist.
You policed me but you pleased me.
We acted in our movie and you caressed me in pearls you found on the ocean beds in a past life.
I look right, those books pile up and collect our anger in particles of dust they are so grey I have forgotten the titles but they complement the smoke which cascades down the once white walls that I smeared in lipstick every time I wanted you to die.

The walls are an art installation they reveal all that is evil in the world, ending the life of another and slow suicide from the smoke that frames your lungs.
I hate how you carry that knife behind me, but I love it when you cut my hair over the bath and shower me in rose petals.

watch me scatter the solemn ashes of my youth on these trails
A mind so mindless; so enriched with allure pink skies and withering dreams.
One so naive so bluntly ignorant to the cruelty that buries itself under the trails of a rooted fate.
watch me wander watch me waste time

time drips out my eye and slits knots and crosses on my cheeks of the days I have left here on this ground.
air ***** seconds out of my pores mirrors the way honeysuckle spills oudor over the pavements
life evolves around my mind because we know no better and lead to believe we stand alone in this head because you never feel sufficient healing from another body.
there wont be anyone to hold your balance over the hill when the wind speeds through the strands of black which you believe now cover your weak.
there will be no one to tell you you are enough because no one can gather the small linings of this complex mind which layers the life you live.
there is no one to hear you wail in the night as others liger under echoes of LED tones over open windows which stare below onto ghostly pavements.
no one to touch you like you would because you are overdressed and your skin won't be torn open by any other broken hands. feeble hands.
no one to tell you the names of the buildings you study upon you because its no one's concern where you spend your 4pm Sunday on a metal bench parched over the blurred skyline.
people surround you but you are so selfishly blind that you forget they exist.

you will never awake from this elusive state of mind until the reality of life shakes you to stone then you melt into the sheets and forget what daylight feels like on your damp head.

the bench will stay empty and those behind you too one day will disperse into the gravel
your mark has been made here and you life here in this life that you had seen in your visions

don't know how to feel how to speak how to look or how to behave because who are all these people anyway

don't show weakness because your ego is the only thing keeping you strong, hee, present.

and you are one in this world that pans out to illustrate the movie you have thought you are dreaming.

when a sense of thought leaks into the mind and I observe the father let go of his children in the morning and it shoots something so warm through my skin.
everyday you subconsciously fore+get more of the past that you have seen. what counts as experience, is it that of which we see or does imagination intertwine with this story we call life. our sight before us does not differ with our internal visions, nothing is tangible when one stays silent. those people you pass in the street have eyes of their own but what have they thought of what do thy do where do they go after we lock eyes for second. people don't age matter just progresses and stars fly further and move over and we age to become lesser humans in society we age to become relics of a vision that we once had and when we age too well all that of which we see will disappear in atoms. are memories also molecules of atoms. how does one retain a memory in a cell. its an energy a force that consumes us. we spend an untangible number on matter that we feel will drive us further to happiness or to survive.
within hours the moments you think are present fade into seconds that will never repeat. in a second, one scene of the world occurs infinite actions are composed at once by infinite minds. all this world is are minds with a vision. relity is not tangible its a thought its an image we face when we awake what if we don't awake. dreams are only as real as the present just close your eyes.
master the means of the universe the atoms the matter the dust that you are made of and the years you have came from

heart pains of empty
it's as though it's thinning out.
everything that she does to her body
deprives her of nourish.
her heart unravels to bones
we call it *****
no meat no skin, no warmth.
maybe feed on love, or emotion
a substance so foreign
not consumed yet in form.
food poisoning.

the ***** must continue to trace until its flesh spills through those desperate bones which engrave through her chest
for the attention to then be brought.

"the dangerous capacity of fiction to appeal to such an extent that it engenders a sense of dissatisfaction with real life"

The light catches his hair in the most perfect way and It’s a movie
The blond tips look like wings under streetlights
I flee from that perfection because I sense illusion
I sense danger I sense blood.
I flee with a gun in my right and scarf in my left
The AM is always so cold the breeze may **** me .
Town clock strikes 05 and it’s time for the night to disperse
I thought I was alone but I smell your footprints and I s was your shadow to my right
A black ink pen I grab from my pocket and scribe onto my hand what sight surrounds me, a commemoration or our last hours spent under streetlights I try to write yet the ink smudges simultaneously. A sign to warm me that I won’t want to remeber this night.
Alas i was correct, he was an illusion. My warning sought truth.
Blood dribbles out my head out my mouth
I drool needlessly hopelessly at his smug silhouette above me.

people around us fade
long days wade.
And the clouds stay golden tipped
but they look upon a withering world with suffering lives and pained hearts
living in a burning nature
a shallow fog polluted the air and
arrogance engulfs the helpless so deep that they are forgotten.
We dissolve slowly

Extract the blood,
the metaphor for this euphoric movie I had directed under the fall of night, alone.
The film began to develop as the bottles began to pile
and thus I began to envision these delusions which I lust would become a reality.
We were a movie.
Especially when your smoke filled my mouth and you fed me love off of tables.
Made me hazy it smelt so gentle it burned so numb.
Tacky hands rode my skin,
engraving scars of diamonds.
My ego erupted; became so ******* rich.
Illusion said I could buy your love
but your eyes were guilty of unfazed.
Debuts don’t faze millionaires, we just look like more money.
Millionaires don’t watch our movies.
11 August, 19 03:37

Romeo threw stones at your window
Tomorrow he will throw bombs and ****** you beautifully
The bombs explode with a fragrant odour so you fade gracefully in the smoke
He knows you’re alone in that home that once safe haven he alights in beams
You are trapped as the smoke crawls through the gaps as he once did under the sheets
The fire burns quietly at first as if it was simply his cigarette that he was lighting
Alas then it screeches and it reflects his screams he attacked you with once his bottle was empty and you said the wrong thing
Everything about this fire resembles him within the flames
Everything within this death resurrects his presence

Everything you doubted he was he is and he shows
Behold and brace the pain , this anonymous pain.
And it hits you at once, the flame licks your nightgown
coinciding with the first wake of dawn, the sun dwells behind the curtains and lets itself through the inch you left to separate the light from the blinds.

Their teeth caressed skin like dust flew Around the room. Simultaneously spirally, unidentifiable and so quiet. His eyes never saw.
Their claws tore him open and his skin shed without blood and his bones were armour  and out came wings. The wolves caressed the wings with their tails they were so warm so pure they did want him to leave .
He painted the wolves white and they were so beautiful they scurried in the woods killing everything and everyone who trespassed ( their mentality).
Their hinds took them over miles of land, such bare land everything was the same ; under the cliff there was water and they bathed until they drowned . They found wings and emerged from the water. They were no longer white the water washed them gritty washed them plain. He rode them home and they slept, under the moon which howled louder than the wolves ever had. We never woke up from this trip we are sleeping dead still until we find ourselves until the moon leaves sight until the wind never blows our fur again.  
He woke up inhumane his skin was grey his eyes were stricken in the middle and he no longer knew his last lie. His pack lay dead around him as he cried for his sacrifice. He was soon leave and he left them sparingly behind he never thought of them again. Though they raised him he was not them. His selfish glistened in the sun and his isolation blew upon the trees and to this he bathed needlessly. He raised himself reborn alone, deafened .

we pursue to confess sins that
have not been sinned.
rather than repent to ourselves
to bathe and soak in guilt that lurks amongst blood.
It’s okay if it keeps you awake
but sins is nothing but a disguise we put on ourselves
when we feel
that we have wronged the world.
We never do.

it’s lips poured spirits and wine
- fresh squeezed-
into my hands, into my system.
And it walks behind me sober. Watching my slurring stumbles
whilst an old sense of strength from inside me
poured from my mouth, spilling on concrete.

my legs fail me and I fall a trance. Into it’s arms.
But only for a sweet second -
and now I’m smothered lying in stone cold slate, it’s so nippy, the cold.
and it’s shadow blocks the streetlight floating above me.
Wait; streetlight is glaring dim orange again
now that it has dispersed away, down the pathway.
With open arms, it’s searching for a sober.

drum drum drum she pounds
on my sleeve, upon my neck ; in my dreams.
but we adopt resistance to feelings that hurt us.
now I walk through this art gallery blind I can’t see but I think those paintings are of us

You’re not, влюблен
But you adore when it tugs on your hair
when he’s behind
and eyes can’t meet because for long now you have been
strangers  and you’ve tied your gaze away from it
-the vison

but that feeling had lost me some time ago now.
but yet,I had missed the innocent despair of hopelessness;
it just coincides so perfectly with the isolated night.

it’s the strung of the first few seconds. open a portal to when these words swarmed like flies in delusion, whithering onto your name spelt on my phone. Whisking dreams in my head. I should have turned off the light, dimmed the hope; so that they would fly away.
I hold the song in my palm as if an artifact. funny as I go to write artifact my keyboard suggests artificial as if it knows

because that’s what it was and that’s it raw. and as for me it was me who tied ribbons around the lyrics to be a certification of  us that never was. it was the only part of you I could ever have when I was alone because who was I to treat you like a friend when everyone was your friend.

I’ve untied ribbons and stepped back, so far back that I have reached a time before I had known you or before I had claimed you in my mirage.
apart from tonight I gues

love loses
and slowly, sparsely
it’s fading away from me how it feels to
be shot?
to be burrowed into the night’s portal of regret and despair and urge to escape.
and to write even,
and to see life pass by with a name intertwining each of its pieces.

in whole all I can say is maybe it isn’t so extreme but
when the heart aches it is drowned down below you and drips out salt from your eyes until the cries can’t go unnoticed ;
it’s challenging to sleep.

on the other hand for now my sleep is whole and I dream often

love she supports her souls with will not be sufficient I think someone must tell her truth that she is suffering alone and quiet. I think it’s time someone turned the lights off in the daylight and left her put in the dim dark of the orange street lights transparent through the window when the street lies asleep and she releases her songs to the paper and her heart can rest and she can erase stupidity hilarity from her show and perhaps stay silenced for a while until she can speak what the street lights hear when the neighbours sleep.

when this happens it seems eveyone became deaf

I think march has returned though it snows outside I can hear you outside and I’m slurring forgetting my senses and ignorant to the truth you posses; pretending it could be but would never be because this
is me forever.
unrequitedunrequitedunrequited; get it tattoed on me it will make no alteration because I can face it everyday needlessly.unrequited you are silenced from the rest. In the movie you are the fool  and unrequited you are unvisible/invisibe.no one cares to correct you for spelling because everyone forgets to read or write. As have you so what has drawn you back here; to march?
maybe she missed her letdown glazing her tear fire maybe she missed how the pen and the dark proved a healer and wanted to feel saved again from a nightmare.

leave it like this
sign a name then scribble it from existing;
Blood was shed and blindness almost enshrouded in the making,
the blank ink reminds me of the feeling
familiar
With this pen and I swam in lyrics that I tried to climb into, they never seemed to fit - lose weight. ok,
and sweet dreams I injected like heroine into my head; yes they had done the worst to me but alas, that’s addiction:
one never fears the desire because the greed is fuelled in return with the buzz (hope,worth,purpose?something/one).
Gambling; waste my wealths (worth,time) upon it to only taste failure before me each time, but always return slowly because “a time will come” - to win; I haven’t.

slap reality across your right cheek that  burns red in naivety.

next time when
the sky dawns when sun sets when the stars spill and one day in which its not pervading me over. life again you will have. one you had before my own time ascended. we can walk past each others life as humans. the name will fade from song lyrics, the face from the blackness. I will  be empty because there won't be any more lies to binge.
I budge your arm off my body and your shattered on the carpet. tomorrow you will be so ugly; an old acquaintance.

Really all this time we drove and you felt the music in you as I did and as you danced, your fingers got knotted in my hair. then inside of me.
at night I held your arm and locked it round my back over my chest - a lock to a cage that I long ago had lost the key to. you had kissed me all night long and you were so coincidently unvisible under the dimmed lights, that you were there. you would pull the hair away from my ear and lean over me warmly; then back into my ear you would regurgitate everything I had fuelled you with until I fell back asleep.
thats why it worked for so long because I lived in two people, as false and as ****** as another. and thats why you're never in because you are sick with lies I diagnosed you in. when you look its always at me. when we pass its felt the same. - thats what the poison tastes of.

for months I painted a/your portrait. the brush would meet the canvas at 11pm approximately every night and would last until the dawn of the am when my eyes went black and paint had splashed my face pretty.
the brushstrokes were coarse and accentuated goodness in lust and shadows in the contours. the beauty was indisputable but the colours on the pallet I had not yet mastered.
so it wasn't until the previous night or two ago when I heard the child run by my half finished canvas. as I approached it, glass shattered on the floor below it. the glass reflected my face as I seen myself in pieces.
I have renamed it self-portrait.

perhaps I had found you on the other end of oceans;
with pens in your hand of our embrace under stars.
alas, when that star fell the other night; we pushed it. slightly.

what was I chasing, that had the audacity to burn fires that haunt the neighbours. that put the car on running when I was off, eyes dreaming - the wheel slipping off my palms. and then over a cliff into ocean.
maybe so. maybe it was you. maybe so. maybe I am blind

You build a garden,
a rose is planted - the most beautiful flower
a tiger is born - the most beautiful cat

they grow
tiger tears eats destroys the rose’s petals
she is bare.
rose grows thorns , will she scare?

she’s too beautiful to stand there alone to the tiger
he pervades her bloom, until she has flourished a spectacle
his teeth caress those petals to shreds
her thorns, pierce his mouth,
out pour all sorts of reds.

they live beautifully and painfully in one another

Mental health; mental wealth.
It’s riches you spend on your armour when in battles with demons,
to come out the other end bruised but not defeated.

The weath in within the gold mines in your head that the demons dig upon,
though still you find golden flakes on the surface of your palms.

That you spend your wealth on others, to save them from the debt you fear to suffer again. As you rust.

Wealth is the riches you still hold, when the demons strip you bankrupt.

you are rich, for you are still here.

if you cannot tell yet;
I have poured you  out scripts, testimonials, fantasies
- libaries
I question myself at every letter.

For what reason I write,
              For one who can’t read.
Who was I to have you inked into my skin,
who was I to ever think it was all right for me - when I was blind.

Who was I to write
when I can no longer spell.

we pursue to confess sins that
have not been sinned.
rather than repent to ourselves
to bathe and soak in guilt that lurks amongst blood.
It’s okay if it keeps you awake
but sins is nothing but a disguise we put on ourselves
when we feel
that we have wronged the world.
We never do.

my heart is empty because you burnt it dry
leaving my love limited,
because half of it burns away slowly under your sleeve.

One day I’ll reach the end,
my mind’s weapons put to ease.

The way in which goosebumps electrocute and run down my skin when I awake, to shield from the cold mornings -
Is the same way I cast myself closed when your presence threatens me, so I don’t melt into my weakness.

Mum turns the heating on but I still shudder.
You slip away but I still suffer.

he splits the world into two
half into illusions, spells of daydreams. coated in love stories and poetry. sprinkled in lustful gazing.

other half, the dawning reality of the nothingness that has so many pages. I flip through needlessly to try understand it all . I never do.  I try to pull my head out of clouds, I never can.


its not real it won’t ever be

I wrench my own feeble nails
down the wall, insistently.

and I'm sickly tortured by
all the screeching
but something else should feel the distress.

- these hands need punishing.
because forever it dwells in my palms
but they've never let me hold secure;
never let me cradle it to warmth.

- I guess just because I feel that this will
just all melt away by the time I blink.
And because my hands simply don't ever deserve to bathe in your being.

tonight when I fled from my cage,
I was secluded from my own head because
all it called upon was you. echoing and echoing.

like a mother aches for her lost child
I was
gnawing the skin on my fingertips
rustling the ends of my hair into knots
biting numbingly into my tongue
all so nonchalantly
like a fool.

who is so simply chasing his own tail
in circles and circles and circles and just such endless cycles

until they send themselves to sleep

Baby,
the moon is in retrograde
with you tonight.

because you have my head spinning and

I just looked out
to find the stars have spilled out into your name.

she breathed in her nightmares,

exhaled them onto paper.

so she’ll revisit what messed her

my duvet once hugged me, now it morphs
into chains
that coil my bones to themselves and fix my fingertips to my fists and I swing my arms behind me clasped.
anything to keep you clean out of my system you see.

the night which once was dreams,
now  a prison.
the solitude confining me in shrinking walls and a drying mouth whilst my eyes tear open by the pounding crave.
the red slithers through their frail veins until the aching urge sends them to close;
to sleep.

morning you lie vestel. but your taste lumbering in my gum

- I wouldn’t say I’m an addict:
but you make it far too easy when you lie in the palms of my hands and dance in electric through my skin.
your hopeless pervading detains me from rehabilitation.

bathing myself in this thirsting quench
and now I’ve come to see you
as a drug. a pill.
but not prescribed.
     
Staring blackly at me
on my bedside table
                  and it’s teasing me.
teasing me with the sugar cane
that erupts when it skims my tounge -
I drool.

alluring my own deception  with your
succulent crescendo
that unravels it’s way down my whole
     voice until there’s none left.
And its just the way it sets me so ablaze
that I cremate casually  in your
immaculate ignite.

                       Knuckles clench to restrain that
                 sentiment that nostalgia
             that world that lies behind your door I always see myself
            linger through ghostly.



I’ve never been