I'm a sucker for a deadly demise and heartbroken eyes.

Heavy, hazy dreams of shifting gravity and my missing people

You don't realize how hard it is to be effortless.

My breathing feels fluttery, shallow
moths pushing their papery wings up my throat.
I imagine my eyes look glassy, sick
melting from my face,
colors melding like blue green gray lava.

Fleeting moments sending people
running through the trees
as the embers of the fire scatter
with our own passions
The lights sweeping the way
in which we once belonged
and will return to in their
absence.
Through the river, light and drunk
thrilled with each and every
escape, new acquaintances are made
and old ones are brought to
the board for transition.
To a higher state of mind the
commission brings us
closer.

I thought college would set me free,
I turned 18 and the world opened up,
Rent and taxes and piercings and drugs,
Its all okay.
No one judges you for being wild when you're young.
No one believes you'll last, but that's okay,
failure is expected.
After all,
you're just a
lost teen
on the verge
of
adulthood.

And I love it.
I love the drugs, the drunken nights,
The memories I am making,
I love all the things I was told to hate.
And hate the things I should love.
I hate the people.
I hate talking.
I hate this anxiety that isn't even new,
not brought on by responsibility, or even
drama among my peers,
rather this drama
takes me back
to when I
was small
and hiding while
my parents fought.
The pain in my
stomach and
detached
robotic
self
assurance.

I've always been like this. Practical. Analytical.
I've never broken down, cried in front of people,
or yelled or showed aggression.
Instead I passed out from trying,
trying to be normal because
when mommy and daddy
are fighting you don't
show fear.
I didn't realize
until tonight
that at the
lowest I go
back to
childhood.

I don't look at myself much because I
don't want to draw attention or
upset others. I'm too concerned with
perception. It matters what others think.
Mother always said that.
But maybe passing out, maybe panic attacks
aren't a normal method of catharsis.
Maybe I should yell
or argue but that
mortifies me.
I can't be loud,
you don't want
them to hear
because
then mommy
will say
look
you've
upset
her.

I don't want anyone to fight because of  me.

Silver hair mimicking the
stars in your eyes
that incite the mercury
running through
my veins.

As I observe from my slate perch I can't help but wonder
if we're all meant to be old
or if some of us feel this discomfort in grown worlds
because we've passed our expiration date.

I'm a lost cause
with a crush on frost
and a fear of the cold.

You're star studded and glowing bright
I'm sinking dark and holding tight
you have no cares and float in bliss
I can't sigh without a hiss.

I'll hold you close
toes dug in the sand
with our black and gray hoodies
masking black and gray hands
and from our perch
we'll watch as the land
turns from dark morning
to something near bland
not to say splendor is lacking
but that mediocrity can be grand.

Hold me close in your spindly arms
and beckon me into harms way
you know what I want and need.

I fear the dark and your caress
but in it I know nothingness,
my sweet dreams and darkened bliss
find a point on which to convalesce.

I'll try to relate to you,
I'll try to share my perception.

The world is shiny, silver coated, raw metal just barely dusted in dirt.
Its all angles, sharp and fast, turning with the speed of a ******* fair ride.
One moment, I'm staring at the ***** of your skin as it flows from the cheek to jawline,
Smooth as a pebble worn down by years spent just near the shore.
The next, your veins and muscle pull taut through your frame, slinking into an elaborate system of liquid bronze.
Pulleys and machines, bringing your particles into such a beautiful motion.

Lately, I spend my free time imagining how I'd look at a funeral.
I've been before, but all I felt was discomfort and splintering hatred.
What if you died. My darling, I'm afraid I wouldn't change.
I'd go and stare at the wall, the floor, the people who don't know you.
Dry eyes and a judgmental, lethargic gaze settled in.
I never cried in front of you, why would cry in front of them.

I'd watch as the flag was presented, uniforms marching by the coffin.
Perhaps this would be different. I think my hatred would burn a bit brighter.
Those who ordered your death, now dictating your burial. They don't love you. They don't care.
All you are is one more casualty. One more insignificant ant being squished underfoot and forgotten.

I'll rate you bubbly, you rate me bogus
and we'll be happily fraudulent in our demise.

a drum beat thrums beneath my skin, steady,
tense and straining.
a widow dances deep within screaming of
death and rot.
with rhythmic steps and flashes of black
blood thickens...
expiration date determined, i eagerly await
my turn.

When I was 16, I couldn't wait for the freedom that comes with adulthood.
No, I didn't want to grow up. I want that to be clear.
I wanted a neverland, young forever, without a curfew.
Now I'm 20. I know, still young, whole life ahead of me, blah, blah, blah.
The problem is in my head I'm 16.
I don't think I'll ever grow up.
But when I look in the mirror, I'm old. Aging fast, the future is too near and real, blinding in its obnoxious inevitability.
I'm not peter pan, or a lost boy.
They say enjoy being young while you can, adults laugh in a bitter manner when kids dream of future freedoms but they seem to ignore the fact that it isn't age that people long for, its the freedom we attribute to certain ages. No, I don't want to get older.
More than anything, I want to be young.
Young and free, but they seem to rarely overlap.

I'm not the kind to let things go
I'm of a type that breaths in snow
and lets it build to glaciers .

I thought you knew my lowly mind was too sick for your strife
I thought you knew if you were hurting I would take the knife
You're a more perceptive being, you know how small I am
You're a beautiful enigmatic storm and I'm a mere flurry.

I'm always down, the gutter's my home
and the streets are strewn with plastic
and old cigarettes and syringes as always
but today I felt that friendly old surge
of an abnormal normalcy, as though
my ragged surroundings had elevated
to the level of the common folk.

I live for my manic high points.

There's glitter in the gutter
and your snowy steps won't help but slip
across the narrow beaten path
despite there careful hopeful placement

There is a cadence to life and its subsequent death
a cadence to strife and inevitable depth
and as I watch your eyes go dark
and as I wait for the still of your heart,
I know that you are the key to my life
and a craving for yours is simply my right.

i dream of foggy bliss
a floating lagging sort of luxury
reminiscent of drug induced
bubbly bogus happiness

Give me hope and home
a place to call my own
a cliche that is only mine
a brief escape from endless time

I can't stand your world nor
can I hold my clumsy limbs
upright on its surface.

My mind is filled with a dull fog
lightly dusting thoughts and memories
allowing access only by feel,
stumbling as though through a dark room
and so when I write through the fog
the underlying residents of my mind
voice their thoughts and concerns
and its funny because I don't even hear
what they're saying until its down
on the screen.

I'll be doing just fine, tripping along,
until its jeweled tone catches my attention
my veins thrum and my wrists swell
and I can't help but remember how
fun it is to watch that thread unravel.

with pride I watch as destruction falls
as if a small part of the darkness in me
may be related to the greater power,
I relish my pain and hope for more
while still hoping for normalcy.
A contradictory being is all I've ever been,
but I wouldn't have it any other way...

Peace in existential dread
is the support that lifts my head
high above yours and
the peasants that
live beyond my room
and my solitude.

Through the bright brilliance of the dark/ Into the light their souls embark/ Warped by time and ignorance/ Their sight is burned, their vision spent/ No longer the same, they fear the darkness from which they were born.

a body of wicker overflowing with gravy and cranberries as my glass heart pumps wine through my swollen tired veins,
i'm happy drunk and stupid, thankful for this one day in which my usual excessive indulgence is accepted.

When Nevermore the world becomes, we're left behind, the Wild Ones.

You are soft, fleshy between my fingers. Between my teeth.
Like biting into a peach, the pull of skin before the real fruit is bared.

Can you see the decay
opening into a million
other worlds, creating
galaxies in its destruction,
the rust making way for the new,
its beautiful, better, than anything
we create.

you swallow glass to
cleanse your insides
and make room for
clear cut crystals.
holding hope out
in a dish for more
more high flying
death defying
pixie dust.

a knife in hand
wouldn't turn your head
strewn on the floor
you would leave me dead
with little notice
for the girl in red.

Honey I hurt myself
years ago, you wouldn't remember,
but I've never told you
and I don't know how.
Darling, trust me,
I'm fine now, I just don't want you
to think your dad was
right, that
I'm
damaged.

I grew up weird.
Both fast, and painfully slow.
I understood everything and nothing.
Socially, I started confident and grew awkwardly
first in the sun, then bending away from such bright attentions. Academically I started out running, always ahead,
always the best, the brightest. Straight As and
mismatched clothes, socially lost
yet somehow showing
'great potential'.

Now I've learned a lot.
All blacks and grays, I've finally
mastered at least a portion of my shortcomings
but its too late. Because I've grown up and its shifted again
analytically I see it, can emulate it, but it isn't
familiar or comfortable, it took me
years to catch up and I'm
still behind.

I've grown up weird.

A carcass of saffron rotting daringly in the streets
as the masses slow and drag their feet
to see its splendor, its grossly awesome continuance
after a decidedly less so existence.

I think you're nice
and I'd like to crawl out of my skin to meet you
but I can't because its warm in here
and while I am terrified at least I am not cold
nor am I shunned when I
talk to no one.

You’ve never seen snow like this, never in the realm of reality,
But for a brief, precious moment, my idealistic world lapsed into this one.
I swear to you, never before and never more will the world be as it was.
Tonight.
And yet, nothing can be perfect, nothing is pure
That must be why he wasn’t here.
Twirling, stumbling, through the stars of snow in my fleshy rocket,
He was gone, and I propelled myself through the night,
A lonely captain through space and time, listlessly existing
Hoping you’ll come back to me.
Oh but now the melancholy seeps into my eyes
Tainting my perfect moment.
How sad it is to wander through the beauty of this world
Blind to it for want of another.
Our absurd little morals, necessary structure, obligations…
We forget how to exist without the constant struggle.
There can never be peace in the world,
Because we’ve managed to stifle the peace within our souls.

I hold you in the highest esteem
I hold you in the dark of night
I wish you held me.

I'm holding my soul inside, to keep it intact
and safe as mum taught me,
it holds its purity while my body
self destructs.

do you remember
the dandy yellow of her hair
the gold that shone with the sun
as though they were born of the same ancient catastrophe
do you remember
the deep pools of green
the gem like eyes that always peered
through her tangled hair with curiosity and eager delight
do you remember
that balance before the evil
that brief period where knowledge and
happiness could coexist without one stifling the other

I don't remember.
I'm told she was real, but I never knew her.
Can you miss someone made of perception and memory?

God, its a world of decadence
where grace and prowess hold power

Its a world of recompense
where apology is gold
and your brooding is lost on most.

Its a world where the moment is everything
jumping from towers forever,
never remembering the landing,
living for the fall.

Hey so don't mind me
I'm just gonna walk over here
further away
just keep talking.
I'm listening.
You do your thing,
I'm just tired,
Just going for a little walk
away from here.
Don't worry,
I'm fine.

I am just going outside and
might be some time.

To stand apart, remain alone/ Never have to claim a home/ By my side my shadow walks/ Into the woods with my own thoughts/ Where the animals rule, fair and just/ In they alone I place my trust.

Daedalus built the maze in which I live. The beast is dead, no need to run, though the need to hide runs deep. Other creatures haunt the dark.

Lol dumb, I know.

I have this thing, which I’ve done for as long as I can remember, where I space out but I’m still looking ahead, but also within. And little me, the shy spirit hiding behind my skull stares out of the maze through a giant telescope that opens up to the world of normies and people who understand how to be social. And I’m here, far beneath my skin, unable to relate, only able to observe.

Dark languid creatures in dark lavish rooms, Lost listless voices pulsing as one, with no past, no future, Gliding above the ground, blood thrumming As one, the crowds, the masses, voluntarily deaf and dumb.

I love all things dark all provoking, touching, reaching, slightly beyond the bounds of the normal where the light will naturally shine.
I want all things beautiful all lovely, lingering, eternal, lifting high into the cloudy kingdoms of fairy and extraterrestrial.
I am all things lost all removed, confusing, unsure, stepping lightly in the alleys and the rooms of both strange and familiar places.

I wish the three knew how to collide in peaceful but pleasing resonance.

Hi, I'm just writing to say that I'm sorry I'm ****** up.
I'm sorry I can't do anything productive. I'm sorry I ******* up my siblings with my clothes and my music.
I'm sorry I'm a monster. I tried... I'm trying... But its hard....
I don't want to hate you but I do. I don't want to blame you but I do.
I blame you for teaching me that Jesus was the only life. I blame you for not even warning me of what this world can turn into.
I blame you for not being strong enough to get over my dad when he cheated on you.
I don't want to. But I do.
I blame you for marrying someone new when you weren't over Him yet.
I blame you for letting that imposter become the source of my brothers confidence issues.
I blame you for my 8 year old brother developing multiple social and mental problems simply because you couldn't control your husband.
Because he was righteous and a woman shouldn't stand up to her man.
I know its childish and I know I'm selfish.
And I claim that completely. I am who I am despite who you are.
I don't want you to take claim for what I've become.
I don't want you to tell your friends about the monster you made.
I want you to realize I am myself of my own accord.
I choose to be unhappy and I'm **** proud of that.
And I love you, though I wish I didn't.
I love you for finally leaving my brother's tormenter, even if it was later rather than sooner.
I love you for crying for my grandmother on her deathbed after you ignored for two years.
I love the fact that you cared enough, at one point in time, to try to keep me from becoming who I am today.
I don't know if these are good reasons and I don't know if you care.
But I blove you my mear dother, and I lame you.