A puncture
Leaking life through suture
Surrounding existence
Dying without a chance
For worthwhile meaning
Or rebellious screaming
Against the institution
That perverted your prostitution
For it's own benefit
Uncaring if a flame goes unlit

And so you're gone
How brightly you could have shone
A mind so effervescent
And a life so incandescent

Waxwork drips down
A colourful wick burned brown

And a single plate
That can carry no more hate

This run cancelled your plans
Yet somehow I feel relieved.

Perhaps I need to think about myself more,
Rather than accepting more tasks to endure.

Heart beating faster
Only when you say my name
Like the freshest air

I know the futility of wishing for change;
Praying every day for what could never be,
It's a waste.

But I did not choose to be so strange,
It's truly a relief to me that you cannot see,
Upon what my love is based.

If you could we'd lose everything.

Tears are falling
pit pat
pit pat
A single thought, uttered
From a dark place, unwanted
pit pat
pit pat
Violent, harsh, and completely unmeant
A brutal call from the void
pit pat
pit pat
I hope you can forgive me
I understand if you can't

Will it make me happier?
Or will difference just feel crappier?

I can't really know for sure.
Perhaps that's why I can't resist the lure.

Take my voice, change what is is.
Turn it into something that descends me into bliss.

A heart should never feel so empty;
Or at least, that's what I've been told.

But I've had this hole for so so long now,
It's hard to imagine anything there.

I long to set these emotions free,
But my senses are growing too old.

I'll simply wipe the pain off my brow
And hope nobody sees my stare.

A void lies empty,
Debris clanging off of me,
Drifting silently.

A radio calls out,
Chatter from a time gone by,
Static fills my ears.

They ponder and scream,
Dead voices, suspended here;
A nightmare outside.

Synapses flashing,
Broadcasting new pain to me;
Memories not mine.

No time to live now,
Too long living in the past,
I'm lost in subspace.

I have the desire to write.
So why must I find it so hard?
I accept that I'm not a talented bard
But I still want my words to delight.

Why must my mind repeat itself so?
Continuing to re-tread paths long walked,
I find new source of inspiration locked;
How can I allow new art to flow?

Can I even create anew?
Perhaps fresh thoughts will long evade me.
I'll walk these paths again, and see;
Perhaps I'm yet to find my way through.

She called me a lady
And it made me happy.

Nobody was hurt,
or wanted to flirt;

Just a seller, doing her job.
Making me happy enough to sob.

So why is it so hard for you?

Emotion flows out
Leaving behind a trickle
Of artistic pain

When did I become
That which you wanted to hate?
When did my life mean so little to you,
That you'd pass no interest in my fate?

Was it when I became myself,
The woman I've always been?
Did you prefer me to front a constant lie
And leave my pain unseen?

Was it when I made those simple mistakes,
When my mind was revealed to be so broken?
It was never my fault that it hurts so to think,
But you'd rather I left my pain unspoken?

Maybe it was when I came out?
Revealing that unacceptable part of me,
Was it really something to despise so much;
The perfect stain on your family tree?

Perhaps it was at that funeral,
When you saw a child that couldn't seem to feel?
Perhaps if you cared to even notice,
You'd have seen that my sorrow was real?

Or perhaps I'm just projecting.

Transgender Identity.
Autism and ADHD.
Homosexuality.

These are all just excuses
From a mind begging to see
Why the one who should care
Seems to deeply hate me.

But let's be real.

Hate has nothing to do with it.


You need to care, to hate.

And you clearly never did.