I have
   big dreams

        and a  
            realistic mind.

You
     can
  only
         imagine
               the
  frustration.

College is a cancer clinic.
At this university, you either live long enough to die,
or die until you want to live.
Kids drag backpacks like bags of morphine,
and are attached to their planners like they are their heart monitors.
You do your own chemotherapy,
as you poison yourself with debt,
and Friday night nickel shots.

I take a walk into the parkour graveyard,
looking for Polish dealers and cellphone halos.
I heard Thoth resides in sobriety,
but words fail me
whenever you are near.

I let my tongue run in endless stutters,
disguising 'I love you' as some off-hand request.
I could take you to dinner,
I could show you a longing
without the need for ***.

This late-night food has lost its flavour.
This ******* never picked up.
All that is left is to dial these numbers,
and wait by the window
for any car but yours.

Let's take a walk to the railway bridge.
We'll smoke a joint by the open forest.
You'll push your breath into mine,
make me high,
and forget why I ever
felt so low.

I guess you could call it poetic how by the age of 12 I had no recollection of what happiness tasted like on my tongue. Some would say it was tragically beautiful.
But it was not poetic, nor was it beautiful,  but it was tragic. It was so very, very sad, and that sadness is only doubled now that people see sorrow as glorious.  It is not glorious. It is not strength. It is a lump of iron in your chest and stomach and it eats you from the inside, out and you have no right to think that blood stained wrists are anything other than tragic. So very,  very tragic.

beware when you fall in love
with an artist
be it a painter, a singer, or poet

for the artist will
paint you
with strokes and hues
in shapes of every kind

sing about you
with heartbreak lyrics
and feelings which rhyme

write about you
with the simplest words
and a secret message she wants to say

beware of the artist,
and her love
one wrong move
and you're an artwork in her display

I bit open a lie and it tasted like you.

Tear stained face
Blood shot eyes
Blood stained arms and legs

Destroying yourself is so easy it hurts

Hands are too slippery for the razor you try to hold
Blood turns brown as it dries
Trying to clean up the bathroom floor and sink so it's not so obvious
Nothing works
The razor can only make it better as it eats into your skin

*My legs are dangling off the edge, stomach full of pills that didn't work again.
Gone too far, yeah I'm gone again. It's gone on too long, I'll tell you how it ends. I'm sitting on the edge with my two best friends. One's a bottle of pills and one's a bottle of gin. My frienemy's behind me, and his name is sin.

I use to know  
is long gone
dripped off
the blade ‘s
first stroke
blood stains
never  washed
away
just covered
with  steel.

Your breath;
all beer and cigarettes.
Your eyes;
blue smoke and ashes.
I'm half drunk,
now that your lips are mine,
And fallen.
Fallen beyond redemption,
into a faceless abyss,
a sacred oblivion.
The only place;
where you are mine,
and I am yours.
I can stay here, till the end of time.
(26/04/2014)