Instead of dragging knives across my skin
expressing self hatred or anguish,
I take small breaths of cigarettes.
It's liberating.
The minutes I can choose to take from my life.

I want to die young.

I find it exciting to see things break without a human touch.


A jar I previously filled with water,


froze today.


All I heard was the crackling of glass breaking,


I knew


It was the jar.





A jar I left outside


waiting for something to happen

and it


did.




Not at all what I wanted.


Nonetheless something that


happened.


without my touch

Why is it so hard to write poetry when I'm happy?
When I'm content?
When I'm gloriously in love?

Is it a requirement that I be in rage, in sorrow, in pain?
Drunk? High? Comatose?

Can I just not find the right words to describe my feelings?
Or maybe I don't need this outlet when I'm happy. I don't need to cut my emotions from my chest and attach them to words. I want my emotions here with me.

Im not jealous of you,
Im not jealous of her.
I dont like you like that anymore.
What I am jealous of, is what you both have.
You have a relationship.
Someone to hold you,
Someone to cuddle with,
Someone to give soft kisses to,
and Someone to be yourself around.
I'm over you,
just not over it.

even in autumn
she wore flowers
in her hair

as if
they belonged
next to her beautiful
mind
like the daisies
belonged
growing within
the grass

she was an angel
in a summer dress
whispering
To me
her darkest secrets

like precious gifts
She spilt them
from her sweet tongue
into my mouth

and i knew i would
never again
go hungry
as i ate every
single
one

i came too early that day. i remember that the room was still empty. you could even hear a footstep from the highest seat.

i didn't have anything to do so i sat on our supposed to be seat. it was not very high. we were on the middle seat. i was comfortable in that position anyway.

people came one by one, with their couple, their mother, their whole family. yet i was there all alone waiting for a man that promised to come before the show start.

you were right though. when the lights go out i could see you walking towards me holding a bucket of popcorn. at that point, i was 100% sure that the movie will not be as creepy as it should be (we watched horror movie back then, even though we both were chickens who couldn't watch no horror stuffs)  

the movie started, our selfes were half focused on the screen. the other is focused on our own mental. reminding it to not to go nuts when **** happens. we didn't talk much that time. we didn't even have the courage to eat the popcorn you bought.

sigh, this was the saddest part. you shouldn't have held my hand that tight. and i shouldn't have pulled your jacket so rough. wish we weren't watching horror movie so that wouldn't happened. i was indeed afraid of letting you go. but i did it anyway since i was a strong rebel, and end up regretting it now.

but anyway, thank you.

all that left now is emotion. painful feelings that cover my entire body every time i go to the theatre. it somehow attacks every inch of me, my senses are full of turbulances and trembeled affection.

hello again, and i'm sorry.
sorry for reminding you,
about how your hands,
felt like the world.

perhaps our love were only made for movie screen, and a piece of this pointless handwriting.

Sincerely,
your ex-almost lover.

you asked why i'm still around
when your so obviously broken
most men would be sprinting
after seeing you so un-made up

truth is they were weak
where they saw damage
I saw strength
cant recognize it if you lack it

I knew the real you the day we met
felt your edges and never looked back
we don't have to fix each other
we fit together

in the end I love you because i know
that anyone who smiles so brightly
can only have lived in the darkness
and that's beautiful

here i am, three months later still perpetually oxygenating the suffocated fantasy that one day i will see you again and my heart will remember how to pulse, my hands will remember how to hold, and you will somehow love me again

here i am, three months later spoon-feeding lies to my hungry brain, telling it "he will come back" spilling fraudulent words into my impressionable mind
"maybe he misses you too"
"it will all make sense in time"
"keep your head up, and remember you're strong enough to get through this"

here i am with a mind that fully believes you came into my life for a reason yet somewhere beneath those strongly wired thoughts, though i have no control over it, is the lingering pessimist that whispers in my ear when i'm sleeping at night, dreaming about the grace of your skin against mine
"he never loved you"
but it wasn't until this moment right now that, that pessimist has been truly heard

because i'm still here
after three, exhausting months, arms weak from reaching out for your grasp, lungs collapsed from all the dry heaving and half-breaths of missing you, and i'm finally looking at you
but you don't even
see me.

"So I'll probably **** myself,"
I said to you,
"But not until I'm 21 and can stain my lips red
And drink for real
And get so drunk I'll dance right off a cliff.
The rocks at the bottom will hug me so tight I'll split right open.
And then I'll never be able to hide any of it
It'll all be there for you to see.
Bleeding out."
You looked at me and all you said was
"Okay."

writing with a
cigarette in hand

writing with a
stain on my shirt

writing with a
bruise on my lip

trying to pretend
that your words
never hurt


sleeping with out
you

dreaming of good
times

drinking glasses
of malt whiskey

walking through dark
alleys with you
on my mind


I cannot get
past you

no matter how
hard i try

now every hello
i’ve said since you
left

tastes of your
eyes in that
moment you said
goodbye