blooming red and pink tulips
with an underbrush of heliotropes
a vast garden incapable of decay
watered daily with false hopes
under blue shining skies
that can only hope to resemble your eyes

how can the burn of bile
make me fearful
yet satisfied
i will remain in denial
that i prefer illness
over bliss

a constant stream of ink
stories upon stories told
and long forgotten by the author
twenty one : seemingly young
yet it already feels close to done
because even permanent marker
can eventually be wiped away
this life doesn't have a sense of
ownership ; it is not fully mine
and this puzzle was started
by someone else

no longer a poet
or a muse / simply
an inoperable tumor
/party tattoos and
crushed cigarettes
one/ done / fast /repeat

boiling streams of magma
run through my volcanic veins
my planetary core
bubbles to the surface
i cannot stop
pouring out

i wish that i could write
i wish that i had words worth value
there's simply nothing i can say
that i haven't already said
so i wish for something new
something to write about
something to remember
something as a reminder
why i need to keep living

I was in heavenly bliss
Because for one night
I was his

Burning throat
Bruised knuckles
Gasping breath
Sliced ankles
Rotting insides
Inevitable tears
Small smile
Bathroom breakdown

this black hole
it rips out of my chest
screeching and tearing
i thought i locked it away
it's all too much again
its grip is deadly
lungs collapsing
starry eyes
tunnels tunnels tunnels
there's no escape
it will swallow me whole
no help is here
spinning, swirling
twisting, turning
lost in the abyss

my flesh screams at itself
bile rising in my throat
shaking fingers grasping silver
the walls are closing in
the swarm starts again
swirling twisting spinning
bloodshot eyes
claws tearing apart flesh
wishing to fold in on myself
how many times until i disappear
slowly carving my apology in the wall
apologizing for getting worse again
there's no excuse good enough
nothing can dismiss these ghouls
they pull a blanket over me and have pinned it down
i cannot find my way out
it is too dark to have any hope
in this night i am filled with doubt
that i can ever escape
let my blood drops turn to roses
may they bloom at my grave
so if anyone visits this cemetery
they will know where to find me
signed the walking corpse of a boy
that buried his own body