Isn’t it hilarious
how every single poem I write
that’s supposed to be
an inspiring statement about
how I don’t need you anymore
inherently denies
itself?

I am going to choke on the irony.

I was senseless.
But what can I do?
My head was spinning,
Looking to cling to a heart
That was never there.
I stumbled and tripped,
Landed face first
On rejection without
A chance for redemption.
At least when you left
You couldn’t see me
Crestfallen, bared,
Stripped of all my pride.
Laying on my back,
Blasting my thoughts away
With my one true love
Travelling through my ears
Into my poor excuse for a brain,
Shutting it down
For at least a few.
When I woke,
All I could think about
Was how to salvage
What was left to save.
I know I need to lie,
But deep in my heart
You will find a place
Concealed by a door
With a lock of sobriety
Placed upon it.
It knows, that despite
My pathetically dulled senses
I meant every word
And I would ***** them out again
If it would only,
Cheer you up
Instead of
Letting
You
Go.

I want to run away.
I want to stop thinking.
I want affection,
however ephemeral
and sickeningly circumstantial
from people
who seek the same.
If only for tonight,
they’re my kindred souls,
so I’ll take one,
pretend it’s you,
give up myself to your reflection
and in the morning
curse at my conception,
come to.

While walking I see two of my shadows
And I feel their presence.

I know I ought to know the scientific explanation of such phenomena
But there is freedom in not knowing things
And bliss in ignorance.

I didn’t go to dance practice today because of things too important to ignore (but not important enough to care about).

So I danced on my way home
Because of overwhelming thoughts
And old habits that I cling to.

And people stared.

And I like that my “Too Tired To Care” attitude
Comes of as just not caring.

And falling leaves look like dead birds and vice-versa.

And I touch the skin behind my ear
And even though it doesn’t hurt anymore
I cry.

I run
And I scatter
No use trying to find yourself through mindless chatter
And while I’d like to think
That my friends and I matter
It’s all just nonsense
Because in reality
We’re all just concepts
Running about
Talking aloud
Just a mindless crowd
That lives its life without any consolation
Or any form of self-expression
For our aggression
Or the things we cannot suppress

Inside my little world I try to focus
long enough to look into your eyes
and keep the dearest particles of light,
captured in May,
released in June,
restored in July,
severed in August,
inside.

I cannot remember
the last time I felt
this melancholy.

/

Careless laughter
and needless fantasies
we indulged in,
of spending even more
time than we did,
more than we should,
more than we had,
more more more…
It was never enough.

We’d drown ourselves
in the romanticised idea
of youth
and a lifestyle
better suited for
invisible wanderers
than for kids from the suburbs.

We’d stay out too late
mimicking the artists
who failed to get their pain across,
imagining we understood them.
We’d be up all night
guessing each other’s thoughts
and retelling our life
down from childhood up until then.

Contemplations of jealousy
and assumptions
rooted in instability.
Long walks
through cracked pavement
and jokes to hide
our invalidated pain.

Songs sung out.
Songs screamed out.
Songs of hope.
Songs of loss.
We’d hide ourselves
in music and the arms
of whoever was
conveniently located.

/

And I wouldn’t take any of it back.