used to sing along
sleepless, sad boy
flatsound’s sullen symphonies
“i’ll go to sleep at a decent time
when i find something
worth waking up for”

these days i like to close my eyes
just gone ten at night;
wake up with the sunlight
caressing my cheeks
just the way you used to

because even though
us became you and i
you’re still my something
worth waking up for

maybe you put too much faith in me

i'm agnostic, apathetic, aromantic
and too much of an antagonist to never let you down

you could drown me,
make me suffer for my attitude;
but i'll not atone for my sins

remorse is for the empathetic
and i am just

empathetic minus the em

you were born on the cusp of spring,
a breath of warm sunlight
coaxing bright life back into
dark husks of wilted stems
and barren souls in need of bloom.

i died the day i came to life.
a beginning amidst the beginning
of the end. four days of stuttering heartbeats later,
i was hurried home under a heavy sky
of god’s tears and thick cloud

your eyes are sick with grief in winter;
i think your chest aches to heal
the fragile, frosted frills of flowers
that suffered and struggled
and surrendered to the cold

you are burdened by empathy
for the crumpled caskets lining the flowerbeds,
impatient for a fresh start
so you can refresh these corpses
into new life. new roots
and petals flourishing in the image of your beauty

you are a god i could worship.
you are a god i could believe in.
you are a creator of life, and colour, and new starts
you created happiness within me,
so i can only hope to do the same for you

i, dead the day i came to life,
belated winter baby with blue lips, blue veins
am alive for perhaps the first time in years
sleepy, but still awake—breathing, blooming
as if spring came early just to kiss the feeling back into my fingertips



a fistful of sunflowers clenched tight,
and with you by my side
my chest is set alight
with a sun’s ray of hopefulness
that the day will eradicate the night.

it feels easier when i'm around you;
talking to you soothes the worry,
eases the anxiety

every time i'm away, counting
3, 2, 1, and you'll forget about me
just another filler chapter in a heart-wrenching story

i'm sorry; i'm just so needy
convinced that everyone who loves me
is never gonna love me

for children, they call it separation anxiety—
i call it abandonment issues,
and i've got a lot of traumatic memories

i just want you to stay, to-- to be here with me
if i were a mattress, i'd be stained and rickety
but i'd still keep you warm and comfy

i can hold you and kiss your soul,
lie with you, protect you as you sleep: gentle, easy.
just stay with me.

it’s been a long time, old pal
does the pen grab your hands with fright?
i used to read your poems and songs
like they were lullabies and holidays,
soothing me to sleep and escaping the days,

have you forgotten how to put pen to paper?
how to make fingers type?
is this what it’s like for all the poets whose words weren’t borne of pain?
thinking too ******* what to write, what to say
if they’re not tears, they don’t flow naturally
these words are hard to create

you’re all out of practice
nothing to compose that feels genuine or profound
are you a liar to yourself? have you lost who you once were?
are you not ready to give up what’s already gone?

maybe you’re not a writer anymore
working 6 for 7 in a bar, big boss boy now
happy but frustrated, making money you have no time to spend
but it gets spent anyway
with no quality time to show for it
and you, lying there, awake

staring at a blank page hoping the words will write themselves

wondering if you’re a failure for moving onto something else

do you even want to write anymore?
or do you just miss the freedom?

God help me, I've tried
to get you off my mind but it's
i m p o s s i b l e,
especially when the memory of you,
your body pressing me firmly
into the grass, uncaring of the lingering rain-damp dirt,
is still burned into my brain
every time you double text for my attention.

The graze of your tongue,
against my own,
a motion so languid, a feeling so warm,
a taste so sweet―

you're like molasses against my lips
sliding, impossible to ignore, down my throat
and dragging with you the words
I can't seem to spit out

and I'm grateful for the soothing relief,
the way your syrup coats where I'm raw:
a glaze that leaves sweetness in its wake
where usually there's bitterness,
both from the coffee that wars with an insomniac's exhaustion
and the way I feel about feelings.

And that's all well and good, for a while.
After all, who doesn't have a sweet tooth these days?
But once the molecules in my throat
have melted away, gone is the glaze that
sweetened the taste in my mouth, and the dark thoughts in my mind;

smothering the taste of coffee with syrup
doesn't remove the stains from your teeth,
and then the more you do it, you find yourself with cavities
and heart disease.

i thought of you as my perfect half
who knows?
perhaps you still are

but there have been angry storms
and bitter seas, and tears
as salty as the ocean, and

twice as ferocious, impassioned,
they crash against the sand
amidst desperate, roaring winds:

a cold and battering rush
of all those unspoken words finally
ripping their way out as a hurricane,

and the dark clouds block out the sun,
ruining happy days to aid us as we forget
what that bright, bright warmth felt like between us.

we run to opposite ends of the beach,
duck into shelter, home alone
and aching.

i know your tourists leave bad reviews
with every fleeting visit;
i know you pin me to the wall, a poster, reading:

"would not recommend;
the main course gave me
heartburn that lasted months"

but they forgot, as did you,
of all my weather-warnings,
and the times i told you:

"it's an acquired taste;
you can say no.
i really wish you'd say no."

maybe you still are my
perfect other half
but for this period i'm torn in two.

your whirlpools have cracked my ships,
****** my loving sailors
into sure and certain suffering;

summer is over.
the leaves will fall far more gracefully than us,
and we'll see,

if by winter
we can cocoon ourselves in blankets
and grow into something beautiful as we heal.

i wish i could dream about you every night
i wish you weren’t constantly on my mind
i wish i could see you every day
i wish you’d give me more of your time

if wishes were horses, beggars would ride
god i wish you’d make me beg, i’d beg
so prettily for you. maybe ride, too
if that’s something you’d let me do

but all my wishes, these turbulent desires
just dreams that won’t come true
it’s only in my mind that you caress me
like you did that night, “down”

i went knees first, then tucked to my chest
head to the floor, your palm skimmed my spine
and i want to feel that a second time
i’d be so good, anything to have you take me down

i wish i could hear your voice say “mine”

when i look at myself in the mirror
i see something blue, something dead-eyed.
she looks at me and sees something more,
something brighter, worth loving

i look at her and i think of the ocean
eternally beautiful, endless depth
sometimes i think i'll drown but
she keeps me afloat, makes me swim

we could spend hours talking
or not speak for a whole day;
no matter the number of words exchanged
not a minute goes by that she isn't on my brain

being with her feels like promise,
like an apology from life
it says, "here, this is your happiness"
i know i don't deserve her but i'll never take her heart for granted

it's been five months
but i already have our one year marked on my calendar
and i can count the days passed
by the number of smiles she gives me

emotion was never my thing
'til an angel dressed in humanity showed me
what feeling could be like,
what love could be like without pain

the clouds are mostly grey in england,
the sky muted by dreary weather
but these days i find myself looking at the flowers instead
and she is sunshine lighting my every step

you're enthralling, the way you captivate me
less than half a year but already
you've changed so many things
you are my most extraordinary experience

you're the constellations in my night sky
and the petals blooming brightly in a once barren garden
you make me see more; you're the pastels lightening my art
there's a spark in me and now i know warmth

if you could only see yourself the way i see you,
life is no longer just grey and blue
i need you to know that i love you
thank you for bringing colour to my world

i think i could see myself
holding fragile life
in the palms of my hands,
a reverant look upon my face
as these eyes, harrowed by
sleepless nights and unsightly sights,
gaze down upon a being
wrapped in cotton blankets
that i love more than my own life

and then i could see myself
giving it up
because i do not know how to
stay loving;
i do not know how to be gentle

and i fear turning into my own father
by becoming a father myself

you are lying on your back in a bed 5,487 miles away from home.
there are geckos trilling from the corridors and the trees cast shadows in the room
above the door, the air con whirs and you shift, sticky, skin sweating against starched cotton sheets
too hot, too humid, too much

everything is too much, but at least it’s too much here instead of too much back there;
you visit temples, vast and golden in their glory, and white and intricate in their purity; ocher where the sun has kissed blessings upon their pillars,
and pretend that you too are subjected to the numinous nature of sanctums and their spirits
and pray they don’t notice that the awe in their eyes isn’t reflected in yours,
hope they don’t sense that you are not here to heal, only to stretch old wounds into splitting open anew

you are ruining your life

you are ruining your life somewhere beautiful that’s been the making of so many others’ lives
but you always strived to be different, never recognising
that agony, despair, self-deprecation, self-victimisation, suffering—they’re the most common connecting factors between all humans
you are the same as the other six billion people aching and crying and spitting anger in their sorrow,
blind to the one billion who’re trying to make the world a better place so the rest of you might smile a little more often.

one of the geckos scurries across the ceiling and you flinch,
a moment of fear for the unknown before you settle once more and simply watch his little legs fidget his body to freedom through the slats of your propped open window.
inside your chest there’s a moment of heavy silence as your heart grapples for a connection between you and that little creature
both small little things striving to survive in a world too large, too bright, too crowded yet too empty
chasing freedom like a child chases a dream.

the moment passes.
your heart regains pace and your mind whirs with the lonely static of too much me time

you are ruining your life
not realising you’re weaker to suffer than you’d be if you tried to heal

drawing, soft grey lines against off-white paper
scultping his face with delicate arcs,
the stroke that tells a story: an artist
that fell in love with their subject

that was the plan.

twelve of the longest minutes of my life
tipped half upside down,
face pressed into metal bars—no, not a metaphor
actual metal bars.

left arm wedged between body and bed,
heartbeat hammering in my throat
echoing in my head, pulse jumping
in my neck. stop

playing hop scotch at the hinge of my jaw

i remember the shape of your teeth,
passionate, possessive,
marking me as yours.
but here's the truth

as reality faded around me
save for the thrum of my existence
and the caress of piano notes,
i was alone. my own.

i've never belonged to myself more
than just there, half on my bedroom floor
dissociating from everything but
my scattered thoughts and

proof of the life in my veins
pumping and beautiful but
also ... pain, so much of it
acknowledging life and its fleetingness

swift and soft, that's how i want to go.
i lost myself to my own head for an hour
wondering if life is as grey and removable
as the carbon collected on off-white papers

huddled together between a fold of black leather,
a universe with a beginning and an end,
both are black and definite as each other
are we linear or rounded? are we exploding

every billionth year, a billion billion billion suns
burning so far away we have to call them stars—
maybe that's why you're my star light
and i'm the darkness you keep bright

and hopeful, maybe

this wasn't supposed to be a love poem
but it feels like one anyway
who are you? i don't know who i'm writing to
i just remembered

see, i dissociated again; i don't mean to forget you

"you can't think while you're faded"?
i'm telling you i can
can't move, can't live, but think?
i sure as hell can, sure as hell do, sure as hell

it's hell sometimes
though not tonight.
i didn't feel quite so turbulent,
listening to my bloodstream and

okay, there is a limit, i'll give you that
i admit i lost some time
i wish i'd lost myself in sketching but
i lost myself in my mind

i only knew it'd been an hour
by the time stamp on my timeline
who says social media is useless? not i
i know how many minutes slipped into the void

oh how i envy them,
thoughtless and forgotten and empty of feeling.
i'd take my brushes and paint me into the sky
if i thought it might take me to heaven

artist i am, fell in love with my muse
but my mind's a two timer,
slipping off to spend time with darkness
even as my heart screams in my chest

*"what about your star light? what about your life?"

i want to write love poetry
about you; you make me feel
ethereal things
like safety and happiness,
and warmth that sparks smiles
in split seconds at random times
no care that others wonder
‘what’s on his mind?’

and i don’t care that i can’t have you,
that there can never be an us.
i’m so content with our current content,
the bits and pieces
that make us who we are
to each other; i am happy
just accepting whatever you give
and never asking for more

just two silhouettes walking
never intersect, done all their talking

parallel lines, this road’s been taken
the path is set with no equation
he did the math—no explanation
no words to describe this excavation

the broken bones, the muddied holes
tried to force the pieces, guess he’s got soul

tried so hard to wash them clean,
but the truth whispers behind the sheen.
pressure wash, sludge swirled the drain
from pressure: bruises, exposed the pain

rinse away the dirt, the cracks remain
prevents infection, still poisons the brain

got any guilt for me, or still just the same?
soap suds and lies can’t erase the shame.

not everything i say is
beautiful or profound

i think sometimes i feel
too much pressure
to be inspiring, or thought-provoking
to evoke emotion in others

there's a lot of  frustration to be found
in being unable to
find the words
that make hearts thump and tears ****

a poet's greatest curse:
blocking your own creativity
by trying to be creative

Goodbye.
That's all.

i can't describe this feeling

it's like i want to cry for no reason
(though i know i have plenty of them)

and it's 03:29 AM as i write this line,
wondering why i'm so obsessed with time;
but that's what insomnia does, i suppose

counting down the minutes,
like the more i acknowledge time slipping by, the faster it'll go

03:30 AM and i'm wondering
just how many of my poems have late night morning hours in them
and if anyone else finds the nauseating rhythm of
tick-tock's
as tedious as i do.

03:33 AM

sometimes it's not just my insomnia;
sometimes it's me, too

i can't help the way anxiety cripples my bones and
churns my stomach,
the idea of "lost time" haunting me

as if spending hours fretting over it
is somehow less of a loss than sleeping through those hours, blissfully ignorant
to the fear of missing something.

it's a fear that blankets me every other night, making the simple task of
closing my eyes
an impossible mission,
even though i know

i'm missing nothing.

00:36

Surrounded by a bunch of fake friends, claiming
"We don't talk like we used to anymore,"
Passing blame like cigarettes,
And stifling the urge to choke:

Strong men. Even the sponge of our lungs is hardened
Stainless steel because no broken promises
Are gonna mar the way we breathe,
**** panic attacks; just contain it 'til we implode

Volcanoes collapsing in on themselves,
Chests crumbling, collapsing, converted into ash
Blood turned lava, thick like the way we all used to be
(Thick as thieves, thick as thieves)

And hot as the temper that erupts in me
Every time you fog my head with morphine,
Numb the pain your lies have caused me
Have me lie back and swallow down pills

Am I supposed to just take what you've given me
And ignore what you've taken from me?
Thick as thieves, thick as thieves:
Why'd you steal from me?

the more years i clock,
the faster time slips by
‘til my mileage feels close
to ticking past my capability,

and the clock swallows my skin
biting wrinkles into my face
‘til i can’t remember my beginnings:
can only fear my end

just twenty years, but it’s already july
summer scorches sticky smiles
masking questions behind tired eyes
“what am i doing with my life?”

the security cameras
at the station
have it on record
that i
adore you

And now, now it's time
To get over you a second time
And it always takes so long
But if you asked, I'd say I'm fine
It's a lie but one day it'll be true
The only person I can lie to is you
Trust isn't something I can do
Promise I don't lie about important things
The lies I tell are only about my feelings
I know how I feel is insignificant
Whether or not people tell me different
You'll never ask, though, so I'll never lie
This time it's me not saying goodbye

is it that you desire
to stuff your tongue
down my throat, playing
“loves me, loves me not”
to the melody
of my choking, guttural
pleas of “no more”
no more lies, no more
deceit spun off the tip of your
***** tongue.

take your tastebuds back;
i’ll ******* own truths.
i don’t like this
tonsillitis, i can’t
soothe it
like kids do.
lactose intolerant, and
struggling to tolerate
the way your eyes shimmer
like you’re enjoying this

you said we all have trials
i think you forget
there's no court of law
for the demons in your head

and if there was, i'd be on bail
with a psych eval due
struggling to swallow sadism
and thinking of you

he told me we're toxic;
she told me you're a liar
you bring out the worst in me
set good intentions on fire

i've never burned more
than when i'm losing sleep over you
if you were petrol, i'd drink
and finally we'd be through

i can't stand the way i hate you
and i love you just as much
i'm tired of hurting
and being used as a crutch

i don't believe it when you're sweet
can't stomach it when you're mad
sometimes you're an angel
but almost the worst i've ever had

in the past, i was empty
seven years without crying
now i'm swelling with anxiety
but at least i'm trying

told me you'll never stop
god knows i don't want you to
but maybe i need it,
a break from what you do

i'm softening the tone
with half-assed rhymes
to sound like i'm okay
with the fact you aren't mine

though part of me thinks
for what it's worth
that i got lucky to miss a shot
and dodge a bullet, dodge the hurt

it really *****
that the ones i loved the most
have become the people i feel the worst around

i can't settle, so it's just stomach aches
and biting my tongue

i hope you notice the change

and i hope it burns you as much as it wounded me
​​​​​​​when you realise you lost the trust i put in you

when they tell you to **** yourself,
you will try
you'll try anything
at least once
even if it's the last first try
you'll ever get again

i'm not sure that i want to live anymore
i'm not sure that i'd call it suicidal
i'm not sure that i wouldn't call it suicidal
i'm not sure if it's fair to say i'm a risk to myself
i'm not sure i'd ever go through with it
i'm not sure it's fair to ignore it
i'm not sure that i want it acknowledged
i'm not sure about showing weakness
i'm not sure about showing vulnerability
i'm not sure i want to let anybody close
i'm not sure i don't want to let anybody close
i'm not sure i can handle somebody knowing my soft side
i'm not sure i can handle somebody accepting me
i'm not sure about anything
i'm not even sure what this is

it's not a poem, really
it's not a statement
i'm not sure it's anything at all

it just is

you show me yours, i'll show you mine
feels like we travelled back in time
but these private parts, just journal lines
and far more delicate than our young minds

what is this unspoken play
does speaking make it fade away?
are we spilling secrets, will you stay
or am i projecting, hoping you feel the same?

did i read this wrong
or was i right all along?
maybe i'm coming on too strong,
as desperate as the day is long

if i love you and you love me too
then what could telling each other do?
i promise i don't want anything from you
nothing but the honest truth

i think i kinda like you
just a little too much.

i'm not gonna tell you about this
little infatuation

but i feel warm when
you smile because of me,

and my cheeks ache with grinning
when you laugh at something i do.

i told myself i never would,
know all the reasons why i

never should fall for you;
we're just not made like that.

this is... don't read into it
preferably? don't read it at all

this is something i've
considered for a long while

i'll laugh it off, call you my-
well, that'd be obvious

ruining us is the last thing
on my mind; but you

are the first thing on my mind
most days

god, i hate this. i'm so sorry.
i didn't mean to

i didn't mean to get confused about us
i didn't mean to wonder

mostly, i don't know how i feel
maybe i'm confusing friendship with romance

but i do know this:
your lips are ones i'd like to kiss

ᴛʜᴀᴛ ғɪʀsᴛ ɪ ʟᴏᴠᴇ ʏᴏᴜ﹐ sᴏ sᴏғᴛʟʏ sᴘᴏᴋᴇɴ
ʟɪᴋᴇ ᴀ ᴛᴀʙᴏᴏ﹐ ʜᴜsʜᴇᴅ﹐
ɢᴇɴᴛʟᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ᴛᴇɴᴛᴀᴛɪᴠᴇ﹐ ᴛʜᴇ ᴋɪɴᴅ ᴏғ
sʟᴏᴡ ʙᴜʀɴ
ᴛʜᴀᴛ ɢɪᴠᴇs ʏᴏᴜ ᴄʜᴇsᴛ ᴘᴀɪɴs;
ʙᴜᴛ ɪᴛ·s ᴡᴏʀᴛʜ ᴇᴠᴇʀʏᴛʜɪɴɢ﹐
ᴀɴᴅ ɪ sᴡᴇᴀʀ ɪ·ᴠᴇ ɴᴇᴠᴇʀ ʟᴏᴠᴇᴅ ᴀɴᴏᴛʜᴇʀ ᴍᴏʀᴇ.

god is dead; his body's in the attic
i didn't do it, though everybody's at it
this isn't blasphemy, it's freedom from fanatics
all that dark sky, light leaks where we cracked it

don't pray, your palms cannot clasp the chasm of your heart
your redemption's only received if your sorrow's sketched in art
frame it, mail it, burn it; give your love a fresh start
you don't owe apologies to god, only who you've wronged

you didn't need to cry yourself to sleep
all your words could be ours to keep
what you can't admit, i know it's deep
but ignoring the wound will make it seep

there's no shame when mistakes are confessed
i'll forgive you once the crime's addressed
but keep lying to me? lies will be undressed
the world a ****** to the guilt you've repressed

it's a little too cold,
the spaces between us,
ice sinks like truth
deep in my bones

I know I said I love you
I know you know I meant it,
dream of tangling fingers
as I pull away

friends that call me turtle
for the funny faces I make
but now I'm edging back into my shell
thinking they just know me

a little too well
and it's a little too close
for comfort—what's comfort?
hell, I'm just kidding myself

help me, I'm breaking down
no, leave me,
can't save me now
just know: I hate myself for this

these lips pushed and pulled
forming shapes
to imagine your kiss,
a kiss I'll never get to taste

please let me drift.
more space between us;
let the ice sink like truth
deep in our bones

sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry
and I love you and I'm
leaving, gotta leave here
don't wanna be replaced

i'm sick and tired of these mind games.
you push me away and pull me back
like a yo-yo, or an emotional punching bag
(what's the difference anymore anyway?)
always in equal measures
but i've never felt more imbalanced

i hate you for assuming things
i hate you for making me feel things
you think you're the only victim in this?
you're wrong
and every ounce of my self loathing could never make you seem right

i'm tired of your every word hitting home
i'm tired of the way your anger breaks my bones
i'm tired of feeling like every move i make is a mistake
i'm tired of you making me ill

for ****'s sake
just leave me alone
(don't)

how is anyone supposed to live like this?
some comfort a bed is when i'm alone and crying in it
when i'm alone and nauseated and i wouldn't mind dying in it
when i'm lying on a full bladder and i'd rather **** myself than move
when moving feels like too much commitment and i have commitment issues

was that gross? blunt? disgusting? does the idea of a grown man ******* the bed
make you sick to your well-fed stomach?
are you outraged that i gave a gory detail?
that i didn't romanticise the illnesses that drain the life out of me and leave me pale?
colourless, frail,
if i were a metaphor, i'd be the pallor of a dead man's skin
rotten and cold and withering from within

halsey's grey man has nothing on me
and my pills aren't blue, they're yellow and green
and it's been a little under two months but i swear they're not working
i've been sleepless and anxious and overthinking when i'm not dissociating
i guess this is an honesty "poem"—i put air quotes around that because i don't feel poetic
i could give you other "ic" words that would describe me much better
pathetic, apologetic, agnostic, pessimistic and ******* chronic

does it make you uncomfortable, reading this side of me?
brash and defeated and overwhelmingly ugly
get in line, darling, i'm uncomfortable every day
standing in front of the mirror and pulling at body parts and skin i wish i could throw away
swallowing down my dinner and consciously reminding myself
"the toilet bowl is not for food, that's no good for your health"
but god i wish i could halve myself, cut away everything that makes me wanna harm myself
and **** it, i won't lie — i didn't recover, just found a couple highs
i'm crashing hard now and you're **** right i wanna die

my mother might have cancer, didn't you know?
it's ******* awesome—note sarcasm—how even that can't get me geared up to go
i know i need to get paid; i beat myself up over being unemployed every ******* day
clearly you don't understand that i already have a job
my job title is depression and i'm slaving 'round the clock
my employer is generous, don't get me wrong
he wraps me up in duvet and keeps me warm all day long

i know it sounds isolated but don't worry, i'm an introvert! don't you know i thrive this way?
my mother all alone with her thoughts in the living room as my intrusive thoughts tear me apart
askjng, "what would you do if she died today?"
my friends getting on with their lives and probably not giving me a second thought
because how could they remember to when i've been locking myself indoors?
if seeing is believing then *******, i don't exist to them
doubting thomas doubts my existence and no amount of faith could ever make me real to him
the only person seeing me is myself and i'm not entirely sane
hey, who knows? maybe my entire life only exists inside my brain
maybe i could **** myself and nobody would feel any pain

sick and tired of being painted as a criminal;
it's tainting my edges black, filling my body with blue
i think i might just wash it all away, rinse the colours off my skin
and stop myself from ever feeling anything, including you

vacancy, let me in
i'm drowning in the holes you filled
vacancy, let me in
the sunset doesn't warm my skin

ocean sky, motel room five
my car's banged up, parked in the drive
she's a little rusty but she's still a sweet ride
come jump in the passenger side
one for just tonight, for old time's sake
i miss you so much it's impossible to take
a poem once taught me what it's like to be heartbroken
ne'er reall' believed it 'til those little words were spoken

are you smiling at the sunrise
the way you did with me?
does he drown in your eyes
instead of looking at the sea?

vacancy, let me in
i'm drowning in the holes you filled
vanacy, let me in
the sunset doesn't warm my skin
my hands are cold without yours to hold
suddenly i'm colourblind without you in my world
there's so little beauty without you here to smile
please just let me stay for a little while
vacancy, let me in
vacancy, let me in

autumn leaves fall, but i don't jump in the piles
doesn't cross my mind;  i'm thinkin' 'bout the miles
the miles between you and me
i'm the blade of grass at the bottom of your tree
your roots are buried deep, deep in my heart
as you reach into the clouds like a work of art
maybe i'd be jealous if you didn't look so good
but i'm just staring at the leaves thinking, "would've, should've, could"

is he smiling at the sunrise
the way i did with you?
are you looking at the sea
feeling his eyes on you?

vacancy, let me in
i'm drowning in the holes you filled
vanacy, let me in
the sunset doesn't warm my skin
my hands are cold without yours to hold
suddenly i'm colourblind without you in my world
i promise if you'd let me, by your side i'd grow old
just a look from you and i'm weak, i fold
vacancy, let me in
vacancy, let me in

vacancy, let me in
i'm drowning in the holes you filled
vacancy, let me in
the sunset doesn't warm my skin

i am sick and tired of people
trying to get to know me,
trying to figure me out,
trying to show me i'm better than i believe,
that i'm nicer than i make out to be

i'm not

you can't romanticize me
into being some kind of anti-hero,
into being some kind of lost soul who
just needs saving
or a hug

no, no hugs
please no hugging
i'll break your arms
physical contact? i can only accept that from a
limited few, on rare occasions.
it sickens me.

some people are imperfect and flawed,
irrecoverable,
and they own it.

sometimes you just have to accept
that some people are pieces of ****
and they like it that way.

i like keeping you all at arm's length,
at the very least

who'd ever want to let down their defenses
in front of
strangers

with grenades disguised as encouraging words
and guns disguised as empathy,
or sympathy...

i won't let your petty, loving instincts penetrate my armour

*******

just let me be my own villain,
and you can learn to hate me

as much as i do and don't hate myself

If I shoot you down,
Please, don't take it personally.
I am a walking trigger warning;

It doesn't take much to set me off.
I explode at the slightest provocation
And make sure the cause

Is stained as red as my vision.
Your shirt might never be clean again.
Neither will I.

sometimes i want
to sing along
to a new song

i want
opposites, and new tricks
something more than this

i want new
and beautifully charged,
a zeal for life that's been unmarred

i want change.

He says he's getting feelings,
and I'm oblivious to what he means
even as my skin prickles and itches,
like there are flies crawling over it
and leaving their grubby, microscopic footprints behind.

He gets nasty about it,
and then I get it. Funny, that:
I only ever understand things
once demonstrated with aggression,
violence.
Or maybe not so funny at all.

And it's funny, because I just
don't believe him, and yet I do
at the same time.
He's a player and a cheat, but
he has a heart as he tells his side of the stories,
and I kiss his frown away.

Funnier still: they all have words to say about
him―the player, the cheat, the *******, the guys that
leads their friends on-
they talk about him
as if he dangles bait from the end of a string
in front of starving mice
so he can snap them up in his jaws and
swallow them whole,
only to spit them out later,
mangled and broken.

Perhaps a little like him.

I think they forget he has feelings too.

Even funnier still that
I feel like I'll be the one that breaks his heart
because I'm all well and good for liking him,
but my heart belongs to another,
and my friends, they like me, think me better
than the way I advertise myself;

I know they're wrong, because I know myself.
Always without intention, though often
without remorse, too,
I break the people closest to me,
snap them like twigs,
chew them up like defenseless mice
between my gnashing teeth,
and spew them up later
with the bile-burn of self-loathing,
mangled and broken.

Perhaps a little like me.

I think I forget I have feelings too.

whether it be your
local shop
or the park across the road,
a nightclub
or a library, or
the school where
your children go

we're here

the bathroom,
the classroom,
the living room and kitchen,
marching downtown
with a rainbow parade
or hidden
in the closet

we're here

we've been here
forever
did you know that
ancient Greece
was a homonormative society?
we've been alive,
just trying to live our lives

we're here

no less human,
no less susceptible
to hurt or pain
or love;
we love in bright, bright colours
and we love freely
never bound by binaries or convention

we're here

you'll never be rid of us
as we are not
a disease
to be cured.
all we want to do
is be as free to love
as you.

we're here

we aren't going anywhere

tell the ones who put you here how you've had enough
scream it to the skies, 'til your lungs burn and tears sting your eyes
in case the one they call goodness and love is real enough to listen
hold your heart up in both hands like it's your mission
you don't have to be mormon to spread your word like it's gospel
you've just gotta have faith in your method of communication
when you open up your mouth and a storm comes out
i hope the clouds churn and the rain falls and they feel the pain you've been dealt

we can put all hope to bed but hope has a funny habit of waking up again
and i can honestly say my life would lose so much quality
if you were to go to sleep and never open your eyes again
and quality of life is a measurement of longevity, a question:
is it worth it? can i survive this? can i live when the sun burns away the darkness?
you are the sun, my sun, you just don't see it yet
because who can get close enough to the sun without being blinded?
who could hold a mirror to the sun and let it see itself before the mirror melted?
you are the sun, my sun, even if you never see it, try to believe it

i am hurt
beyond reason,
wounded
so messily
that the scars will
never heal.

but oh, i will remain so
long as the sun
greets me—
at least in passing.

i will grieve for
sun-kissed skin
that used to be mine.
i will layer up and hide
the deathly pallor
of flesh and bones and misery

our circumstance
dictates our paths
and the sun's shine
has me swallowing my complaints,
and thus:
“whether it hurts is kind of irrelevant”

yet i'm hurting all the same

sky as grey as my dreams
it's spring but winter clings
my hands are always cold,
my arms goose pimpled
and I sit in a t-shirt
doing nothing about it,
this chill that lingers
on my skin, in my bones

don't touch me with your
warm hands
I don't deserve the heat,
let me freeze over into ice
and push me under sea,
sky as grey as my dreams
it's spring but winter clings
I'll soak up the salt water
drown myself to peace

All the stars in the sky couldn't outdo your shine...
sorry, that's a cliche line
so should i compare thee to a summer's day instead?
no, sorry, that's plagiarism;
i guess i'm not as good at this as i want to be,
but it seems every time i try to tell you how i feel
the words just escape me.
There's nothing original in my head,
so i resort to using poetry
that's been recycled instead. You do that to me, you know,

you take all these impressive thoughts, long words
revised from dictionaries during high school essays where
i should have been focusing on the question
but found myself
more interested by the way words with more letters
could have so little meaning; words with less letters
could store enough emotion to fill a blank void with
billions of burning lights - you could create a universe for somebody with
just four letters, but you could
simply make a small dent within the air by using nine.
l o v e
r e d u n d a n t
nine meaningless letters for a pointless word - even
the word itself acknowledges its lack of necessity.

It was upon pondering these thoughts, just now
as i write this silly little poem that's
lost its flow, lots its rhythm and rhyme just as i seem to
lose myself when i'm around you,
that i stumbled upon a discovery

and though this discovery held no comparison
to the miracle i uncovered in
discovering your existence, and the way your eyes shine warmly like lanterns
whenever you're happy (something which consequently brightens my
dark and broody spirits, lifting them out ever so slightly from the hell they reside in),
i found it to be an important discovery all the same.

See, words and letters and literary features,
they're all so... simple, and how better to communicate with another soul
than doing so simply, in language even toddlers can understand?
If a four letter word can be more meaningful
than a word containing nine letters, then maybe less
really is more.

I'm coming to my conclusion now, just-
bear with me, here. It takes a guy like me a lot of courage to admit to what he feels.
See, i was going to write about the way your smile shines
bright and beautiful like the sun, but i realised that would mean that i'd never stand a chance
because if ever i drew close enough for a kiss

you would burn me.

So here it is. Plain and simple.

I love you.

it sounds like planes taking flight,
like foreboding,
like a hoard of wasps,
and then it breaks into melody;
it went from storming winds
to a spa reception
meditation:
inhale, exhale

dull these sharp edges,
take me out of my head;
i can see you
laid out on white cotton sheets,
your dark hair fanned
against the pillows on my bed.
no, i don't want to
do anything,
other than lie with you,
feel your warmth and...

i look at you and
tears brim these tired eyes.
insomnia's an artist
painting shadows on my lids,
but you reach out
and brush your fingertips against my cheek;
suddenly i'm alive,
your watercolours vibrant on my skin;
i'm overflowing with emotion
but you make it feel okay
to drown,
to let it in.

you'll never have any idea
of how much i think about you
i think, maybe, i would feel guilty
if i knew how to
but i don't do remorse,
just as you don't do...
well. this.
any of this.
try not to, anyway

things don't always
work out
the way we plan;
but it's okay,
we can make more plans
together, somehow
because you promised me you'd live
and i swore i'd do the same.

may you never be satisfied with having the world;
i hope you find happiness
and continue to search for more.
this world, though beautiful, could never be reward enough
for you.
seek the stars.

just holding him in my arms,
i feel the broken pieces of myself
making peace with being broken
and learning to hold themselves together

that first kiss, i felt myself implode
and new roots took place, rebuilding;
rosy lips bloomed flowers within me
turning my head towards the sun

his hands became the cornerstone
of all my new foundations,
fingers slotted together like framework;
destiny drew our blueprints, heart-dotted i's

swooping curls of cursive,
i'm cursing as my stomach swirls.
i'd break my wrists writing love letters
just to stare and sketch his smile's curve

you created this
can’t you see? it’s you
the way you want to be.
a bright flare
of pure white light, stark
against the bloodied canvas
of your reality;
your hands
reaching out
emptily
towards salvation

stop it.
they aren’t going to save you.

who’s going to save you?

me

you’re going to save you

paper thin skin
the artist’s eye is drawn
moth to a flame
but darling, paper burns

fragile, the softest ashes
they say “it always ends like this”
porcelain quivers
artist’s eyes, closed lids

flicker, just minutes more
please, just one last kiss
tears wet the cracks
and salt your drying lips

this loss, feel it endlessly
let me taste you one last time
something to savour,
to agonise the mind