dear, i fear, a sickness spread while we laid requited in bed

and love, just can’t look you in the eye

pretty sure I’d turn to stone, or die

my tachycardia’s starting to catch flames from these ruminations
and the flowers i bought have gotten soggy in my hesitation

because what good are hands that hold if all they do is shake
and what good are flowers if they’re held so insecure
in a cracked and fractured vase

if i had endless time to spend
i would seldom spend it with you
i'd spend most of it thinking about you, and how good it feels
to not be wasting your time
i'd do nothing but talk about you to anyone who would listen, and listen to songs that commemorate
sparse moments where i felt perfectly secure
those moments where i walked out of your home
knowing that i broke nothing you owned,
and felt good about the words that i chose
to so carefully avoid the smallest of cracks
and keep our love intact


because every second spent with you is another chance you might see how worthless i am
and i dread every minute that i am caught
in your perfection

strategically submerge my brain in endless hours of mindless entertainment
japanese wrestling matches and youtube documentaries about the cruelest of fates

still when i fall asleep, the one and only thing that i will dream about is you

taylor swift just pushed poetry's modern day public image even farther back into the 'uncool' zone 😭😭😭

do you remember me

probably not
i never became anything

nothing more than suffocating, dissociative daydreams
surrounded by green leaves on lemon trees
i still could not thrive
amidst the accommodating salt air
still fading,
still weak
living on figurative life support all of my teens, now at twenty-three
decaying in one room, with one window looking out to an alley

can i even say i've changed

as romantic as it would be to say yes, and for the worse
i'm still not "me"

i do not even get the luxury of claiming i was once something before i turned into nothing

i remember claiming that i was trying to "be art"
in hopes that being an abstract museum of things you could see, but couldn't touch would somehow save me
but that is no way to feel
no way to be

i am no poem,
i am no painting,
i am no line i am no iris i am no olly

i am nothing

the words that keep coming to mind are "dead life"

i tried to live a life so many times in the ways I could with everything against me. dissociating and clinging to anything all of my teen years and up until recently. yes it wasn't real or material but there was life there. life that i couldn't reach but life nonetheless that i wanted so bad and kept trying to preserve. but i can't beat the dead horse anymore. the dead horse that is my ideal body, my hope for a comfortable life, my dreams. i havent looked in the mirror and meant it in over half a year. ive done it so many times. thinking that one day it would be how i want it to be. and id dream about it, and make plans that i knew i couldn't see through.

"if you just do stuff and nothing happens, whats it all mean? whats the point?"

i still live a life as everybody else does, but the one life ive wanted more than anything is a dead life