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Oli Jan 2019
I've been looking at old pictures of rock stars in their prime
such feminine, almost childlike features compared to their current selves
There are some of Bob Dylan playing guitar with Donavan
And one of Lou Reed with his hand pressed against his cheek, sitting at a table with Jagger and Bowie, at Cafe Royal in London
and when I see them I think,
"I want to be young."
but I am young
years younger, in fact
not a great a write. sorry.
Oli Apr 2022
her legs are wrapped around my neck like an albatross, a punishment, severed and divorced from her attention
love is the strongest when the smell of *** is infused with all of love's embellishments
it's intoxicating, a smothering affection
and no release can take away the rotting love that's in my brain
it's not just ***, i think her flesh dissolved into my own
Oli Oct 2021
with ****** sleeves, i sleep knowing
this is all for me
with pain in precarious places, i find in this state
this is all for me
every ache and release
every sense of burning relief
every taste too bitter to drink
every rest i can barely call sleep
every wound inflicted on my own skin
this is all for me
Oli Dec 2018
i'm singing this borrowed tune
i took from Neil Young
alone in this empty room
too wasted to write my own
Oli Nov 2020
area of infection is stretching its tongue-like limbs out, a yellow and fleshy door blocking the hallway
so we all arrive at the same time, on the same night with a handful of solutions, then get tired by the next day
to, on occasion, try the same thing for the next two weeks, until we can do nothing but imagine that time before the cancer door did not exist
Oli Sep 2020
cut, cut, cut
two weeks and still i have no nerve, it's what I heard
dig a hole for every word, i kept the thirst when i spit dirt
cause it felt good until it hurt, got crushed and ****** until it whirled into the earth
and all your ***** get seen not heard so take it as a risk of birth

my blueish face with a smile on it, for the first time
and if you cant wait, you can grab my waist, make it last this time

in case you bought it, it's happy, gladly,
just cut me up and then put me down please
ill be here waiting like i always am, ****** up inside and outside again
pushed in till it's not seen but felt, dont tell
Oli Feb 2022
sometimes it's the nails on my fingertips, sometimes it's the skin bitten off of my lips, I'm laying in this bed as I'm eating myself alive
either out of desire to escape or a way to sustain some obscure feeling of existing despite living a life that only consists of rapid decaying

my stomach's mostly filled with my own finger nails and skin,
but no matter how many years pass, i can't seem to swallow myself whole

the me that exists today is just something i unwillingly regurgitate
Oli Nov 2022
I wanna have pale glass eyes,
I wanna have glitter freckles,
I wanna have marble fingernails
a dazed dancer in the swan lake
like a dying light
cast upon my porcelain
bound to catch what's bright
even when i'm blinded
Oli Jan 2020
i saw her today
i don't want to explain the ways I'd crash into her face, similar shapes, the things we share just vague enough to where it makes me think of where I came from
If only we were the same
if i could make one mess, i'd smash into her til her chest caved in
i'd tear out both my legs and hope they bled, just to see how this long, blue skirt could lose the value in every thread that keeps it together
i would watch the nuances in the color
i would swallow what's in between just to save it for later
i would have my guts exposed to see what comes out from there
and if i could?
i would **** myself until i couldn't believe myself, as if i could see myself, just like standing through a mirror
i would eat myself
with my own mouth.
Oli May 2021
all i want
not enough
dig a hole
can't return
to save myself
no exit
from the dirt
it's futile
rinse the stain  
gonna break
see my face
no control
see my eyes
don't exist
see my smile
can't imagine
feel my skin
never happens
to feel alive
never will
to feel something
can't resist
just to rest
no control
fall asleep
no exit
feel something
it's futile
just exist
never happens
never will
Oli Jan 2019
I woke up today at the border of the morning, in that old war bunker, crowded with boxes and medical supplies, missing the asphalt and the tree line
Half dead and unaware, in this undead pharmacy, taking fragments from the shelves
And who's really gonna stop me if there is no one around?
Wasted all of my prayers on all of the obvious things
days spent walking miles to the pawn shop, or the futility of looking for what to take with me

My visions of thin skin are poking at their veins, of which I'm having memories of in unrelenting fashion
and though I'm only 23 my heart feels like a chasm
of mayflower proportion

I think to write you a letter, think fast to find a pencil, but there never is one, so I crumble up the paper
I think to write you a letter, but there never is one
But it'd be cruel not to leave one
So with all the strength I can muster, with the most minimal of treasures that haunt this long abandoned shelter,
I am hardly able to form words, let alone sentences
The crumbled paper giving under my childlike formed fist
And I see my face in Judy Garland's, in the glass, my reflection in a framed picture
my Judy
The last letter
Spilling out from my lips

I am not beautiful yet
I am ugly to the very core
but I will rearrange my bones, if not for this, then for that framed picture
and what it reflected
for Judy, and a reminder to stop focusing so much on trying to make art, but living my life like art.
Oli Mar 2022
try to just hold still again
as I grip my own fingers, watching as they bend
trying to remind myself of what I can't forget
how can I be so brittle while day after day, taking every punishment one after the next
in every way I am so fragile, but cannot embody the essence of it

and I dig my knees into aging leaves, as they break apart in pieces, like severed limbs from the weight of me
where a thought sums up my own existence
a pairing of nature's bane and its own decoration shows me the difference in our senescence

thrown into deep water, feel my lungs fail
told to decay in a vague display of beauty
a block of cement and a struggle for breath cannot adorn a truly ugly way to die

in every way I am gentle, but I cannot express it
Oli Jul 2021
They want to tell you that the evil that I fall asleep begrudgingly with is the same that every single one like me is bludgeoning the innocent with,
I am not afraid to say it, I am not the victim,
I will stay awake for days until there's no more skin to pick from,
I'll sew shut the mouths of every infant to quiet every winter,
every mother will resent her womb, a fruitless wound within her
****** every father with these wide, arresting ****** eyes
and hips that move on their first ride enthusiastic like a child,
so certain in his mind with every ****** the ways that he'll betray her,
in a rabid fit of lust becomes a family annihilator

They want to tell you that the evil I resent that resides in me is the same as all the rest they deem as accidents
but it takes a heart of pure love and hatred to swim above the surface with a millstone round your neck
Oli Jun 2019
I feel a pain when I look inside houses,
orange tint, lit like ****, like bloodshot eyes staring back at mine,
I only ever lived in cheap apartments, and we moved somewhere new every few years
People grow up in houses, they come and go when they're older, they die in them
My only experience being welcome in a house, a man I knew who's wife ended up dying in it
It was only weeks later when he took his own life in it
I'm afraid of houses, the implications of commitment, the familiarity, the comfort
When the foundation becomes cancerous,
These never ending thoughts of how your comfort can become a haunted house

I'm so afraid of death.

I know I wrote that poem, last December, 
I said I no longer fear death 
Let me correct it
I no longer fear dying 
But I fear death
God, do I fear death

Sometimes, I like to believe I'm a superhero,
queen of dissociation, maybe 
My trauma, my dysphoria is nothing in the context of this...prophecy, plot armor, whatever it is keeping in line with the story
of who I am, where I came from, of how this pain truly meant something 
but if I abandon fiction to breathe uncertainty 
raise my arms in front of me, bracing 
where do I exist outside of me
written feb 13 2019
Oli Jan 2020
the type of love that gives you lungs in place of a heart that
gives you aches and pains in places you've never thought before
the type of love that we're all tired of talking about
some more than others
the floor is a maze, it's a tricky walk to the door but i
love you
enough to dig these nails right into
my skin, and tear open everything enough to dive six feet into the watery grave of an old wanderer, who's seen more than one could ever want to confess
i am a mess but i
i love you
Oli Aug 2022
let me speak to you about fleeting things that keep me stitched and sane,
blood pours from my head, drips back down again
reminisce about the insignificant
reanimated, and buried with white roses
***** my vein
hide my face in tinted memories as i'm bleeding
rotting nest spent every season,
made me blind so project images onto my blank canvas
black out as i lose it
stream of red on violet roses
smell of death within my resting place
shedding hairs, **** the rest of me
killing hope, a devil's scheme that inadvertently
burned the roots of my family tree
i find the life hidden in this sickly stalling and the sharp pain of my suffering
so do i not deserve to live truly and peacefully?
Oli Dec 2018
There is a garden here inside of my head, my flowers wilting away

There is a killer with a gun to my back, I'm gonna do what he says
Oli Jan 2020
at first i thought i wanted to be you
but i think that was me just trying to cope with the fact that
you are the most beautiful person i have ever let my eyes on
and that
i don't exist to occupy some abstract space in my mind where i am a trophy that no one could have, that means nothing to anybody but me
and exists to be pretty
and kept behind glass for no one to see except me
when i come back to dissociative thoughts to say "look what i achieved" but i think i see the truth is that
i look much better, separate, and beside you
#love #dysphoria
Oli Nov 2021
.ti od ot ton nosaer doog eno em eviG
Oli Jun 2019
blood leak low
empty glass on the hardwood floor
not sorry any more
thinly shaped
open shine
sickly frame
partly looming like branches like
like Rori
like laughter like
like Oli
like Oli
Oli Dec 2018
mother's flats again, a size too small
the old, empty box of hair dye by the sink looks nothing like me
my hands leaning against the counter, another prayer
feeling my breath, a slow exhale
a vacancy, though a victory
the contrast of a dimly lit kitchen and a shy, partly cloudy morning
i looked once more at the eviction
counting crosses on the walls
the toy beetle poking its wheels out of the small closet
darkness in the hall
gave one last costly smile before letting them sleep
it was all that i could do
Oli Dec 2018
Often times a question regarding death, "what happens, where do you go?"
I'd say it's neutral, no ringing ears, nothing at all.
Though I've grown up neck deep in the tired and frightening atmosphere of death, nights spent as a child contemplating my own existence, I had learned to accept it at a fairly young age
This question no longer bothers me

Before I walked, before I talked genuinely, I was a million questions, a million ideas all kept under lock
And the way I walked and talked was not my own
And now, some days they'll call me a "man", but what I am is a hybrid of all of these thoughts
bright and faded colors, painted fingers and toes, distorted and vulnerable

And that sudden burst of consciousness at birth was the same I'd come to know in that moment, at the bottom with the fishes, counting pictures and having visions with my last bit of oxygen. Mermaids, gold glitter, and snakes in the water.
Never had I known such a gentle touch, among some collapsed lakeside cottage.

And that is why I am no longer afraid of death, because to cease to exist is not any kind of experience.
And I will always remember, the sudden burst of consciousness just before the renaissance that ensued from your touch.

And I will not wait
And I will sing in a violently feminine fashion
before the day my lung collapses
Oli Apr 2021
i've got a curse on my body, stems from a curse in my head, and i'm a curse to society so i'll curse all of them
and i'll form my hand into the shape of a gun, and i'll point to my temple just to give myself directions to the place where I was last fed and i'll crawl back like a stray cat just to be denied again
of another dissociative self-afflicted right of passage
then awake as the bullet fades into and back out of existence, just long enough to effectively exist as a migraine and not the cause of my own destruction,
a feverish kind of reincarnation that leaves residual traces of all of my past sins
Oli Mar 2019
Scissors and slanted fingers
Skeletal trills
Stretched, hung, resembling my pollinator
sliding down my throat, and cut
and choke on the blood
Thicker than pink or red
and purple and black
beneath my father
Oli Dec 2021
the simplest thing I ever dreamed,
to take our clothes off and feel each other's normative bodies
with our vague residual memories of a high school campus ingrained in our brains from weeks and weeks
of being a part of something moving
so motion sick with dizzy heads and reddish cheeks
the bulimic teenage messes that we deserved to be
Oli Dec 2018
Rori counted all the boxes lying just down below the stairs
She counted with her young, thin fingers, that seemingly could break from the slightest weight
But as you could tell from all the oranges sitting safe inside those boxes
of projected ghostly leaves and branches
They weren't going anywhere

And Rori wiped some sweat from her forehead
Her crucifix danced with her movements
She reached into a sea of bottled water and helped herself to some
The queen upon a throne of wheat bread and powdered milk
Crackers and the usual canned goods
As a line of people formed before her, there was no more time to ****
Just near the truckload of backpacks of all colors of the rainbow

Rori knew, without a doubt, that this was gonna be the year
She'd go out searching in the mountains, through every crevice for the light snow that fell upon this city
In December of 2007
she was 8 years old that day
But Rori knew, without a doubt, that this was gonna be the year
That it would be back to stay
Oli Jan 2019
Catch me if you can, I'm spread above the earth
I'll catch a morning train so we can figure out what hurts
In a place of dying men
I cry sometimes, but that's all part of it
Yeah, that's all part of it, don't catch yourself

I leave it opened up, but you can put it back just fine
You're a sucker for that sentimental sorcery of mine
Stuck below the surface, I want to love you more
But that's all part of it, I guess, that's all part of it

I don't know what to say, I've done all that I can,
and if it really hurts then you can press your hand against the glass
I'll be there with you first, know you'll never have to wait,
no, you'll never have to be alone
Oli Jan 2019
The gods forgot they made me
So I forget them too
I listen to the shadows
I play among their graves

My heart was never broken
My patience never tried

I got seven days to live my life
Or seven ways to die

David Bowie - Seven
David Bowie passed 3 years ago today. These lyrics comforted me a whole lot during a very, very dark time in my life, as well as many more from the beautiful man.
Oli Dec 2018
hallway of spiders, garden of smoke

"come inside, don't be shy", she said
so i dropped to my knees and i dug with my fingers
the soil, falling over my head
coating my skin
mud from my mouth
deeper within
cover the surface, "believe, believe in me" i said

hallway of spiders, houses of dirt

in this life, there is nothing but this empty chairs, and empty faces
i'm in the lost and found
tell me you'll be around
your new friend
who never makes a sound
and i am well
and i am found
it's so profound

you ask me if i'm certain
you tell me the difference
but i tell you all feel is in love
Oli Apr 2019
i'm mounting my bicycle
i'm minding the pain in my gums
in my eyes and the sun
and the candy rappers, little candy rappers
there's blood on my palms
there's a trail in the dirt
there's an older man, holding hands with his small daughter
and he smiles back
and now i have a reference, but not today
today i suffer
allow me to suffer
my mouth full of sugar, and a muffled "no"
no, no
no, not today
you're not allowed to save me
i have shiny clothes and my mouth is sticky,
you're not allowed to take me
save me, erin
Oli Dec 2018
All the girls with their knees in the sand, stretching all throughout the shore, like a mass modeling gig
And me, I laid on my side, curled up and somewhat hidden in the sand
The buildings with their business, and their free form people, stood up and looked straight down on me
And I closed my eyes, and I held myself and cried

It was there that the salt air invaded my thoughts, breathing in, nose was running, I picked myself up, merely stumbling from where I arose
And I was warmer, climbing out from that umbrella, the sun touching these brazenly exposed parts of my body that I still tried my best to hide in such a setting
And Dandy, he's been gone for a bit now
So I split down the narrower parts

And the sun started setting towards my back, and my bare feet were starting to get cold
But the lights, they stayed lit, and dim like a friend in a moment of doubt
And a song played from the bar, it echoed a ways about, and all the people were hoping its words could save their moments and keep them somewhere

And some people gathered around me, asking me questions and looking concerned, from what I could tell
But I wasn't quite listening, I was too busy singing a song to myself
hoping my words would save my young body
from death
from aging
from something I felt
Oli Jan 2020
it was never going to work out for me.
i don't know who or what ever made me believe that i could be anything other than the manic and unmedicated thing that I've seen in the mirror my whole life
i don't know who's delicate and dedicated faith i've appropriated to get me this far without bleeding my breath out of this place, out of this space granted to me by those with much cleaner skin than mine could ever hope to be
and i always wanted to make my poems as pretty as the person that i want to be
but you're the most beautiful person i've ever seen, so i don't know anymore
and i can't tell where i exist, still incomplete and separate from the body that i wish to inhabit and the life i want to live
like i am the color, but you are the shape of every single part of me
and it makes me so, so
because it reminds me that i'm still here, despite dissociation
and i'm still me, despite appropriation
and i'm still fundamentally broken, despite the years since i'd first discovered love and the hurt i'd felt from it
happy new year
Oli Mar 2021
quiet music, pale stress
old records and books you've read
diminishing returns to keep you at the edge
your head has a room with an art exhibit to which only you have access
to invent new ways to say i love you without a face attached, that become less about the statement and more how to perform it
till you become so obsessed over the finer details that used to have infinite value in their purposelessness
till that aforementioned room becomes your place of rest
And to replace a sense of touch you become those pieces of art you present inside your head, as they manifest into a separate identity
And with your armor that persists with this chemical entity's presence you buy some time to get to your feet to run again
To find a friend
To find an audience to show this mess of a poem while there is still time left and then
you feel the knife push deep into your abdomen and
Oli Feb 2020
flesh and blood
intertwined with lines,
lovely, but not poetic
we found no poetry
in the garden
and no use for allegory
just a form of sophistry
shouldn't be so cowardly
in your garden
smothered in moist air from the mouth of my mother,
with golden hair like hers
gentle and pear shaped
the smell of fruit moldering in a soggy paper bag
a violent departure
or cathartic release
loathing the honey
thirsty for poetry
i want to be
in your garden
Oli Nov 2019
i can't give you the moment when you enter my home, and are introduced to its scent, and could not foresee that you would become so familiar with it. i can't give you any kind of structure, regardless of its condition. and though i exist, i just can't bear to prove it. you take me entirely on faith, and i should be forever grateful that you tolerate my absence and lack of transparency. and yet any move i make is not worthy, though i not only move, i disturb and wreck the space you've granted me. and still you tolerate me. my absence and lack of transparency.
Oli Dec 2019
i will be beautiful, i will be known, i will exist, i will live, i can survive, i will be something to believe in, i'll be real, i won't be down, i will find a way out, i'll paint my own life on my own skin
i can live, i can be alive, i can be able to breathe, i am dead
i am dead i am dead
i am dead, i am dead
i am dead
but i can be alive
i can't breathe
but i can catch my breath
I can i can
i can' i can I
Oli Dec 2019
Who am I pretending to be?
Can anyone tell me?
Pick up that pen and paper, who am I imitating today?
Who's passion and preciseness becomes filler and *******?
Who's vigorous melodies become the background to my ******* fake scenes of emotional clarity?
Who gets to be the air I breath?
Because God knows my supply is empty.
Because I wake up with worse eyesight than I'd gone to sleep with
And that's just so tragic to me, right?
Because my body does nothing but relay horrifying secrets and things to be afraid of, and all it takes is a glance to believe it
Because I've seen it.
But I don't want to lose the fundamental parts of me that just happen to experience this hell I'm living
I just want to stop this aching.
But no matter how many times or methods I use to say it,
it doesn't stop.
Words and songs, and things I want and things I want to be
colors and concepts that I find fascinating - no, life saving - no, everything to me
Art can't save me.
Art is what I choose to be, and I know I can't love, or take care of, let alone
Oli Dec 2021
i am sad and angry at the fact that no matter how hard i've tried, through years of completely decaying, to keep a core piece of myself alive in hopes to someday live completely

out of all the possibilities for my future, suicide is the simplest, and least painful of them all
Oli Aug 2020
girl trapped in reclusive isolation aesthetic
reaching towards the feminine thing
to run right through the nerves of my aching
but i taste blood in the water, and the sudden rage i feel is bigger than the drink

why won't you specify
what the **** is the problem
my lungs feel like they're
almost systematically
being pierced
to the point of losing all ambiguity
Oli Jun 2022
Its persistence was the product of vengeful fantasies of fighting the abstract concept of injustice against it, regardless of its circumstances, regardless of the state it's in
****** up and dysphoric
but delusions wrapped in nostalgic plastic boxes
dissociation, nostalgia for things that never happened was the other half of its being
but then numbness from the disconnect between it and its own body, spreading to its capacity to feel anything
now to these longing daydreams

there is no longer anything that it wants
in this world or any of the other ones

there is nothing left to feel, be it touch or the old dissociative clutch

nothing to gain from pretending It exists, or writing in the first person,

my humanity is constantly in question
whether it's the cruelty of my fellow human
or these circumstances that have destroyed my self image,
put my young body through years of decay,
and killed my will to live

I tried to find the will to clean my skin, but it was spent on not collapsing
the irony in sacrificing my own health to maintain the means of surviving

I feel parts of my body decaying from years of neglect
the irony in slowly killing the one thing I've never stopped dreaming of loving some day
Oli Jan 2020
I had a vision this morning, something lucid yet wholly patient, like those small, tight gaps in the aisles of that Mexican mini market. Orange light contrasting with the pale blue morning just near the entrance. Something simple to tie knots with my peach colored dress. Their flesh colored fingers stretched across a bridge of impatient melodies, a million miles away from me, a million miles away from the scent, so familiar and uninspired.

I could have counted for miles, oh how it went
against my own instincts, my own reflection
my father was there, he stood a witness, to my pink, plastic Odyssey
yeah, he stood there in front of me, sitting patiently, watching the words spill from my mouth
And I couldn't have let go of these ugly devices in which I controlled the spaces in every word spoken, days to years, believing that one day, that gap would be closing
And I'd be running to the arms of a drug addled savior, with one hand below my chin, and a pen in the other
Giving thanks to a sad eyed, bronzed skinned lover for the time before I worried her mother, coming home to her empty bedroom
Screaming over the phone to an officer in blue, and me under the covers
I could hear almost every word spilled from her mouth
like marbles, they did
they bludgeoned me half to death

I picked up an old object, reused and repurposed, strength in my fingertips waning, breathing heavily
I dropped to my knees
and easily

that pulsating red line

and that familiar melody would once again return to me, revitalized and
Oli Jan 2020
come fire, come water, come rain 

as i push my fingers all across this bridge again
please just know that i have mended this incessant belly ache. bruised up legs, purple and black, tie knots, lash whips upon my frets

keep me alive till the very last second.

through ******, through answers, in vain

moving houses from the smell her only sister permeates, and each one dances, a formation, inside Dymphna's cabaret. looking down every minute at the differences we share

skeletons, never hidden, not by the skin, its shape, out in the open, my bones are for everyone to stare.
Oli May 2021
writing poetry is a way to exist, to attempt to emulate the beauty of the me that I'm not yet but the me that's inside of my head, and it's all spontaneous, nothing planned or rehearsed because rarely does anything come from it

listening to music is a way to exist, I reside somewhere in a line I interpreted to refine an alternative image of this body that I refuse to accept

dissociation is a way to exist, cause the loudness of my own ambitions and dreams and goals, or rather delusions, can distract from my own nightmarish self image, but only for a moment

self harm is a way to exist, as I hope that the me that I imagine is stronger than I am and can tolerate far more punishment inflicted by either myself or my fellow human

******* is a way to exist, cause the lust I experience is never more prominent than when there's truly nothing left for me and I've exhausted every other method, and there is nothing to do but give in to the most worthless way to feel a sense of purpose

Emorie is a way to exist, because she's an exquisite reflection of the life that I've always wanted, and what I wish I could see instead of what I get when I look into the mirror and see dead eyes and unfamiliar flesh.
yeah, it's my life. in my own words, i guess.
Oli Jun 2021
I wish I had the words to say, my blood soaked brain
it stains the cloth that suffocates, baby's blue face
I wish I had the words to say, my aching state
I ate the taste, neglect my frame
a shapeless pain, no meal today

wring out blood and words and thoughts forever
wring out blood and words and thoughts forever
wring out blood, words, thoughts, forever
wring out blood
wring out blood
wring out blood
wring out blood
wring out blood
wring out blood
wring out blood

— The End —