i never thought i could love or be loved, never thought i could allow anyone to see anything beyond what i specifically offered them. it has forced such direct openness and a selflessness i once was so deeply uncomfortable with. i’m becoming less afraid of someone seeing me so incredibly fragile and weak, unsure about so much, broken down by little things i've been too embarrassed to talk about, thinking they were too small and inconvenient for others to hear. i thought about running, like i usually do, hiding and pretending i didn’t feel anything, that i wasn’t hurting from past mistakes and heartbreaks, like i wasn’t in need of someone to look at me like he does. it’s always been easier. i’d let myself spiral alone, shut people out, pretend as if none of this sadness was destroying me. i didn’t go inwards. i’m feeding into a different vision, i try to believe it every day. i was so sure the future would be me and me alone. i’m trying to believe i won’t be abandoned as brutally as i’ve been before. finally, someone has said to me, without hesitation that they will hear me, and will hold my hand and will keep holding no matter how hard i bite down on it from fright. numbness made me so cruel, i’m learning to lessen the aggression i’ve lived with for so long.

i was so distressed by the idea of being seen as human, of being seen as someone that can be had, be held and be touched. it still scares me, but i’m learning to not be so scared. i don’t feel so agonisingly alone anymore. it’s terrifying, feeling so much comfort, i haven’t felt it in so long, maybe never before. his smile, his laugh, his voice, his hair, his eyes, his body. they’re comfort. it’s hard, there’s anxieties that come with it, anxieties i never thought i’d feel for another living person. i think about how he feels everyday, what he’s doing, whether i’ve hurt him, whether he’s happy, whether he still wants me, every single second of every day there’s an alarm going off in my mind about him, making sure to check in with myself about whether i’m doing right by him, whether i’m doing good enough, whether i’m trying hard enough. ultimately, it’s like a hand, touching a heart that didn’t know it could still feel anything real. it thinks it’s going to die, pressure from thoughts so crippling and thoughts so warm, it doesn’t know how to respond. for the first time, even with all the fear and worry, i can’t really begin to explain how beautiful it all is. i’m becoming more accepting of the complete destruction that would come out of losing him.

i’m not the evil front you’ve come to know
there’s aches in my centre i can’t show
this heart beats, so silently
and it cries, it never sees the light

if i could
i would set the underworld on fire
set the powers aside, drag the cold
from my mouth
let the souls rest
let my good bless the foul
let my hands feel warm

i don’t want to be left shaking
when i let my fresh skin hit the soil
should i stand from this dark, desert throne
from where i watch world wilt
wither and fall
down to me

i woke up to you having shaved your head
blood running from the top of your scalp
bubbling scabs of trauma fully on show

you don’t need to have your guard up all the time
unlike your home, its likeness to army, a battlefield
there’s no bloodshed needed here
not spurted from innocence at least

i need putrid, burning affection
adoration for the calmness of now
of us and of fire not from
a barrel
but from violent acceptance of attraction
of something more than smoked and smothered ground

the bathroom ground, covered in curled up dead hair
smothered by blood

i wish your father hadn’t called

i need some water
to quench my thirsty pain
it has refused to stop swelling
within the gaps around my ribs
forming hard bubbles
as it swallows me in
cocoons me safely into
stiff crooked mazes
dark heartless halls
all of which my mind makes for fun
barriers extended, walls constructed
to let out
only segments  
of hell

this weak and cracked silver dryland
can’t begin no shiny harvest
the crops will die
the hope will follow
the soil is weak the words are hollow
my sweet, my love, how are you doing?
i’m fine, i’m fine, i’m doing fine
i sew my tongue into the roof of my mouth
and bend my lips into the back of my tight throat
beat stubborn tears into watery eyes
and blame the wind the fan spits out

mother, father - we are in a shattered season
of separate flatlands and heavy skies
will we ever be unobscured by forced laughs and family gatherings?
by hills or mountains or sunday church?

may this air force bold breath out of me and you?  
no ordinary small talk will prevent my rage any longer not my small quiet voice from getting larger
we need to speak of the sickness in our heads
or we surely will die
on separate flatlands
on words unsaid

1.
Too caught up in the breeding hurt to breathe
you’ve been arrested from the peace of oxygen
Too caught up in the brooding anger festering in your stomach
In your lungs, contaminating the honest peach sleeping within you
I talk to myself in third person, it’s all too personal to accept as my own
I hope that when you die, your swollen pain would have birthed healthy seeds for growth
For others whose trees are in danger

2.
I will force my heart to be hopeful
For without hope
Why must I believe in breathing
Believe in holding my body up
Keeping my eyes clear for the world I drink
I’ll leave my pain crushed or folded into tiny pieces of cold, dense paper
And keep it in a box away from shelter
Maybe then it will suffocate
And leave me be

a monster came out
on a Sunday morning
and broke a bottle on a living room door

running around slow and unhinged
up and down stairs, pressing down handles
chasing mother
into cars
out the gate, the half open gate
we need to decide where to run!
hotel - your mothers - his sisters - inside
decided was sisters, they speak a common language - will pierce through the leather

stumbled steps on and around our bricks
thousand-yard stare of possession
focused and charged by evil
you pushed and a caged nerve burst
and left remnants on our walls
fear turned into impatience
waiting for you to put down the gun
the tension i hope, will collapse and die

apology to wipe clean the whiteboard i keep
inside for marks that can’t be made elsewhere
inside i will make ***** marks
unapologetic and crass
turn my marks into words you can’t take, or shred or twist
the Sunday morning monster will forever have its stain on my ***** whiteboard cloth
put together with lines of forgiveness

i will now turn this mark you made
the monster you and your history birthed
into beauty

worthless and stupid
more alone than stuck
getting drunk on and lost in the past
all the things i could have had
if not for fear, it’s torment
it’s disastrous and frightening
claws, foggy and dusty
obscured and distorted
now i sleep on if only’s

point the finger
blame the ones that left me for dead
on a new open journey
with worries i can’t contain alone  
again i run
and try to fight
against my own waves of unnerving, fruitless grief
losing more of my spirit
as months go by slowly
and with imperfect levels of gravity to them

not knowing how to roam alone
for it’s been years since I’ve had to walk the hallways without noise
and clattering voices beside me
and for that i miss the old ways
but the new was sure to cement itself
and breed new beginnings I still can’t see
lead to slight meetings with old faces
that only make me a most impatient beast

friendships buried, kept deep and dead
sorrowful over their end
alone with the memories i now have to tend
new ones i hope i can birth
make right with the bones from left behind homes
ones with a longer lifespan
that create less hard nights
filled with intense open eyes
trying not to cry

why was i never
enough

i laid on your pile, of pleated corduroy skirts, as our

faint and stifled lips,

fell into stubborn submissions, intentions unkempt, and raw


for minutes it was sleep, your kisses travelled with

R.E.M— it was dreamlike love, painless love

how ruined is our soul?

i can feel it shaking and staggering

i’ve run out of preservatives

it is time for its decomposition



its shrunken and withered branches

have curated shocks of misty shame

that cling to our possessive pores
fierce and painful they feel

like our clenched fists

and our knuckles of bruises that whistle

sweet notes into the duvet

many times changed

hiding prophetic pools of the vital fluid



i’m in need of glycerine

for this betrayal  

itches and stings

it once was a tender irritation

made of polished affection

that bled rose petals

and golden honey



we’ve been dipped in lemon

and new, blinding frontiers

that call for separation

from this never-ending loss of ourselves

i’m in need of glycerine

and rosewater

warm gun:

Imagining Korine, bleed out in ‘Fight Harm’
imagining his shattered ankle drag across the city sidewalk

Dreaming of seeing Frusciante, live on stage
as he vanishes into his mind, trapped in the sound

Seeing all of Schwartzman’s movies & shows
Rushmore, Spun, Huckabees & more

with the mind of a rock, dish or mold
and with all of pure being  
i avoid a painful death, on the bathroom floor
losing blood in seconds
watching brown turn white

Listening to Labor Days for the 100th time
& all of Aesop’s other classics, Daylight, Rings & Dorks

Listening to alt-J’s - House Of The Rising Sun
as it reinvigorates my wanderlust
with it’s multicoloured soundscape

writing insecurities into black notebooks
crying with a red blanket around my neck
wondering where to put the shame
remembering i have a need to share

Fincher, Kaufman, Guadagnino, Dolan
all i can say is
thank God for cinema

you say you’re radical
as you sling Supreme over your shoulder
you spit logos unto anarchy
and throw brands on broken windows  
as bloodshot eyes
waver and twitch
as they fight obsolete horizons
and default paths

obey, obey, obey
bloodstains on Nike’s name
molotov cocktails litter the land
and cause city flames
that act as spectacles
for blind believers
with obscured visions
of our timeless vocation

i’ve gotten into the habit
of running ahead of myself
running into walls made of tedious routines
i routinely make
but none for rooted meanings

i stay busy to avoid the
rabid dogs and the heavy rain
for the screams that run around in my ears
have come to mean much more than just running thoughts
but now they are carnivorous beasts
that feed on my nervous breaths

i’m stuck in my room
for it holds my uncensored and unlocked thoughts
for they need to roam free
to not become parasites
and hard to swallow pills

my mind is a retriever
that never learned to sit
or to be at the right place at the right time
it keeps running away out of time
and out of sight
it has left me tired and out of bliss

i can’t hide from the monolithic machines
that try to take my face
they feed it to the invisible giants
whose words keep bending into nothingness
I can feel the silver limbs growing out of my veins
as they slowly take my place
for this new world order is biology
and is chemically engrained

the portraitures that float above me
live alone in silicone ethers
and have no home
or places for honest solitude
i can’t breathe without the satisfaction
of my voice being heard by figures
this new world order is biology
and is chemically engrained

you said your mind had come down from the great height
the trenches under your eyes left me with crushing doubt
sleep had escaped your thoughts long enough to leave you without your shadow

you were still stuck in that school-shooter darkness
even though your mother said it’ll fade in time
along with the drugs you take to feel fine

navy blue razorblades buried under your skin
your sleeves, filled with the roads they make
blood out the ears, nose and eyes  
you had faded once again into your pleasant place
that murmured colours of green and yellow into your fingertips
and into your red tunnels birthed from stainless steel

it never lasts long enough for you to be happy
for you always find yourself back in bottomless nightmares

i don’t belong on the sidelines of sandy roads
for they hold a frightened child without bold identity
i don’t belong in-between the warm sheets of the sun
for anywhere that pours down in misty sunlight
reminds me of the roots of the smoke-filled life i once fed

they fed me outgrown words and prayers
they were burned in their undistllled culture
and they ate presumed expectations of behaviour
that my whole body challenged
in slow pulsing waves of rage

i don’t hear my voice when i speak
nor the voices of my mother or father
but rather one i have created out of my new blood
for the one i had was made of shallow waters
and dry, dry ground that shook at night
i bear the hand of my lost head
as it shuffles across the world
and into one that will shake it and transfer
its notions into it, to form one
in-between two worlds divided
and separated

this white light is distilled
i surrender to its drinking water
and with it came the echo of the frightened child
it came in screaming as its tears turned into grime
i still see wiped away tears on my palms
even after all these years of a bold identity

as your heavy hands
lingered beneath the golden light
i heard your heart split open and melt unto mine
it stained the silk curtains
turned them into heavy smoke  
as my veins became filled with all of your ghosts

your skin
as unsheltered and as lonely as mine
frayed at its ends
as it held scars
created by falsehoods

your suit of armour
could no longer hold its own

your steady heartbeats
and slow movements
were filled with fear i couldn't help but keep
wrapped inside my earthly flesh
for your turgid eyes
had sunken into mine

it comes so easy to you
hiding in shells
you can fall and break
and come back together
as if you're not flesh and bone
a mountain made of shame
you say you're a question mark
all is see is a blank slate  
too afraid to be a question
we're all enigmas
waiting to be understood
by someone who can see
through the question marks
and through the rubble of dead promises

no one can see you
when you're in shells

this stomach ache is causing mental warfare
it has left me in bends and folds
with my exoskeleton in the air
the fractures in my liver
have spread chemicals into the water
i'm losing contact with the surface of the blinded
for i've lost the key to their gated compound

i feel like a rope on its last leg
splintering at every pull
intoxicated by black tears and poisons
as i stand on the sand with my cold, wet feet
drawing blood from my paltry knees

you can dare to struggle and reach for me
i live deep in a dead rabbits home
filled with balloons from funerals
turned into after parties for the living
there you will find my limbs covered in chlorine
as they get ready to swim in black clouds
and empty hospital beds

how am i to breathe?
without knowing every breath
and every second that comes with
the one after the next
for the absence of expectation
is nothing but fear
when every moment could be sacred
and could be known to the millisecond

i am precious with your time
i count the steps you take and the ones that will come with it
for i don't know when you will next step
with me there to count
and for me there to think about your every precious inhale
and exhale

beneath your addictive smile
was a satin heart
eaten through
to its blackened core
with putrid parasites in holes within
waiting for you to crack

you strut
like you can survive another day
in this primitive world
that you gleefully sleep against
until it leaves you open
to the frequencies of solitude  
and captivating madness

sometimes I dream of a recluse by the sea
as he paints the waves into obscurity
as they scream with prejudice
whilst he ponders of all the coffins that lay beneath the ground

the brick walls he rests upon
have sharpened the hole in his heart
and the overwhelming emptiness of world that lasts too long for him to forgive

the pale sreets he prances on
are tempting in their isolation
for isolation always feels adequate
when silence is delivered in fragments
and your heart no longer beats in time with the rest
for it is now sharp, and swollen

roaming through city streets
swimming in lakes of luminous ink
drifting above speckles of homogeneous aliens
that paint in black and white
for they cannot see the colours of the rainbow
that i see every night

i've been turned inside out
by this tender emotion i picked up from the ground
it was wet and was wounded  
by senseless gunfire
  
i've been bursting at the seams on my marinated bed
i've been swarmed by the hush of the quiet storm
and by the warmth of a soft hand, lost in daylight

my bed
soaked by the pain of an early release  
as hefty stallion hearts spew out their endless past lives    
that couldn't hold for a moment more
for the melody of a thousand moons
crept up on them all on that sunken midnight
that was too close to the places that stay awake

i'm being spun into wool
for blankets that will eventually hold memories
that i will surely turn into
no-man's land

when the earth settled
i would feel the horse  
by the side of empty roads
walking behind hills of weak grass
and every time i would catch a glimpse of its eyes
it would shatter into a million smooth pieces of metallic light
and as i looked through and into the empty spaces around it
it would return to form
as if nothing happened
like how a tyrant pretends to be an innocent man
for his infant daughter

holy Icelandic horse of heart
oh how you defy my line of sight
and catch off guard
my mental stride
on highways and on silky main roads
you make me paralysed
underneath those power lines
that the birds always seem to find

in a fragile state
underneath the rocks
in a cave far away
as loneliness is the most
terrible poverty they say

slow moving oceans
winds of ascendancy
tired waves meet the melted shoreline
in an eye of mine
in a different space and time

it's always strange, when the coldest nights
are the ones amongst the hot city lights
and the warmest
amongst the spirits found in the cold freshwater

maybe the words i said
couldn't contain themselves
into their strict meanings
and suddenly
i revealed my headspace

Suddenly you are a part of it
my dark twisted struggle for
a body removed
with a body that won't
will not
move from its concrete place

it's a different kind of silence
one only few learn about

each and every crevice of the ocean floor
is a universe

the foundation
for the minds' streets
a means for exploration

indeed, i will find my head
filled with waves and ripples
to accompany the civilians
of the ocean floor

the sky is a messenger
a catcher of stories from dreamers
a holder of the stars that inspire even non-believers

can the sky hold by confessions
can it be my listener?

when the sky is empty
my dreams are homeless
for nowhere can hold worlds as large as infinity

i'm travelling
to a further place
a hole in the ground
for those unreaching

i'm drifting
and slowly diving
into a deep space
of heavy rain

i'm walking
into consciousness
beyond the mountain
beyond the plain

into a lifeline
i cannot contain

i can't see
i can't breathe
the same way anymore

i felt like a lone flower
that lived
once upon a time
in a distant season

a spring flower
stuck in wintertime

withered
in solitude
captivated by my own ritualistic isolation
and misery

i have these plastics for the skin
and faces for those that lost their own in unkempt households
for those that break apart
that try to hold on for dear life to spirit
as they lose the traction between the spikes
of life untwined
of life with a rewind button
ready to be sutured up again  
by a thunderous regret
and by the peace of the rains of the hills

sad, sad life
they always say to me
i don't go out to parties
or scream aloud my worries

i don't talk in and out of echoes and walls
that stand still and look tall
just to tell you
they can have your trust

sad, sad life
they always say to me
i can't stand loud spaces
or the loneliness that is loudness
in excess

i can't fix my naked holes with short-term lust
or strangers on the move
that only harp on my crutch

sad, sad life
they always say to me
i don't like the wind that the world carries
when i feel like i'm begging on its knees

my sad, sad life
words, words, words
they heal a thousand wounds
but can never seem to heal
the shallow hearts that create them

i count the days
until someone sees
that my sad, sad life
is happiness to me

when my brain stops beating
and it stops festering in its perplexing notions
and stop-motion contraptions
it's veins and nerves
will turn into strings and wires
for bold machines and troubled moulds to gather
as it floats above the murky water
eating the life it rests amongst

tampering with the wildlife
it so valued, in its shelter
that now lives in ash  
as it melts into the soil and becomes a stone of reclusion  
that looks upon the stars by the coast
and meditates along the margin of its past life

metal flowers and metal wings
stuck on sandpaper landlines
the ego of the atmosphere is blending in with my inner traumas
and bleeding into my spaces
and into locked cabinets i hid
to protect my caged elephant heart

black and white chaos is the only purity we can understand
on this bohemian shore

i changed my name
and changed my face
you changed your clothes
and stayed the same

wrapped in cellophane
and tucked in warm
within the trails of gasoline
that led to elevators and stairwells
that looked like answers to puzzles
that our words created

trust is a fatal flaw
i often write on walls that don't belong to me
i etched it onto your back
in hopes it would last longer
in hopes it wouldn't fade
i'm trying to save my dying faith

blank pages & hard pencil marks in wrong places
all in an attempt to resurrect my soul
from the ditch i buried it in
with the hands of corners
that bleed within their thin marrow
i sit and wait for errors to be committed
to be committed to, for eternity

errors are blank pages, waiting to be filled
with tangerine kisses of hope
until the lead runs out
and the pencil breaks
like the millions of stitches i pry open
stitches on an already presumed dead line of text