I will base our relationship
on what the stars say
because I have nothing else to go on.
It's all eggshells dipped in lighter fluid
with us, hot blood, ping pong pupils
that never know when to rest. When
we enter the same room I swear
I see sparks ignight in the static air.
There's blood behind our words
but I don't know if it was spilt in vain
or if this is all part of our story to the road
of forgiveness. Maybe I'm crazy
but I just want to take your hand
and make you agree that we are
both unwarranted.

Console me.
I can't do it myself.

Pet me, make me feel like I'm alright.
I have no idea
what it's like
to feel
CALM.
I think I'm finally crazy. Look me in the eye, judge me
see the red rims
witness
my complete instability.

Even shame is too exhausting now.

Hold my hands so they'll stop shaking. If I look in the mirror
one more time
I might punch my reflection.
I'm ready to be alive now.

I am bad with fragile things.
I like the noise of glass crunching
into sharp shards
I like watching
skin rip like silk.
*I want you to love me more than I hate myself.

You can always tell a fake smile
from a real one
by the creases in the eyes. There's also
something about receiving and empathy
but I'm not sure we're there yet.
The seats on my shoulders
for an angel and devil sound the same
when I'm with you. You make me forget what's right
and that's so so wrong.
I'm going to glue my mouth shut
with spoiled honey to teach myself
that I don't need to give you excuses and
so you won't hear my rotten words.
I'll swallow an apology before I ***** out
another one. I've stopped looking for
forgiveness in the creases of your face,
cause you've just stopped smiling
entirely.

You can taste
the psychosis on my
lips but there's no
guarantee that I will feel it.
There's an umbilical chord
holding me down to ***** reality
and depending on my
perspective
it either looks like a
dog leash or a
noose.

Inject a sedative with a rusty
needle at the end of my
nervous system. I'm immune; there's
misery mixed in with my
white blood cells that swallows
all sense of introspection. When my
soul plummets down like an anchor
and the floating stops
feeling safe, I welcome the chest
pains with open arms. The pins and
needles in my lungs are better
than burning them.

Look through my eyes
and sometimes nothing is real.
Live through my heart and
it hurts like hell when
I'm not drowning in air.
Think with my head and
either you will want to get out,
or it will kick you out.

You're trying to come to terms with who
you are, but it's difficult when your soul
is a tempest and the wind keeps changing.

Maybe fate is cruel or maybe we are too
optimistic.

Everyday of the week a new door seems to
close right before your eyes; loss pierces every
nerve in your body like clockwork.

Everybody has felt this way one time
or another, they say, you'll get through it, they repeat,
you'll survive. But when the end of the week blends in
with the arrival of the next, you swear that
hopelessness hasn't been everyone's shadow
as long as it's been yours.

And maybe you're right.

You feel so much that it's tearing
apart everything you love. So kiss
your sadness
goodbye
because that is the blessing and the
curse of being you.

the heavy heart is a heathen
corrupter of better nature
committer of soul-treason

fueled by the miserable notion
that death is twilight
and life is dawn

to flight, to flail
to rage, to rail
to weep, to wail
to no avail

to unhope

and all of this minus the mercy

©Jason Cole