You could say it's
all in my head,
it doesn't exist,
just a result of
a hope that persists
but,

There's got to be
something better than this..
Were humans and the world
just dropped and born
out of nowhere,
just to be dumped in eternal misery?
And if angels exist, where
do you think they live?
Not in the air or else
we'd be breathing them in constantly.

The afterlife exists
even for disbelievers,
Some call it Heaven,
some call it Hell...
What will it be?
Only dying will tell.

Somedays, even sunshine is dull
and somedays his name
will make me physically ill.

Somedays, I don't need
to be reminded
that my laughter is loud
and so obvious,
somedays, I don't need
you to pull me,
I just need a rope.

And somedays I won't comprehend
how you can't understand.

Your eyes looked like
you'd never want to leave,
Your hands seemed to be
crafting something beautiful,
something, something
like the breath of a shadow,
the hope you'd decide to stay,
but now it is me, not you
that wants to roam away.

Why have you not left yet?
I've heard that when you
combine my fading heartbeat
with the tears parading down my face,
a haunting melody is produced...
I swear to God, it's your favourite song
and you keep abusing the replay button,
but you still don't know me.

The heart inhabiting my chest
is not my own,
I'm sorry but it had to be done,
I can't love you darling,
I've borrowed someone else's heart,
traded my softness for something
twice as hard.

I do not like the feeling of
examination,
of eyes burning on my back
as if you are a small match
and I am the bushfire
you wish to light...
I do not like the feeling of
obssessive observation,
I do not like privacy violation,
I do not like the feeling of claustrophobia,
I do not like claustrophobia because
it doesn't cease to exist by simply
removing ten people from one room.
I do not like claustrophobia because
sometimes your own mind is enough
to provoke a certain type
of wanderlust,
the kind where you run away
and leave everyone to rot and rust.
I do not like claustrophobia
because when I am alone,
it can never be enough alone,
it feels like the walls of my room
are breathing on my neck;
they're laughing at me,
declaring this poet insane,
it is the most crowded type of alone
until somebody, something
sedates my brain
and you call me "suggestive anxiety"
it's all in your head,
you're a game of chance
and I'm taking a guess;
you know my face but
you know nothing about my name.

This is a poem for me, to me.

You have a horrible singing voice
but God knows,
singing while you wash away
dishes somehow makes
cleaning your heart
less cumbersome.

I've been worried about you;
you seem to be craving
a psychopathic thrill,
the kind where you feel
everything but remorse;
what a change of course,
you didn't let the monsters change you,
did you?

Intensity sprawls over
your dainty skin,
either full equilibrium
or capsizing until you sink,
either confessing to possessing
a soul gone obsidian
or your confessions completely shrink.

Girls like you
are the reason why you don't see
many small kids out late at night;
you're either fully pacific
or completely acidic,
either lulling stability and resolution
or chaos enveloped by your convulsions.

You're a ******* storm...
Now make sure the world knows.

The sirens and the sergeants dont seem to mean a thing,
Take my hand, show me the way, we are the children that fell from grace,
we are the children that can't be saved.

One more nail in the coffin, one more foot in the grave,
One more time I'm on my knees as I try to walk away from your grave.

But this has got the best of me, and I can't seem to sleep,
I've come to realise that it's not because  you're not with me, it's because  your ghost never leaves.

Everything I've loved became everything I lost