Tell the day she is beautiful
And she will treat you with kindness
Tell the day she is magical
And she will show you love
Tell the day she is worth living
And she will never leave you
Like everything, the day isn't perfect
Be her doctor, not her disease
Dont forget to tell the day she is
beautiful, magical, worth living
The day is here

Acetone

The places where you
lit fires just for me
begin to dismantle themselves
as soon as your absence is felt;
Your hands were the stitches
that held them together.

Vulnerability inevitable,
yet somehow it feels
safe with you,
close enough to fire,
close enough to be highly
flammable when
exposed to air (love),
close enough to reveal
parts of me I'd always conceal.

This love is
violent and gentle,
somedays, an arrow to my heart,
others, unbearable to pull apart
and I guess though
that's what love means;
taking the euphoria with
the smoke,
staying through merciless
days of bloodshed,
just to keep a throbbing beat alive
and kicking to the gut,
adding salt to a bleeding cut;
I could bleed myself dry for you.

i am a pendulum
oscillating between
ostensible antitheses,
elapsing like a ticking
time-bomb.

most days
i want to save the world.
but sometimes
i want to destroy
the entire cosmos.

ball up my fists and break
up the regimes
of bigots, rapists, and racists.
smash the militarists, misogynist
pigs, and Islamaphobes.

but that's the problem, isn't it?
in our self-indulgent belligerence
and fatuous ignorance, we utilize violence
deposing one tyrant just to install another,
eternally entombed in shackles.

i am too weak
to cure this suicidal impulse
and, in my obeisance,
i've stained my hands
red with crimson.

this death-drive sends us
spiraling into an abyss
we wrought for ourselves.
maybe we just want to watch
the world burn.

the ruptures we've torn
in mother earth
are eerily reminiscent
of our own fractured
mental health

and this sickness leaves me bipolar,
vacillating between two extremes:
fantasizing about the end of the world
and simply wanting to **** myself
to be done with this wretched hell.

She is a child of death metal
blood red but fading petals
black hair to match her despair
like the emptiness of the cosmos
as her stars burnout one after another.

She stays up all night
cause it is the only time
she feels free to be who she is
the only place where she feels safe
enough to spare her sparse smile.
Little lithe dancer bending her body
soft and slowly for nobody.

She sings such a sweet wounded melody.
Half siren and seraphim calling out
to her only true love,
some dark anime character
who isn’t half as dark as she is

Love is like water.
It has no colour, no smell, no taste.
It is neutral in everything.
There is no joy in love, nor any sorrow.
The only thing we gain from love itself
Is the relief, like drinking a cool glass of water
On a hot, relentless day, or for some,
A desperate need for quenching the thirst
Of one who was dying of dehydration.
Besides that, all else is down to the person you love;
What you love about them is what turns the water blue, red,
Or the colour of galaxies.