if this is love then it is both selfish and selfless.
i am selfish because thinking of you spending and enjoying time with other people can't help but stake me.
i am selfish for wanting you all to myself.
i am selfish for getting suicidally jealous.
but i am selfless for wanting to give every part of me to share with you,
like a jigsaw puzzle waiting desperately to be complete.
is love a synonym for pain?
why is it often associated with happiness when it is mostly the opposite?
why must love come with a risk of broken hearts and no cure,
with dangers and stepping stones made of land mines,
days filled with misery unpredictable?
love may be breathtaking, in both meanings:
it enchants you and it eventually kills you.
it drains you and it pains you.
it brings out the fool and whining and the mess,
and why must i get myself into this?
because love pulled me towards you.
a waste of time this may be but ignore the warnings i do,
for you make it worthwhile, the bitterness and jealousy,
an experience i'd rather not miss out on,
even if it ***** me dry from missing you all the time.
and am i filled with regret?
i think not.

a blanket of galaxy
tucks me in with a warm breath
sending ripples through its sky
waving hello at me
the stars twinkle their acknowledgement
and i know for tonight i'm not alone

the rain is a gentle drum on my face
a memory shocker of what it is
to feel, to live
the clouds part their curtains
allowing me a part of their hug
and i know for tonight
i'm not alone

I want to find the words
to explain to you
how incomplete my heart feels
without the strings bounding yours to it
but how can I say anything
when I've realised I've lost something
I thought I knew,
even after all the time spent with them.

They're just another memory
made to be laid to rest and fade away.
It's hard to know I find myself not able
to say anything
to someone who I don't recognise,
someone who's now become a stranger to me
once again.

my life is like a glass,
it isn't empty but there's very little water.
and it's not the type of water
that tastes better than usual;
it's just flat and bland,
not even lapping like calming beach waves,
or an excited dog.
it just sits motionless in its trap,
transparent and devoid of colour.

I don't want you, I say
as I stare longingly at my screen for
a message to appear with a certain name
that does things to me.

I don't want you, I say
as the tips of my fingers tingle
and my heart becomes a drum,
the soundtrack to your entrance,
to the live wire my body becomes.

I don't want you, I say
as I surpress a cry
when your watchable lips mutter a bye
and I feel empty without a presence
of something I can't get myself to say,
is a pleasance

I don't want you, no, not at all
Not only because I can't admit it
(Too proud and afraid to say another person makes me whole
That I become needy without control)
But because that it's not true
I don't want you -
I need you, and
Owning you is all I think
I'm able to do

My brain is a wondrous thing. It's calm ocean waves drifting sparkles of valuable shells to the shore and tsunami storms crashing down houses and flooding eyes, soft cushiony fabric to dig your face into and sharp daggers to bleed from, a rocking cot and a resting graveyard. I am neither happy or sad. I can neither have pain or pleasure as a tattoo upon my undecieding soul. I do not live by what I feel but where those feelings take me. Moments are fleeting and identities are scarce. I am confused in a beautiful way, scattered in a gifted way, like colourful stained marbles across tile floors. I am the rage of light at day and the blooming darkening shine at night. But black and white I cannot be. My colours lie as a mess in the middle, my canvas life, my pallet the directions, my paintbrush the weapon, the creator. Many masks slip off, labels start to peel, and face paint washes away in the rain dance that is life. That is me. I am a wonder. I am unfitting jigsaws of all the things that make me think, and alive, waiting to be discovered and reborn, reshaped once again. Stardust and black holes consume my thoughts and both fill and drain my heart dry, but empty I can never be. For my soul is the universe, most unexplored, but never ending. I am a masterpiece.

I could
kiss you without meaning,
touch you without feeling,
let thoughts of you fade in with shadows of my mind
passing and unimportant and
fleeting.

I could
pull such empty phrases,
empty my heart of lonely senses
let thoughts of you run wild only with
your skin to mine burning with desire.

But I can't
get back to the past,
there's no point in denying
late at night I find myself thinking
of you more often,
late at night my heart isn't lying.
I can't feel
soft hands and warm arms I want back,
secret notes of wind chime laughs
even though I can't stop myself
from trying.

I could
stop myself
from sinking into the memories
but there's no point in denying
maybe I'm missing you more often.
Maybe that would explain the crying.

you say the moment you get a car
you’ll drive me to the beach at night
so we can lie down and count the stars
i’ll make sure to take down
the prettiest one for you

but i also want to keep it for myself
that way, whenever i miss
gazing into your eyes
i can take a look at the sky's piece
and not feel so alone

it won't shine twice as much
as you do, though.

i want to stain your neck with technicolour kisses
and bask in the feverish glow of our uneven breaths.

i want to trace flowers in your shivering skin with my tongue
and watch them bloom to life when graced with my delicate touch.

i want to fill your mouth with whispers of want
and empty your lips of any other beg besides my name.

i want to unravel you like a ribbon with feathery fingers
and catch you in my arms like a parachute.

i want to splay myself out against you,
spread across your heart like a knocked jar of ink -
scrawling my words for me in a permanent embrace -
and unscroll my map of hidden places and awaited spaces for you.

i want to cover every inch of you and use
every bit of me for you. i want to
love you. i want you to
want me.

would it help with explaining
how life has closed in all the ***** of its metal box
around me?

it's a
pair of headphones with only one working side,
the last needed puzzle piece that is missing,
and no matching pair of socks.

it's a
string too short to tie a perfect bow with,
not enough water to fill the whole of the glass
and hidden holes in a blanket to keep you cold.

so does that help explaining how life throws
its ten pound shadow
over me?

knees;
games too rough and concrete too hard,
a cry heard from across the park,
a healed wound covered by a playful sticking,
and a slip up cared for and forgotten.
i can carry on with a smile;
i had thicker skin when i was younger,
times when tears were only shed at accidents.

heart;
a once unrecognisable beat of ecstasy,
put on repeat when your face surfaced,
when your fingers met my surface,
but they soon dug in too deep and left scars.
now pieces lie around my feet and red drops
leave my aching hollow chest from where you took
a once alive merchandise of our love.

nose;
too much caring leaves me astray
in a dark city awaking at late hours,
craving something that can leave me numb
and forgetting parts of my thoughts exist.
trails of white disappear in a sniff,
a sigh of relief, and i know just for now
i am not doomed.

wrist;
a bathroom door locked,
water running freely just as crimson joins it.
watching the flood of the last thing i feel
as skin stains, eyes drain,
nothing is worth it.
i am doomed but at least i
controlled it.

I sat with my back to the mirror
I always avoid people I don’t know;
Strangers are a danger.
And the thick fog that buries itself
Underneath my skin, makes me
unrecognisable.

My memory is as weightless as my feelings,
Down the drainpipe they go, scattering across tiles.
And I’ve met up with misery and held its claws
And it left with me with scars instead of smiles.
I’m picking at loose threads, waiting for my mind to return;
Broken and damaged, its pieces sailing off track for miles.

It’s the art of falling apart, to be vulnerable,
Trailing behind the spraypainted signs of my mind,
Left stranded, shipwrecked and empty, lost and deserted;
Smoke fills the void and nothing’s important.
I’ve said hello to the embodiment of my nightmare,
I see it in the mirror and I ******* under its stare.
So raindrops, will you gather and set me free?
Because nothing’s inside anymore to let there be tears.

And I want to find my way back home,
But the twist of my insides is like a maze,
Crown of thorns for this crowded daze.
And I don’t want the outside to reflect
what’s on the inside,
it’s a scary place.

i hear your laugh over the phone and realise,
i can touch every syllable from a million light years away.
i can pluck each of your heartstrings that tie themselves up with mine across landscapes
and it'll be music neighbouring galaxies can hear.
we don't seem so far apart when we make the world shrink around us. we are our own world.
your arms are a boarder protecting us from the sea,
your lips taste of ocean stars and your breath is the breeze
you bring life to the flowers blooming around me.
our hands are the bridge to connect laced footsteps
entangled tree branches, entwined roads.
we are maps to each other, leading us back when we're lost.
you are not here in the morning beside me in bed
as you are in the sky. i can recognise your rising light miles away.
you tell me i am your only earth.
and i need you because the earth needs the sun
to see a bright day.
we are our own world
and that's all that needs to stay.

soundless you lay with thoughts rested,
and i fill with envy.
your name doesn't come with faraway smiles
or the warmness of invisible breath,
guilt comes in waves and i find myself drowning,
i can't bring myself to see the texts left,
no indication left, that you're still awake to see my reply
i miss you, i miss you.
wishing you were here is an understatement,
but state this properly i cannot. even now
i dread the heavy stones weighing on my chest
when i piece out each word i want to say,
each hurtful memory i want to relive.
so feel i won't do for you tonight, i'm afraid the tears
won't meet their end against my empty pillow.
and i hate it more to look heartless but either way
i would be just that because my heart wouldn't take
the aching for your arms around me.
i am sorry i am such a coward.
i do not know how to love properly sometimes,
i just do so in a way it doesn't hurt so i wouldn't
have to need you so **** much
all the time.

words of venom
dripping with poison
tongue armed with blades sharpened

words of contempt
soaked in malice
and barely unrestrained violence

directed at the unsuspecting victim
darts hurled as hard as i can throw them
piercing deep and scarring wide
tearing through layers of fragile pride

words of disgust
burning with scorn
lips parted for a torrent of rage

words of hatred
snarled in distaste
and unleashed from the tongue’s cage

aimed with precision and thoughtless indulgence
a gleeful abundance of countless insults
surging restlessly and encouraging the feed
the ardent addiction of foolish greed

but the words always manage to come back
recoiling at first then ready to attack
because they bounce off the surface of the mirror
the reflection of my face as they cut deeper
sinking inside to wrench a hand round my throat
stopping my breath to not further demote

but the words always inflict the damage intended
and here they seep into my subconscious
watch them spread, watch them burrow
and feel them multiply my sorrows
because the words are always present at any time
they, after all, come from my own mind.

8 a.m.
An excuse to leave the bed
Leaving behind your warm ghost
But no hands to hold as I rise afterwards
Your hands - as an excuse -
Hold the cold mug, raise it to your lips
An excuse to not share the mug
To share a last kiss
Those hands, opening the front door
Your feet walk out - a mumbled goodbye
Being late is always a good excuse
I remain alone at the table
The ghost has left the room and entered my thoughts
That soft gaze never meets mine
Like it used to, after I stopped being a stranger
Am I becoming, once again,
A stranger?

Your smile, now a straight line
There are
Casual texts, half hearted laughs
You start forgetting to leave your shirts behind
Remember you have dinner with a friend
And your favourite chicken
Grows cold with each passing waiting second
You don’t moan as much as you used to
The once tinted sparks have faded
And my bedroom floor grows cold
With each expecting second
Of stumbling feet, thrown jeans
Crumpled sheets as two bodies meet
But bodies turn away on their sides
When nights only become about sleeping
And sleeping becomes forgetting
Forgetting to remember I’m still there

And, your hands,
Now clinging onto a cold metal bar
As a train pulls your further away
Has forgotten what warmness once felt like
Laced fingers slipping, loose, distant
Opposite of our lips
Tight, closed in, nothing to say
No reason to open and fall on each other
Only a reason to fall, away
And away you go each morning
Excuses ready
Love has been set in stone, put on hold
Because hold my hand, you do not
The past finds itself, repeating itself
And we are strangers once again
Warmness has become
A stranger
But in the desperate hours
Of early morning excuses
The ghost of it lingers
In the spot you slept in

they come in the night
whispering, crackling voices
in my mind
hissing, cracking through the surface
when out are the lights
they come in shapes and sizes
and voodoo dance before my eyes
cackling, lurking
in my mind.
they come in the night.

do not waste your time.
fleeting is life through the slippery grasp of your fingers' attempt.
the past was not made to be repeated
or present.
do not trap yourself within it's reach.
there is never a warm up for the future;
hurry to catch up before you get
too cold.

What a thief, a robber
Snatching away the precious
You hedonistic hoarder
Reducing beauty to mere corpses
You scoundrel, you criminal
Plucking memories from unknowing brains
Cold, uncaring, terrible
Burning down the smallest speck to flames
Everything stained by your touch
Slowly disintegrates into dust
Those unfortunate to witness your power
Trudges through every day, every hour
Forced to undergo the withering of bones
No warning, no apology, just more tomorrows
Acknowledge you do not, of the misery you inflict
Pain and strife is naught, but a side effect of your whims
Imprisoned in your snare, only one path to walk
Forever forwards while death looms and stalks
Escape through only its means, and only on its terms
Sadistic torturer queen, reigning your kingdom of hurt
So shall we put you on trial, for your innumerable crimes
Send you to the gallows, compensation for all those who die
By your hands we hope to declaw, by your malicious laws
Entropy wins and defeats, we cower to the floor
As long as you exist, it can always be ensured
We shall remain your victims forevermore

i know you think
flaws do not apply to you
when you disentangled our strings
and pretended i was a stranger
but it's the other way round
for you are the stranger i barely recognise
resembling little of what i know,
of what i used to see.
thanks for reminding me
how messed up i am.
but at least i'm not a fake
and warp myself for other's sake.
see, i'd rather be myself and alone
than wear a mask and have millions.
i just thought
you were better
than that.

it's the little things, like
sleeping in on purpose so your appointment gets cancelled,
or avoiding texts from a friend
because you know they like to talk too much
and you'd rather not talk to anyone.
it's lying to your friend group that you have work to do at lunch,
and spend time in the library trying not to fall apart.
it's the crying before dinner and worrying if your family might've noticed your red eyes.
it's the late nights of trying to fill your brain with something
but you're too numb to think of anything to distract you from the weighing of your chest.
it's the self pity you feel when reading back on old diary entries - pages upon pages of written sadness -
and the confused unrecognizable soul you see in the mirror,
with shaking hands and the same clothes on from last week.
it's the plans you fail to do, like simply going out,
lying to yourself there will be a next time.
it's forgetting to get out of bed and spending 4 hours sitting still in the dark trying to figure out what is wrong with you.
it's the strain of your hand when you're writing a stream of thoughts you could never show anyone.
it's wishing you didn't have the ability to think sometimes.

if you feed your monsters they will grow.
instead, laugh in their face and give no indication of attention,
except a wave of the hand,
shrinking them back into their dark corners.

1;
i'm not a thief, but i kept your favourite baby blue scarf in the second drawer of my bedside table. it still has that hole near the bottom when you frantically tore on your scarf because it started snowing and you wanted to go out and play.

2;
do you remember that night? i do. flakes of snow were floating into place like a crown upon your hair. i told you the heavens were filled with envy after we made snow angels, and you just smiled. and even through all that thick snow our hands met and a warmness no fireplace could beat filled my insides. it felt like home.

3;
lots of things felt like home. i could look into your eyes and know i lived in each galaxy they held. i could bury my nose into every sweater you have ever worn and name all the cookies they smelt of. i could hide under your sheets and in your arms like a childhood game with the couch, only i didn't need to have rules or a time out; time was a fragment of an unneeded past with you. a needed future.

4;
now this time the past is needed. regrets cramp my chest and texts you'll never read sit weighing with glue on my phone. it still has the case you brought me of the cat with yarn. i hope you can see it on the table as you set your cup of tea down. set your head down. the scream of silence fills every corner of the room.

5;
a few sips left. time is catching up and sneaking out from under the table, disobeying the game's rules. it is swallowing up the tea for you too quick and i wish my mind could keep up. words are clogging up my throat like a drainpipe refusing to spill.

6;
i want you to spill your tea over. apologise endlessly like you do. i'll clean it up and buy us more time. but the coins are scattered and few in my pockets and weigh a ton each for all the plans they can't take. please say something.

7;
say something, i used to say, urging to hear beautiful french words come from your lips. you'd giggle and push me flustered into the couch with your striped maroon socks. i wonder if you're wearing them right now. i wonder if you're wearing a smile too worn and frayed to button up all the things left to say right now.

8;
your tea is gone. there is nothing left to say. i wish there was; some dramatic realisation of a way to make things work again, because they cannot, and we know that. and the front door is getting closer and goodbyes are being said and i am getting desperate. tell me there is another feeling, something else. i want to unlearn knowing all has been done. i want to forget to remember. i want your car to break down as soon as you start it.

9;
because i know our mixtape will begin when your drive, but it's okay because i have another copy right here, above the radio. stay. let's listen to it. stay. please, at least one last kiss. stay. i need you. stay. we will miss out on things time set up for us. stay. i know snow angels aren't meant to last but all this time we were sunshine on backyard swings and you were my home. i still call you my home. i still call you.

10;
because without you i am homeless. i need a place to stay.

so stay.

Sadness is worn in many shades
Fringed at the edges, rough to the touch
This is the brand everyone hates to love
I model misery with a sickly laugh,
While my eyes imitate what I've seen of the dark.

The suffocation of sorrow
The throb of numbness replacing your heart's job
And filling your veins with lead
I wear fabrics of sharp prickly thorns
And the mocking costume of a smile,
While my eyes imitate the dead.

I like the world at 3 pm,
where the lights are out and the streets are silent,
raindrops tiptoeing on the glass
giving me comfort in the lonely space,
the house settles for sleep in a softening hum.
My mind bursts to life in swirling colours;
I could open the front door and run out,
lie down on the road and count the stars,
watching them dance and spin in glitter and glam.
I could escape on an empty train
and watch the world fly past in a blurred daze,
still and unmoving and dreaming,
taking its residents amongst flights of desire,
of higher planes and greater distances
while lying motionless in their bed, warm
and for a second, at peace.
I can wish the world away and retreat
to the playful corners and trick mirrors of my mind,
open my soul with hidden keys and unlimited time,
but for now the universe drifts amongst the sky
with an welcoming invitation to its home,
and I watch with wonder and awe,
floating within the galaxy's embracing arms,
letting it open my doors for me
and opening its own in return.

I know if we met again
and by chance, alone at your door,
we happened to kiss even passionately,
it wouldn't be the same as before.
I know the masks of stubborn pride
and the fake replica of it all
if we tried to recreate whatever connection
there might have been before.
If we tried to meet without quivering lips
and hurt memories running through our eyes,
then by chance, we could have one last dance
but for now it's all a lie
I know I won't be meeting you again,
there will be no knock on your door,
outside my dreams the passion is gone,
there is no hope for us anymore.
Outside my dreams it won't ever be the same
as before.

I must confess, I'm a mess,
the contents of my mind too dark to address,
my tears at such subjects too big to suppress.
But you declare your love unconditional?
You may find, without much surprise,
that's near impossible.

Though, if a stroke of luck is discovered,
it will be unconditional under the conditions of staying clear
of disturbing subjects which result in tears,
triggers the mess of expected fears.
These conditions are a hard enough mission,
best to stay clear of me entirely.

It's clear that I am insufferable.
So please, do reread the warnings label
and proceed with caution and protective gear,
and don't be too surprised if you find yourself wondering
why you're still here.

the imagination can be the cruelest thing
because it's not reality that hurts the most
it's the wanting of a new one
and realising
that you cannot have it.

what a foolish thing to do
to think of you,
and so late and quiet in the night too.
if you were here
and together were we
i couldn't keep from being a fool to you.
confide in you, so close beside you
and forget my lessons from before.
the past happened to show me
i can't be a fool for you no more.

when i catch myself dreaming
i pay attention and listen
to your heartbeat that's found
in my own when it's missing

taunting, twisting
laughing from the shadows
mocking, visiting
me in my worst hours
they’re toxic and dangerous
showing happiness in times there’s not
addictive and scandalous
give me more of what i haven’t got
send me hoping and praying
reality will give me those moments again
hopeless and replaying
better pasts disappearing away
i warp them, manipulate them
worship them, mutilate them
make it hurt less to cope
as they taunt and mock and twist
the knife further into fragile hope
cruel puppet strings they are
playing with a vulnerable mind
all the better to forget
wishing this will be the last time

Old habits never die
They just stay in the shadows and hide
They lurk and linger beneath the surface of your mind
Waiting for the perfect moment to strike
Slowly creeping out when they feel it's time

Old habits never fade
They just trick you into thinking they've shrunk away
One night they're gone, then they surprise you the next day
"Remember us? We've come out to play."
Because old habits always stay

A reminder, a memory, a haunting a curse
Reciting all the things you've learnt
Retracing the steps you thought you forgot
A well rehearsed line, a feeling that doesn't subside
A vice that only grows tighter over time
Because old habits never die.

Why, I ask the sheets of my bed,
the warmth of the covers on me, the pillow rested comfortably.
Why, I ask the shadows in the corner of my room,
the specks of paint on my walls, the chipped wood on my door.
Why, I ask the hour of midnight,
the endless well of darkness, the undisrupted quietness.
The flickers of a flame, the ripples of an ocean,
the peak of a mountain, the trunk of a tree,
the sand of a beach, the coldness of snow,
the petals of a flower, the whistling of a breeze.
Why, I ask the world.
But it keeps its lips sealed tight.

i wish life was a video recorder,
so i could capture this moment and rewind it,
or a tattoo you could imprint within your brain.
me and you in ikea, hidden in the zipped up tent,
where we laughed in whispers and kissed in secret
the muffled sound of empire of the sun drifting through the fabric,
the soundtrack to our movie, the finishing touch to our painting.
i now hang it in the gallery of my mind,
revisiting it in times where i miss you,
along with the blue plastic flower i bought for the both of us,
tucked safely above my desk, a halo reminiscent
of our glow.
i wonder if you still have yours.
and i wonder if you think of me whenever you hear that song,
echoing faintly down the halls of your internal gallery.

The afternoon sun slides over the horizon,
giving the sky a kiss goodbye
and leaving the clouds blushing pink,
floating with bliss as they watch the sun sink

It switches places with the moon
who gives the sky a kiss hello
and is greeted with the stars' glow
Millions of dreamy eyes watch from below
as they begin the world's favourite show
The moon dances in their twinkling spotlight
receiving applause and bouquets all through the night

Once the moon is finished it gives a final bow
and slips from the stage, disappearing through the curtains
The sun then brushes the waking world
with a loving wave of its hand,
its strokes doing its own special dance,
leaving clouds fluffed and meadows shining,
song birds singing and faces smiling

And when the afternoon hour is upon the world
the dance of the two orbs start again,
circling around the planet of blue,
one a large golden flame, the other a glistening grey hue,
providing comfort and security, taking care of this little globe,
so full of potential and purity.
And the people below celebrate,
showering them with gratitude,
songs, poems, prayers, paintings and rituals,
welcoming them both with open arms
The eternal ballroom goes on until the end of time
safe and alive in everyone's hearts.