i'm back to my wheel of misfortune
the creepy man in the black suit is pointing at
    voyage.

all i ever wanted to do is leave
and it's not even romantic at this point
i hate it here and there's nothing holding me back
empty words that weigh as little as paper

not anymore
why am i always pretending?
i can't stand up in this tiny box of a house

pounding in my head
tired once, twice, third time tried again
dreading the nervousness of june august september and may
**** the gnomes by dumping our feelings in the ashtray

my fingers smell like
your absence
and there's no other way to
occupy my time
but this feeling of loneliness

she spews out poetry
kind of how
        she's ripping appart her entrails
for others to chew on,
ungraceful toxic mess

so you'll spite me for using my words to express myself
for exaggerating in the name of beautiful poetry
that rhymes like wind chimes
and sounds like fresh mint to the human mind.

but honestly, honey,
i thought you knew me well enough by now
to know that my style and pen are overwhelmingly enthusiastic
in the pursuit of my daily pick of what human nature can gift me.




believe me, baby, it's what i do.
and i'm not sorry at all if that bothers you.

screaming drills into your brain
leaving you frozen, it penetrates you.
but nothing you can actually do
will make you forget how you felt, yesterday night, paralyzed in the rain

the stars shone
twice in her eyes
and once in my nostrils

my sister is sick with the flu
and i feel sick without you
whoever "you" may be

"kiss me hard before you go"
and leave your scent
dripping from my veins
as i stare at the unnamed door
you thought would fit your needs
talking about moral integrity
i'm reminded of the very entrance
you used as an exit
to leave me behind, shaking

i feel like i just ran a marathon on my own. like all my friends would cheer but they'd be too far away to throw me a water bottle, even though their cheers and my own prejudices & expectations rang in my ears and head like nothing i can even attempt to remember. my first stop was confusing... i really thought i had grown but i guess i'll have to wait to say the words until the door handle falls and reveals the measurements my ego left behind. and by the way, by the time you revved up your motorcycle i had decided i had little time to spare. a conviction i completely forgot the SECOND i realised all i really need is new things, shiny and shinier, brilliant ******* that can and will take me away from this stupid coca-cola brown monotony that i so wholeheartedly despise.
worst part is, i knew. even though i've told myself countless times that i wouldn't, that i shan't, make the same ******* mistakes i seem to find new languages to scream out the same stupid words.
every. single. time.
those who know me (and i mean REALLY know me, not like you claim to do with your ******* false sentiments and pity, mind you) know that i fear failure and hate disappointment above every single feeling any cells in my body can produce, above any chemical, above any drink. you've managed to upgrade the disappointment i felt in myself until i can't even see what i used to when i looked in a puddle.
"thank you".
you've been a total waste of my time.

black ink spots
spread
across her face.
as she pries them off
they become blurry
and they take over
the very face
she was
trying to save.