tired of loving an empty stomach
but handcuffed to the feeling it brings me:
i've lost the key and am tired of looking for it.
trying to allow my scars to fade away but
addicted to the stink of blood.
sometimes i think i'm more stained with the
smell of my salty blood than with the
smell of my chain smoked cigarettes.

whenever i find myself
waking up in the middle of
the night hitting my head
against the wall, i realise
(again and again, just like something new)
how small & lonely
a creature can become.

I used to think that maybe
just in time
you would want to be mine.
Just in time for the shattering of skin,
the withering that makes me so dim.
I used to think that because I'm autumnal,
you'd only want me during fall.
But when you unsewed me, you
proved me you might not want me.






At all.

Just leave me alone.
Please, just get out of my head.
Get out of my surroundings,
or whatever it is where you are lurking at -
in & outside me:
you have made me a ghost
drowning in another ghosts.

Loneliness has the coldest hands
I've ever felt but it's alright because
dead bodies aren't warm either.
Dead bodies are cold but the
ever-lasting touch of loneliness is
incisively and annihilatingly colder.
You were the best teacher I had and
I have mastered to accept loneliness
arms around my waist like the leaves
have mastered their ephemeral
dance among the majestic wind.