in the pleasure of discovering
words rhymes rhythms
i'm a gluttonous poet.

day and night
bite of my growing appetite
makes me sink low

i don't notice
broken pieces
shattered peaces
around me

i breathe in writing
eat and drink
poetry

crazed obsessed stressed
my poetry
like any other debauchery
is an escape ride
someplace to hide

i'm a poet
subservient
to the pleasures of words rhymes rhythms.

You've planted flowers in places where I saw nothing but gray spots

you know for ages
I thought I was finally getting
over you
my mind was filled with
other thoughts
but at 4:36 I woke up
this morning
and realised how stupid
id been

of course I still miss
you
and it wasn't the empty
space next to me that reminded me.
it was the knots in my hair
I got from turning in my sleep
so much because even
in my dreams
you aren't mine

it's hearing a text on
my phone
and my breath catching
in my throat
because I'm hoping it's you

I'm not sure if I'm
angry at you.
how could I be?
whenever someone asks
about you
I never know what to say.
...an ex-almost?

that's what kills me the most.
we could have been...
something.
and the only way I can
somehow fall asleep
at night without
saying goodnight to you
is to remember we are under
the same galaxy,
you're made of bones
just like him, and him,
and her.

you're a part of me
you're in my veins and I've
done all I can to get you
out
but it just won't work.
it won't work.
please make it stop.
I guess some nights
when we're both filled with
***** we'll finally have
the same thing running
through our veins

I like to tell people
I don't have a heart,
what are feelings anyway?
but you,
you remind me that I have one
because I can feel it breaking

I remember that you
always had a pen in your
hand, tapping away
god, that was annoying.
but now I can't hold a pen
without replicating your
actions just to feel
less lonely
do you remember how
I good I am at lying?
you told me that once.

it scares me that you've
forgotten me
because all I remember is you
you
you
you
but it scares me even more
that one day I might forget you
because then I won't have
something to remind
me how to feel

maybe one day
10 years from now
you'll feel your heart sink
because the red wine in your
glass isn't dark enough
to match my red lipstick
or you'll remember me
when that girl makes you
coffee
and puts too much
milk
and the brown doesn't resemble
my eyes anymore

maybe one
day you'll realise what could
have been
but it will be too late
I'll stop running to you
because I got burned everytime
and I have tears running
down my face now
and you aren't here to
help me
*******
why aren't you here?

I never believed in fate,
that the universe somehow
controlled who we met
but I guess I have to
thank the universe
for at least letting you
stop by.

-
I'm okay now.
you're out of my system,
my blood no longer has
your poison
I don't wake up at 4:36 anymore

I'm okay, I don't love you.






(remember how good I was at lying?)

We are critical.

We find flaws in
everything we see
because nobody
wants to write
about perfection,
even though sometimes
we wish we could just stay
staring into that
unblemished surface.

2. We are never satisfied.

We live our lives upon
mountains of
scrunched up
bits of refill and
ideas we gave up
trying to
express.

3. We never forget.

We write words about
eye contact made
three months ago
that we replay over
and over in our minds
even though it
stopped
being relevant.

4. We are fickle.**

Our emotions flash
from one
to the other
like strobe lighting that
disorientates us
until we feel as if
the world
will never be still.

5. We are exposed.

We don't know how
to keep our feelings
to ourselves so
we'll write them
down for
you to find
'accidentally'.

6. We are vulnerable.

We wear our
hearts on our sleeves
and won't lift a
muscle to fight back
if somebody tries
to break it
because we thrive
from the pain.

7. We will never stop.

We will never stop
feeling and
we will never stop
hurting,
we will never stop
breaking and
bleeding and
loving
even though the cycle
is endless
and we know what's
coming next.


We are addicted
to agony,
but we agonise
for the art.

It sounds ridiculous but only I feel productive when I'm doing nothing.
Sitting back, just relaxing.
Popping blue beans, burning bowls of green.
And just thinking.
Daydreaming about how things could have been.
How things could still be.
But how things will probably be.
Just close your eyes and let music be your guide.

Entire lives constructed and played out
in grand fashion. A world so detailed
I would rather get lost,
And never come back to this travesty of a society,
so raw and primal.
so human.
My world is so beautiful and yet so depressing
because it's what ours could be, but never will become.
Anything to distract me from this.
The 24 year old burnout grinding through school because there aren't many options left.
So where will I'll be in 5 years?
I wont.