I wear you like a bruise
You will not go away
I am at your every whim
I have to obey

You hold me like a gun
Pointed at my own head
You won’t leave me alone
Can I please go to bed?

I am your only weapon
You use me
To hurt me
Scars that I had no say in
Scars that only stay.
That won't go away.

I am my only weapon
I abuse me
And hurt me
Scars that I have no say in
Scars that only stay.
I cannot go away.

I'm stuck
In the toughest moments
From few and far between.

Searching for something
      Searching for anything.

melting into mush
the ice cream cone
a party hat
crushed

ants
begin to gather
small black sprinkles or bugs?

how quickly the treat is forgotten
abandoned for scavengers
and the shoes of passer-byers
to oblivious to change their path

round and round we go
through the relentless flow
life's so fast it gives me vertigo.

and if I'm just a tiny particle
why can I feel my soul
being devoured by a black hole.

her thoughts were old wheelbarrows
too full and broken down
from over use and old abuse
which wrinkled up her frown
yet they wheeled around in circles
and made her temples burn
she closed her eyes and her weary mind
lay cold and overturned

my mundane life
is all too trivial
I am a child
I still live
in my parents house
the one my father built
with his words,
the one my mother
blew spirit into
with her macaronis
the one I sat
in my room
studying in
useless packs
of forgotten information
trying
to cry.
into new notebooks
and ukulele
filling bathtubs
opening windows
letting air
form an air
of beauty
in my ugly
homely
country
unloved country
every being here
utters poorly articulated words
of loath
to you
how do you stand
so strong
whilst staggering within
adversity?
would my life
be more
or less
mundane
if I were nabokov
living in russia
transcending and transmitting
beauty?
coated with cold
and cruelty
thats cruel for cruelty
and aesthetics sake,
rather than
heat
and rage
and silenced
misery.

She might need a change,
her life is at a rest.
She sits and ponders over
If she’ll change for the best.

Will she change for “sake of change”?
In a life that has faded
Maybe she’ll change on the surface,
Her soul still just as jaded.

Now she sits and laughs emptily,
thinking that in every shape and form
change is somehow constant,
and that change becomes a norm.

Will that change control her?
As change succeeds each change,
*Every changeless constant
to her will now seem strange.

Silence speaks
Silence screams
Silence talks in a language only silence understands
Silence means a hundred things
Silence expresses more than a hundred loud words
Silence cuts sharper than the sharpest sword
Twisted silence
Serene silence
Sickening silence
Beautiful silence
Stretching silence
Defining Silence
**Silence I fear.
Silence I long.