i should stop thinking about you
your hair
skin
eyes
smile
laugh
voice
and what you'd probably feel like wrapped
around me at night  but i think i've grown
too used to the constant stomach ache
and the 3 am tears to do that.

im wasting my life on pointless things
i sometimes think
when does life begin

im falling out of conversations
i cant pay attention
repeat the question

i

i wish i could wake up with amnesia

and forget about all those difficult times

and the times i was hurt

and how you left me

i wish i could

forget you

i introduced myself

to him again

angel died today
only a ghost shall remain

a prisoner
to the darkness

we'll get lost together

when the tiny
plane landed
it sounded
like my camera
rewinding

i thought,
this is
just a
picture

this is the part where you find out who you are

all of a sudden I felt
really tired.

Like the world had drained me
for everything that
I had.

a prism

so dreamy,
      capturing that little fragment of time

from my      e y e s

she was once an angel,
an innocent, beautiful
girl.

until.

she met a handsome,
young, mysterious
boy.

she said she loved him,
he said the same.

she gave herself to him,
he greedily took her for
himself.

but after he took what he
wanted, he stood up and
left.

left the angel,

with her wings.

am i angry?

            you ask am i angry?

ignoring the cuts
picking up pieces of her
a girl made of glass

They were both just kids looking for a black hole to drown their sorrows,  instead they found each other.

i don't love you anymore.
i don't crave your touch at 3am any longer.
i don't ache for the feel of your
lips pressed against mine.
i don't love you anymore, i just miss you.
i miss our memories.
but i will always miss someone who
gave me so much to remember.
i think that i'm okay with that.
i don't love you anymore.

i keep running but

my demons keep catching up to me

i don't know what do anymore

this feeling inside
tears me apart

"are you happy?" is such a difficult question.
i always say yes, because i have friends
i laugh at jokes, i go out a lot and have fun
my life isn't as bad as it could be and
i don't have terrible problems
it could be worse.

but then, one night at 3 am when i'm alone,
still awake, lying in bed, thinking about life
i find myself crying my heart out
suddenly i am convinced that nobody likes me or
nobody will ever like me.
i feel horrible and i question everything i had

and i don't know if i was ever happy at all.

I just got the news of you leaving　
ｔｈｉｓ　ｗｏｒｌｄ.  

I regret not telling you that I love you
I regret not telling you about all the things that I love about you
I regret not telling you about how fun those times I spent with you were
I regret not telling you all the things we did together that I treasure
I regret minding too much about how my voice would have trembled if I had told you all these feelings.

I love you.
I miss you.

and I’ll never forget you.

you're ripped at
every edge but

you're a masterpiece

we fell apart
right from the start

there are
unpredictable emotions
like the tide rising on the sand

he was an artist,
she was a poet.

he drew beautiful paintings,
she wrote melancholy poems.

he saw her, sitting outside a cafe,
quietly sipping her cup of coffee,
while gazing up at the blue sky,
occasionally looking back down
to write something in her journal.

later that night, he decided to go
for a evening stroll.  

he saw her sitting on a bench,
gazing up at the moon with
sad eyes.

he walked to the bench and
sat himself next to her.

she blinked once and looked
at him.  he smiled back and
silently nodded his head as a
greeting and she smiled back.

she looked back up at the moon
and said, "the moon is beautiful isn't it"

he looked up at the moon and replied,
"yes, i think it is beautiful how the
moon glows using the sun’s light
and the sun never asks for anything
in return."

she looks back at him again, and
smiles shyly while whispering,
"yes, i like it too."

he smiles back at her warmly and
looks back up at the moon.

am i suffering for my art,
or am i just suffering?

come as you are,
          as you were,
          as i want you to be

"the problem with someone setting your soul on fire is that you are usually left with ashes"

i'm there for you if you allow it..

​
if i showed you my teardrops,
would you collect them like rain,
store them in jars,
that are labelled with “pain”
would you follow their tracks
from my eyes down my cheeks
as they write all the stories
I’m too scared to speak
would you stop them with kisses
bring their flow to a halt
as you teach me that pain
isn’t always my fault
would you hold my face gently
as you dry both my eyes
and whisper the words
“you’re too precious to cry”.
if i showed you my teardrops
would you show me your own
and learn through we’re lonely,
we’re never alone.

he loved me
then i woke up
from my dream

I see you lying next to me, with words I
thought I'd never speak,
awake and unafraid,

asleep or dead.

i am running down
a straight asphalt road fast

that's a one-way road,
so i don't get lost...
nor get stuck 'cause it's also
a highway

unlike others
who drive through unpaved roads

or be jammed on curved streets

i run this asphalt road laid down
by my wealthy parents

Recently, I haven’t been feeling myself.
I feel like I’ve lost myself over the years.  

There are more times of me feeling hollow, empty than of me being happy.  I don’t know how to explain it.  Nor do I even know how to fill that hole.  

People say that it’ll get better.  
                            What will? When? Why did it happen?

People say that things will change.
                            For better?  No. You don’t know that.

Often, I look out the window and imagine an alternate world.  Some place where I would be smarter.  Prettier.  Liked more.  Better.  

That wish might overlap with some people.

Being a Marvel fan, I always wanted to have Spider-Man powers.  And maybe a piece or fragment of Tony Stark’s intelligence and creativity.  

Creativity that I had lost over the years.  Intelligence that I never had to begin with.  Powers or abilities to make me proud of who I am.  Now I have none of those and the only thing that is left of me is the empty shell and the mask that I wear to hide.. me.

-

I’m not proud of myself.  Nor are my parents.  Not even my friends.  If they were to know who I was.  I hide behind smiles and jokes.  I use your humor as a way of keeping people at a distance.  

No, my parents aren’t divorced.  No, I’m not disabled.  
Yes, I attend a fairly good school.  Yes, I have good people around me.  

Despite all the good things I have, I can’t stop feeling. Useless. Worthless. Not enough.  I don’t feel motivated to do anything.  I feel like the part of me that wants everything to end is taking over me day by day.  I sometimes want to jump out of the window but I fear pain.  I’m weak.  I want to buy pills and swallow the whole bottle but I don’t know what pills to buy.  It’s hard to get ahold on them here in Japan.  Should I burn everything I own before I die?  Or disappear after selling everything?  

I feel the need to do so so that my parents don’t have anything to look back on.  So they wouldn’t have to feel so ashamed about having me as a daughter.  I cry often now.  My father tells me that I did this to myself.  Bad grades.  Bad friendships.  No motivation.  I’ve disappointed many people in my life.  I cry feeling sorry for myself even though I have dug my own grave.  

I somehow never seem to learn.  I think there’s something wrong with me.  I’ve been telling my parents there’s something wrong with me but they just tell me I’m making up things.  Excusing myself from the reality that I am a disappointment.  That I messed up.  That I am dumb.  Useless.  I will never amount to anything.  I am hollow.  I am but a shadow of everyone else that used to be friends with me.  

I am not writing this for hope that I will change.  I just feel the need to put this out there.  Not for help.  I don’t seek help anymore.  Nothing will ever change.  

Some say, “Not with that attitude” but I’m tired of hearing those words.  I’ve already made and broken so many promises that I am not worthy of change.  Or a miracle.  I sometimes wish that whenever I go out to buy groceries, a car or truck will hit me.  I wish for an accident to happen so that I will die.  Or that something drastic would happen to me so that I will be away from everything.  Possibly in a hospital bed.  Possibly dying on the side of the road.  Possibly giving me a disability so that I could finally have an excuse of being who I am.  

I’ve imagined people at my funeral.  Not many will be there.  And even those who attend, will have never known the real me.  My true feelings.  About my friends, parents, education—everything and anything.  

I am writing this because I can’t tell anyone about this.  I understand that it doesn’t make sense.  Don’t worry about posting comments on this.  I will be glad that it has been read.  Although it was long.  I don’t know who you are or what you have been through.  I apologize for taking up your time.  

I don’t know what I am.  Who I am.  What I will be in the future.  I know nothing.

cold air
blinking lights
white walls
whispering voices
dark corridor
echoing laughter
shaking hands
trapped mind
empty heart
blind soul
broken eyes

autophobia;

fear of being alone or of oneself

an

           a

                      v

                 a

                          l

                                 a

                                            n

                                       c

                                                  h

                                                           e

of goose bumps,
one after another
as a result from just one touch,
one flick of your fingertip
sends my body into a mass of tingles,
never yearning for stillness again

all we
have
is now

every night she lies awake
blaming insomnia.

but it's her troubled thoughts
that keeps her restless.

wondering if she will ever
find peace with her mind.

it's going to be okay
                           okay
                           okay
tonight

because
tomorrow
is just a dream

away

painted memories

fading away

washed away

all we do is
            hideaway

all we do is
            chase the day

are we ever
sure what
we have
is ours