I unravelled my thoughts on a public page.

I type this, sitting in my living room,
thousands of miles from where I was born,
in the middle of a work day,
avoiding responsibilities.

I suppose not much has changed.

And yet

There's a dreaming dog at my feet.
The table is decorated with dried flowers,
and under it, a tablecloth I spent too much on.
A tablecloth we spent too much on.

Happiness in the mundane -- is this what that is?

my mind has been an empty chasm of forgotten words
i was a writer who can no longer write
a storyteller with no stories to tell
an artist with dried up paint and a broken easel
but

i forget that
i am also a person
a broken, timid person
once whole, once sure, once loved,
once
          me.

i can no longer distinguish pain from pleasure;
abuse from affection; contusions from caresses.
embraces could be delivered in tightly-clenched fists;
words of affirmation in abasement; trust in forced hands.
i can't tell the difference between love and hurt;
dark bruises and soft kisses; belittlement and support.

all i am familiar with now is the aftermath -
the tears, the marks, the aches;
hot showers soothing stinging skin, shaky knees and trembling hands;
the nauseating guilt; encapsulating, overwhelming fear

and the sickening inability to just walk away.

i'm not sure how-
how to break this cycle
the constant pounding in my head
the incessant whispers
the persistent hurt
the frustrating reiteration
each one more needless

fall after fall after f
                                   a
                                       l
                                          l

you are every midnight shot I should not have threw down my throat,
every syllable I should not have stammered out beneath
shy gazes and lowered eyelashes and chewed bottom lips.
you are every (in)coherent verse I could not keep
my shaky grip from messily scrawling across any blank page;
you are in every frustrated sigh,
every agitated run of fingers through messy hair,
every tear at 2am.

you were a whirlwind;
& I got dizzy trying to keep up.
but the dust (you stirred) has finally settled;
& you are nowhere to be seen.
bits of you thicken the air, leaving tears
to continue stinging in my eyes
I was unwilling and I am alone.

I guess you were never meant to stay.

tell me again why the wind kissed the sea
remind me again why it wasn't the sky-
the sky's so pretty and perfect and calm,
but the choppy sea? please tell me why.

tell me again how the stars found the river;
there was no map written or drawn.
yet they drowned in her depths
leaving no stars left, and all I remember was the empty dawn.

tell me again which chapters she read
of the book he barely wrote-
what i don't get is how all these things
were said, when he never even spoke.

they s h o u t

and it feels like a million splinters
hit me in the chest, where it isn't
supposed to hurt.

they s t a r e

into thin air and the silence
is deafening and all I can
do is add to it.

they t a l k

but never to each other.
they're just like strangers;
two ghosts moving around
in one house.

they b r e a k

but I'm the only one broken, and
everyone smiles and tells me it's
just another fight.

they l i e*

and say that they're fine, and tell
me it's okay, and tell me it's stupid
that I don't believe that they love
each other

anymore.

there is a struggle in all our hearts
there is a fight in all of us
there are strangers in our closet
and skeletons instead walk among us.
we are the beaten and the broken,
the weakened and worn (out).
but we still have two fists
and two shaky legs
and a barely beating heart.
and that's enough for a lifetime.

love is a marathon
and I just can't
                           keep
                                     up.

words unsung
and stories
unread,
but this silly little child
fears to leave her
bed.

i would want to live a fairytale
where you were the prince
and i the damsel in distress
awaiting the feel of your lips against mine

but this is reality
and i am no damsel
and you are no prince
and the touch of your lips
(and lovely fingertips)
has already brought me to
a happily ever after
with you.

we've got the ground below us when all we do is look up and wish we were one with the stars

*but don't we realize we already are?

can you safely say
that you have lived and laughed enough
can you confidently smile
without having to tuck in the deep convictions of your mind?
will you whisper to me the stories of your past
will you enchant me with the tears in your eyes?

your fragile heart will not be broken
the secrets of your mind unspoken
let me cradle your vulnerability to my wounded chest
so that we may mend each other in the process

who knew toxic fumes were so comforting?
we're humans who,
confide in pain and whisper secrets to the forgotten
why is it that
the flirtatious wisps of hurt
circle our minds and get in between our hair
and soothes every nerve in the body
when it isn't supposed to?

you're breathing again oh sweet lady

and that in itself is fear
who are we,
to take comfort in death?

you've held my hand and whispered against my cheeks
and though the dying wind may have bitten his last icy bite against the corner of my eyes
i no longer fear
anything

as long as i am
                           with you

the letter on my doorstep I never wished to open,
the word unwritten and the picture unspoken,
the breeze despised and the heat adored,
or the deepest jungles left unexplored,
were you,
the twisted note birds left unsung
or the race that no one really won?
were you
the broken seal of a very old book
or a blown out candle
(because a breath was all it took)

*you were so many things I just couldn't see
there were so many you's
but only one of me.

i'm breathing
with my breath caught in my throat
because your fingers are wrapped around my neck
but so are your lips
my heart is ready to break
and so are my bones
but we are trapped in a peripheral moment
and if i may i'd like to utter one last word with our dying breaths:

*"if"

you're not perfection
(and never could be)
but darling
(though you see everyone that way indefinitely)
no one ever is
*(or ever could be)

you were never supposed to hurt this much
they said love would be good for me
for the both of us.

you were supposed to be the breeze in my face as I strolled along the simple shores
not the tiny coarse grains of sand I didn't notice stinging my eyes
or the persistent wave constantly knocking me over
as I tried to savour the sea.
you were going to be the cool wind on a hot summer's day
not the heavy storm that drowned my garden
and the dark cloud obstructing the sun's light so my flowers were never allowed to bloom again.

you were pain
and your grip was endless
why did I think you could heal when you were the cause?

they tell me not to believe in hell
or fear it, even
because "all good souls go to heaven"
but I never told them how wicked my soul is
and that hell was already in my head.

hair bleached, blonde, orange, ginger
(it's funny cos i'm not quite sure)
she brightens the rooms' darkest corners with just a mere twitch of her lips and her bright blue eyes and her giggle
it's perplexing how she doesn't see
(then again none of us do)
that she's as beautiful as the girl down the street
in fact even more
with every inch of skin and scar
it makes her prettier than anyone else
but the best part that no one else had
was the heart she held within herself.

tucked away and hidden,
like her arms always were under those huge school jumpers
she kept her soul and eyes away
from the nosy ones and lovely ones alike
despite them caring or not.
she always thought she'd never matter
to anyone else or even herself
but she failed to see the hearts and arms opening up to her
because she refused letting anyone in
(why katy why?)

so no more scars my lovely girl
put the blade away
don't even store it for those bleak rainy days.
because you're better than that all of this
because eventhough something in life may be amiss
there's always a gorgeous yellow sun to shine down on you
to light up your freckly face and your fluffy golden hair
and the scars are enough
so even though times are rough
your skin just needs a break
and so does your heart
though it may break apart
it will eventually come to its senses and piece back together.
you're oh so strong and one day a guy will come along
and you'd probably punch him in the face
but I hope that day would come soon
so I could see you giggle and swoon
over some white boy
(you better have good taste)

this pretty little flower
is such a blessing to me
and i'll never forget the trip we're going to plan
and i hope when we meet for tea perhaps
we'd still gush and laugh and rant
about things that mean too much about nothing
and we'd still be somewhat best friends

stressed and depressed but well-dressed is what they say
but i've only always seen her in ripped black tights and a short black skirt
*is it weird that we've never met but i feel like i've known her for years?

you are beautiful,
but in the way that scares me-
like the end of a cigarette.
beautiful ashes that disperse in the wind
but warm to the touch
and causes scars when pressed against skin.
it's eerie to think
that the smoke surrounding you
and getting between your clothes and tangled mess of hair and face
is slowly rotting you on the inside,
eventually killing you.

(do you see what you're doing to me, scarlet?)

you are stunning,
like the moon on a stormy night.
you stand out amongst the dark clouds and lightning strikes
but do nothing to stop the thunderous booms
and heavy rain pelting down upon me.
you simply watch; serene and illuminated,
you watch
me
suffer.

but you are dark
not the mysterious darkness of a newly discovered cave
or dingy attic begging to be explored,
but a darkness that has become familiar to me
the gloominess of a soul
the dimming of a heart-
you've put out every light of hope and belief
I've ever known
and you've ignited the fire that holds no luminescence,
only the ability to burn and smoke
the fire of pain; your fire.

and it is (you are) corroding me.

I am

f  
     a
            l
                 l
                     i
                        n
                            g

and there is no one to catch me.

I spoke to Scarlet this afternoon.
I hadn't seen her in such a long time.
funny thing is,
this is the first time I've ever spoken to her.
I've always liked to pretend she wasn't real,
was never there, and only a figment of my imagination.
but now I've finally found out
what she thinks of me.
what I've always thought of myself.
that, she whispers
was always the truth.

t   r   u   t   h.
what is that anymore?*

"whatever you can imagine is real."

well now I know.

I'm not sure
how much longer I can hold on
pretending everything was okay
or is okay
or will be okay
when in reality,
nothing is.
why do I keep trying to survive,
and continue telling myself I can
when I really, definitely, truly
cannot?
well now
I'll begin admitting.
they say that acceptance is the first step to recovery.
but who cares what they say anymore?
what if the only recovery left
for me
is death?
(the only escape)
well
if this doesn't serve as a suicide note,
I'm not sure anything else could be.

it's becoming more and more apparent to me that the marks you left behind will forever remain
but I can choose to forget they are there in the first place.
I will pull down my sleeves and turn up my collar even if there is no wind
but only to shield the ever sharp eyes of mine reflecting back in the mirror;


*I will hide myself from                                                   me.