you're angel dust
and sugar kisses,
you're a work
of art.
you're frosted glass
and rainbow mists,
you're snowflakes
and you're love.
you are your soul,
you are your dreams.
don't let  anyone
tell you
you're any less
than this.

You left me
helpless,
burning,
longing.

You left me
restless,
hurting,
struggling to breathe.

You left me
broken,
crying,
reaching out for you.

You left me
all alone
calling your name
in the storm.

You left me
in the dark
lonely and scared,
to fight my demons
on my own.
You left me
and I’m no longer alive.
Turning and tossing
and looking for you in my sleep.

You left me,
I’m a shadow,
just an empty shell,
a ghost, a zombie.

I don’t resemble
who I used to be.
You were who I was.
Now there’s only me.

You were my home.
You left me homeless,
screaming your name
and praying for death.                  

10.02.2013

a jungle
2. a mountaintop
3. a cave
4. a desert
5. a forest
6. the bottom of the ocean
7. a wild beach
8. the fictional worlds of my imagination
9. Atlantis
10. in your arms

and of all these places,
the last one
is where
I'll never
ever
ever
be.

I will wait for you till my hair turns grey.
I will wait for you as long as it takes.
I’ll be here, patiently waiting for you,
oh, my love, and I will make it through.

I remember your touch
and your voice
and your scent.
I remember how we met -
this day, my love, I shall never forget.

You’re everywhere I go,
in every shadow, and your name I call.
But please remember, love,
I will wait for you.

I will wait for you in life and death.
I will wait till everything fades,
until the end of time itself,
I will wait for you, my love.
I swear I’ll wait.
You held my hand,
you whispered my name,
you healed my scars
and I promise I’ll wait.

The future has razor-sharp
edges, swiftly cutting
bright red wet and ugly scars.
The past is a blunt knife,
dull and rusty
and I'm being stabbed
and stabbed
and stabbed.
I am stuck in the
present down on my knees
swimming in blood and saliva
with dry tears streaming
down my face
unable to catch a breath
choking on misery
nails dug deep into
my skin
and I am screaming
but no one can hear
and I want to rip
my trachea out and chop
my lungs and eat my heart out
and pull out all
those miles of intestines;
I want to flay my skin
and lay it out for you to
see my scars.
I'm a grotesque of
days long gone
of days that reign
of days that soon will be.
I am the monster you created,
you Dr. Frankensteins,
I am your masterpiece,
I am what you made me
but you won't leave me be.

I know it's called "the present",
but God help me, it's simply not a gift.

i wanna take back all the poems
i wanna take back the ''i love you''s
i wanna take back all the tears
i wanna take back all the troubles.

but then i don't.

you deserved the lines i wrote
you deserved the misused quotes
you deserved my happiness
and you deserved my love

i don't want us to be over.
but you're gone.
so i should swallow
and let you leave
and let you go.

and i shall live
with those last kisses
and your arms around me
and the way you squeezed my face
and made me swear
and i shall live
with the thought
that you cried for me
and i shall live
with the ghost of your touches
and the sense of your lips against my skin.

but i shall live.
and i shall miss you.
but i'll move on
and you'll be over.

i know that you don't love me
i know that i don't matter
but i loved you
and i love you still
and soon i will be better.

It’s 2:39 in the morning and
I’m sitting on my fold-in couch
with my toothbrush hanging from my mouth.
This is not a poem.
This is the realization that hits me
out of nowhere
so suddenly,
so unexpectedly,
in the midst of something so ordinary.
This is not a poem.
This is me, at 2:40 in the morning,
realizing that you were never good enough for me.
That I chose to put myself down, to ignore
my wishes and desires
so as to please you.
That I made up all these excuses for you,
that I came up with all these reasons to justify
why you were manipulating me,
that I kept telling myself you’d eventually
admit to having loved me all along.
This is not a poem.
I do not need a metaphor to tell you
that I realized I do not need you.
That I realized I never really did.
Right now, at 2:43 in the morning
I have never felt more alive
than in this very second
now that I am free of you.
This is not a poem.
This is a goodbye letter to the me that thought she loved you.
This is me, at 2:45 in the morning,
knowing my worth.
I am made of a billion universes
scattered inside my eyes,
I am a billion trembles,
I am nebulous,
and it’s 2:46 in the morning,
I’m sitting on my fold-in couch
with my toothbrush hanging from my mouth.
This is not a poem.
This is the realization that hits me
out of nowhere
so suddenly,
so unexpectedly,
in the midst of something so ordinary:
I am so much better than anything you’ll ever be.

Hello, my dearest, my loveliest.
I haven't met you just yet - at least not physically, even though I have seen you many times in my future. In fact, I think I'm in love with you already, and it will be really awkward when I meet you, because when I finally do, I will know, in my very heart of hearts that it is YOU. I will remember what I've already seen, and it will feel right to touch you, to look at you. Just hearing your laughter will make me whole. And I will know it's you.
You will know exactly what kind of coffee I want from Starbucks - you won't forget that I prefer soy milk, you'll know exactly how much sugar (brown!) I take, you'll know what name I want written on the cup - and I won't have to tell you. You won't just let me wear your clothes - you'll hide mine, so that I have no other choice but put your shirt on. You'll know how I like my tea - because that's how you like it too. You'll make waffles for breakfast, and I will frown at you for trying to make me fat, and you'll stuff my mouth with waffles to shut me up. When our little flat needs cleaning, you'll turn the volume up, and sing Queen's I want to break free as you vacuum and I wipe the dust. We'll take turns pushing each other in the cart until they throw us out of the supermarket. You'll order pizza (vegetarian, even though you're not one) and download the new Doctor Who episode when I work late, and come home tired and starved. You'll scold me for smoking and for drinking too much coffee, but will secretly make sure there's always instant coffee in the cupboard and a blanket on the balcony for my midnight smokes. You'll kiss my forehead and make me soup and take my textbooks away when I'm overdoing it. You'll teach me how to eat Chinese with chopsticks and you'll order foreign cuisine and eat from the takeaway boxes when you know we're both too lazy to do the dishes. And when we do do the dishes, we'll end up wet and covered in foam every time, because at the end of the day, we're both three-year-olds. You'll fall asleep on my belly as I read The Lord of the Rings aloud to you, and you'll have Harry Potter marathons with me when my exams are over. You'll always beat me at video games and try to spoil me the new comic book issue I haven't had time to read yet, and every time I'm cross with you, you'll start humming The Rains of Castamere, and you'll hang Targaryen banners on our walls when you're trying to please me. And when we feel like it, we'll have karaoke nights, and even though we both can't sing, we'll scream at the top of our lungs until the neighbours come knocking at the door. We'll go travelling and you'll always let me drive, and you'll never get tired of taking pictures of and with me. When the time comes, you'll propose with the One ring, like I've always wanted to. Even my parents will like you, surprisingly. We'll have our catchphrase and our inside jokes, and we'll understand each other with a mere look. You'll like what I write, but will always give me reasons why you like it, so that I always know you're not being biased. You'll find faults, too, and will let me know, and that's how I'll know it's you. We will watch singalong versions of Camp Rock and High School Musical, and sing along we will. And we'll tickle each other breathless, and we'll have surprise pillow fights. We'll always spend Christmas alone, eating takeaway and drinking hot chocolate and we'll have Weasley-style Christmas sweaters. We'll have a Doctor Who themed wedding, like we've both always wanted to. You won't mind me rumbling random unrelated history facts and ranting about biological inaccuracies in books and movies, and you'll join me in my social justice rants.We'll **** wherever - on the floor, on the table, on the couch, in the bathroom, sometimes even on the bed. You'll always take the blanket, and I'll hate it. You'll hate my eggplant lasagna and the way I always kick my shoes off. I'll hate your annoying habit of never ******* the toothpaste top, and always leaving the lights on. But those are things we can live with.
I don't know how you look or what your talent is, or how old your are, or how big your family is. I don't know where you grew up, I don't know you yet, I don't know anything about you. But I know I'll love you to bits, and so will you, and I can't wait to meet you, my loveliest.
Yours always.

alone
broken
crushed
destroyed
empty
******-up
gory
hurt
isolated
******
killed
liquored
murdered
nonchalant
ostentatious
painful
quitter
resented
stupid
troublesome
ugly
vicious
*****
xenic
yielder
zymotic

STOPSTOPSTOPSTOP
STOP IT NOW

you're not
a
word

a word
does not
define

look in the mirror
right now.

this is not you.

close your
eyes
and
see
your soul.

"Hello,
oh wow,
you're gorgeous."

My hands are empty
without your fingers
filling the spaces between mine.

My body is aching
to have you
wrapped around.

My skin is itching
and every inch of it
craves for your touch.

My lips are burning
for yours to be pressed
against them.

And my heart is
beating a
steady
"comebackcomebackcomeback".

why do we call it heartbreak
when it has nothing to do
with that useless pump
and everything to do
with your lungs being squeezed
by a stone cold hand
with murderous fingers
to the point where you
cannot breathe
and you feel like you're
drowning
when there's no water around;
and everything to do with
wanting to rip yourself
open
and throw all your
guts up?
why do we call it
heartbreak
if the
heart is not
alive?

The angels gathered
at dusk
when the sky was clear
and the wind was silent.
One was stick thin
with ribs protruding,
piercing the feeble
crumbling skin
and the angel was
starving, with
stomach growling
but the angel
wouldn't eat.
The second angel
had a fake smile
plastered,
so fake that its
mouth (decaying
with acid)
looked grotesque
and the angel
looked tormented
because it had
spent the past hour
on its knees
in a bathroom
emptying its
stomach
but it still thought
its smile was
convincing.
The third angel
had long
thin scars
bleeding red
all over its arms
but it smiled
its brightest smile,
chin up,
eyes bright
(but it secretly screamed
at itself late at night).

And many more
angels came,
all of them transparent,
with skin like
parchment
and eyes hollow,
eye sockets painfully
dug into their skulls,
with blue-purple
half-moons under
eyes losing their spark,
with crumbling,
burning smiles
that stung with
insincerity
and pure
venomous self-hatred,
and the angels dared not
face each other
and cut their own wings
feather by feather
and refused to believe
that they had not fallen.
But they hadn't, truly.
They had simply jumped.

I have no limbs.
I have no organs.
I’m not tissues  
and cells.
I’m not atoms
held together by an
unknown force.
I am emptiness.
I’m nothing.
An explosion of pain.
I can feel my skin
peeling off;
I am falling apart.
Today, I’m an exception
from the biology book.
Today, I am a shrapnel
in a futile war.

I could write about your eyes,
your smile, your laugh,
your voice, your face,
your scent, etc., etc..
I could go on for days and days,
about your nose, your hands,
your hair, your chest.
Metaphor after metaphor
I could create
a thousand words about the way
you move, you kiss, you hold my hand...
I could.
I could.
I won't.
I'll write instead
about your brain,
about the way you make me feel,
the way you talk about the stuff you like,
the way you think,
or I could just reduce it
to those simple words
dopamine
serotonin
oxytocin

In general,
you leave me out of breath.

i'll come over at 3:27 am when you call me
your voice shaking
and i'll know you've been crying
even though you'll try to camouflage it
with a smile.
i'll drink with you and then
i'll let you bury your face in my thighs
and scream, scream it all out
and even though you'll dig your fingers into my flesh
until i'm bruised,
i'll still run mine through your hair,
i'll hold on to you as you scream,
scream until you're blue,
until your knuckles are white
and your lips are numb --
and the rain will be pouring,
thunder and lightning tearing the sky apart,
and nothing will hurt as much as
seeing you broken.
i will hold your hand
as you dive into morpheus's realm
and watch your purple eyelids flutter:
you are a ship and i'm the one supposed to gather the wreckage.

i'll wake up at 8, stiff and worn out,
and i'll let you sleep, and i'll go buy eggs and milk
because you will have, as always, forgotten,
and i'll come back soaked to the skin;
you'll push back a wet lock, then give me a dry shirt;
we'll make pancakes and omlette
and your hand
will wrap around my hand
and your face
will fit in the crevice of my neck
and darling, we won't be okay -
but sunrises after storms are always the brightest -
and we'll be as close as can be.

in the end,
we're all
reduced
to
                                                                                
                                                                           *"time of death"

i am
nebula
an explosion of stardust
i am
a supernova
fear me
i am
universes
galaxies
asteroids
i am
a little cosmos
within me
if you don't dare
reach
for the stars
stay away from me
i'll swallow you
like a black hole
i am made out of
dark matter
don't you even dare
come closer
if you're not ready
to explore
uncharted
territory

If there’s Heaven and there’s Hell,
show me where I belong.
And if my place is not in either,
help me burn them down.*

I.
I don’t know where we’re going or what we are
or who we are and I don’t know the right questions to
ask; and even if I knew I wouldn’t know the answers
and I wouldn’t know anyone who could actually provide
an explanation for why it is all like it is. I am insane
and maybe you too are and we stand on shores but  
my shore is not your shore and is there even water
on these shores and why am I drowning. I think
I’m underwater and maybe we all feel like we’re dying
or like we’re already dead. I just understand that
learning how to swim and how to breathe and how
to live are the things my parents did not teach me
and all I feel is salty air but my lungs are decrepit
and how do I take a breath when the air is full of poison –
the one you’re emitting and the one I’m emitting,
and aren’t we all just so toxic?
So I’m knee-deep into water but I cannot force
my lungs to work, and I’m waist-deep into water
but they still don’t work; and now my body is
feelingless and floating and I don’t know
how to live. Do you? Does any of us?
So we just let go there on the shore;
it’s sanity and it’s stability and it’s safety all gone.
I knew all the answers but then I grew up
and so did you.
We were metaphors and the world spun around
so now we are just malaphors and we’re ****** up.
How do I explain to you, to anyone that I am drowning
even when I can swim and that I am dead, my eyes
reflect the light; they do not shine, I have a pulse,
I breathe but I’m so not alive
and I am drowning ashore, I am away from the water
and still underneath waves that crush my fragile skeleton
and make me crumble to dust.
I used to be a metaphor but I’m a malaphor now
and I will burn that bridge when I get to it.
That is, if I haven’t yet drowned.

II.
I lie on the floor and boards are creaking and what is
wrong with me and with us and with everyone.
The dog is howling and there’s a silent cat but he’s
not chasing her and she is tired of chasing mice so she
just wants to die but the dog cannot bite and I keep lying
with snakes wrapped around my limbs and I am poison
and I ache. When did friendships become all about lies
and deceit and manipulation? When did I lose myself
in the world of masks? When did it all become about
sexsexsexSEX? Why is it all about who ***** whom
and why do we all want to die? When did we realise
that suicide is a way and how did we find out?
I hear noises and I drown in music and I scream
until my throat hurts and my lungs ache and I
keep thinking WHEN DID I DIE and why
is there no God, I need redemption and don’t we
all crave to be forgiven? I cut, you cut, we cut,
it’s not grammar, it’s life, we don’t do it for attention,
they all cut and we all cut, don’t we, with rusty little
blades ripping ourselves open, letting the pain flow
like red rivers on the floor and we think it’s okay
to carry our scars not like badges and medals of honour
but like shameful reminders of how useless and
worthless we are, and we cut hipbones and thighs
and we cut between ribs and we scratch and bleed
and drown in pure, unbound hatred that comes
straight from our vicious poisoned hearts
and we cut where it can’t be seen because just too many
questions that we’re not willing to face. And we all
write poems about how we want to slit out veins
open, how we want to slay our wrists and crumble and
diedieDIEDIEDE. Why do we want to die, why are we
the ****** up generation who thinks about ****** and solecisms
half of the time and death and virginity and self-hatred and
how our lives mean absolutely nothing?
When did we grow up and become so bitter
and when did our time in the bath become the time when
we want to drown and trains were fun once but now we
want to jump in front of one and trees are not where we
play but where we want to hang ourselves and we
want to jump from cliffs and all we want to do
is **** and die and die and ****, and we were kids
but now we’re not and we’re not adults so who are we?
We’re **** victims, we’re names crossed out, we’re
eulogies and pills and death notes and we want to be
over, why and when and how did the world
**** us up?
We’re caffeine-driven and we do drugs and we’re
all addicted to sadness and addicted to death and addicted to
hatred and we mostly hate us.
We starve ourselves until we can’t stand upright, we starve
until we can see the outlines of our cages and still think
it is not enough, or we eat and we purge and why did we
decide that we wanted to die?
Because we do. I used to be a metaphor
but I’m a malaphor nowand I will burn that bridge when I get to it.
That is, if I haven’t yet drowned.



III.
I want to hold your hand, just hold it and feel you with me
wrapped around and safe and home. I want to kiss your
lips and bite your neck and drown in your eyes,
I want us to **** and make sweet love and sing and
smoke and get drunk, I want us to roll on the floor
laughing and find ourselves on our backs with the wooden
boards underneath us and tears in our eyes, but from happiness
and not this constant sadness, I want love to mean something,
I want to be yours and you to be mine, regardless of gender,
regardless of age, love must be love.
I want us to eat ice cream and pizza and junk food
or healthy food or any food and not be judged and I
want us to live and to love and I want us to
look in the mirror and face our reflections and not
hate what we see, and this is it, this is us.
Do me do me do me, let me be your drug,
get high with me, get high on me, we’re greatness,
we’re power, we’re supreme. We can will it away,
we are who we wish to become, we rise and reign, we
shine and we are stars, we’re supernovas we bring down
kingdoms and we crown ourselves with thorns and twigs,
we’re rulers of ruins and ashes, we burn down temples, we
want to be the best but we think we’re the worst so we
just fake it, fake it all but we are all just galaxies with
potential that is not yet unleashed, we can burn bright if
we only learn how to, we need to learn how to live without
willing to die; we need to learn how to love ourselves first
before we love others and we need to stop hating
and we have scars that might never heal again but can’t we
just accept plain truths and bandage ourselves and move on?
But we some cigarettes and we breathe out the smoke or
we just keep it in our lungs until we burn and until we fall
apart and we’re just snowflakes that have turned to dust,
and we’re ashes that burn holes on the tips of others’
tongues, oh how I wish we could live without burning
scars, without causing pain, without withering away,
without crumbling, why can’t we, why do we all
so desperately want to die and drown and **** and die?
I used to be a metaphor but I’m a malaphor now
and I will burn that bridge when I get to it.
Oh how I wish I could love you and know you
would love me back but our world is so ****** up
and all we can ever do is leave gaping holes and
smoking wounds and salty tears and new ideas
how to die. Let’s change the world, or maybe not,
let’s just find meaning, or at least can we please
forever ever bring down Heaven and Hell
and learn to accept who we are. I used to be a metaphor
but I’m a malaphor now and I will burn that bridge when I get to it.
But then I’ll rebuild it and maybe this time
I will never ever drown.
And I will teach myself to swim and breathe
and live and love, I want to be a metaphor
one more simple and no longer lonely time.

The world is burning.
The sky is falling.
Everything's crashing.
Fire and blood,
and destruction and
pain.

But all I know
is your hand in mine,
warm and sweaty,
your rough skin brushing against
mine,
your fingers filling
the spaces between mine,
and those little
squeezes that you give me,
hard and
reassuring.

You will never
let me go,
and as long as I
know this,
I don't care
whether everything
is falling apart.

Because we aren't.
And we stand tall
as everything
turns into
nothing.

i've slowly crept to the edge of insanity
there is no going back
i'm staring into the abyss
of what i'll never be and never have

i think i'm wounded
i think i might be bleeding
i think i am as good as dead

i think i've lost the ability
to tell what's real and what's not
i don't think i can think
but sure as hell i'm lost

and wild rivers of blood
flow underneath
my transparent skin
i once almost drowned
the feeling's akin

i long for relief
i long for that sort
of peaceful redemption
i'm tired of grief
so where's my salvation?

razor-sharp edges
gleam through the dark
my skin is itching
as i fall apart

rivers are flowing
on old wooden boards
another soul broken
so where is your god?

i found something
on my skin.
oh look,
fingerprints
there where you'd
touched me!

i found something
on my lips.
oh look,
bitemarks from
when you kissed me.

but when i looked
at my heart
searching for
something else you'd left
i couldn't find it.

i guess you were
charging for
your kisses
and the price was
too much for me to pay.

fix me
FIX ME
F (uck me)
I (want you back)
X (is not the word I want to be described with)

M (ine, you were mine and now who are you)
E (vol; maybe if I spell it backwards I can rewind the clock)

fix me
FIX ME
*******
**** ME
FIX ME (it's not your fault I'm broken, it's just that you had
almost made me alright
and now you
crushed me)

fiX Me
i just need to function again
please
please
please

fix me
before I break
every promise
and inscribe
your name on my skin
in red lines

*******
**** me
fix me

we lay on our backs smoking cigarettes
the summer sky full of stars right above us
and i wanted to kiss her *****-tainted lips
and trace the curves of her face
of her collarbones
to lie between her hips
and taste her
i reached for her hand
fingertips away from hers
and she held it
and it was enough.

we sat on my bed
her head in my lap
and i braided her hair
her warm laughter spilling out
her budding lips, rolling off
her sweet tongue
and she played with the hem
of my skirt
i wanted to lean down
and press my mouth to hers
and make her mine
i pressed my lips
to her forehead
she beamed
and i thought
it might be enough.

we sat on the swings in the park
the wind played with her hair
her tiny feet in mary janes
scraped the dirt
and her arms wrapped around
the chain of the swing
i wanted to grab her face
to bruise her
to kiss her hard and
angry
to leave her
breathless
i pushed the swing
she squealed and my name
was on her lips
and it was
quite enough.

she cried in my bath
her cheeks mascara stained
her hair sticking to her face
wet
her words slurred
mouth delirious
she shrieked and sobbed
and i held her body
close to mine
pressed my lips
to the top of her head
as she screamed
and it would
never be enough.

we danced in my backyard
barefoot on the grass
her sundress swirled around
her knees
her sunburnt skin hot
and rough and
salty
we drank strawberry daiquiris
she said, "tell me what heartbreak tastes like"
i told her
i loved her
i told her
i wanted to make her mine
i wanted to show her the stars
i wanted
to be enough
i wasn't enough
she kissed my cheek and left
heartbreak tastes like her.

Selflessness and broken hearts
Alone and crying in the dark
Vast spaces of skin shouting to be cut
Empty holes where once there was a heart and there were lungs
Mourning a soul that once was alive
E**mbrace the corpse you left to rot

It's mid-July but in my heart, it is winter;
I curl up in the back of a closet, wrapped in blankets
and the scent of salty water and seaweed crawls up my nostrils
until I'm choking;
it engulfs me, a cold embrace, the breeze piercing me
through clothes that somehow feel like a fisherman's net
twisted around me, leaving marks on my skin.
It's mid-July but in my heart, it is winter;
like driftwood washed upon the shore,
like sand sifting through my fragile fingers,
like an imminent sea storm, danger impending,
memories crush me.
Sunburnt skin, goosebumps and droplets of water;
bodies pressed, wounds left to heal
and scars that slowly fester.
There's something autumnal in summer,
gashes bleeding ink.
It's mid-July but in my heart, it's winter:
remember, remember when we used to sit
under birches, lashes shiny with droplets
of dreams,
remember, remember, bicycles, children with eyes bright and green,
freckled faces, salty-tasting kisses,
scorching sun and summer winds.
Midnight storms, skies lightened, torn
by lightning bolts --
July is not the time for eulogies,
remember lazy afternoons, you, me, the boat,
regret always tastes as bitter
as children's lips just slightly touching
far away from coast.
It's mid-July but in my heart, it's winter;
the tide will wash away another fisherman's corpse;
remember all the tales of sirens?
You never told me Death came with hair of gold.
There's nothing quite so sad as being sad in summer.
It is July, and yet outside it snows.

i dream of you
and i am thine
but when i wake up
you're never mine

*

the next time you
travel by plane
and you look at the
person beside you,
remember my sweaty
palm clenching yours
and my nervous squeezes
and how I kissed you
a thousand miles above
the water
among clouds
and how i slept on your
shoulder in the bus
afterwards
and ask yourself
if another
will walk into the
duty free and put on
expensive makeup
that she can't afford
and then kiss you
with blood-red
a-hundred-bucks
chanel lips.

you're not mine
but i'm not thine either
and it is your loss,
honey.

i love you
your hair (though you like to cut it too short)
your eyes (the way they gleam when you look at me)
your nose (though you say it's too big)
your lips (they fit mine so perfectly)
your neck (it was made for my face)
your chest (my favourite pillow)
your arms (wrapped around me)
your hands (in mine, around my waist, on the small of my back, on my face, everywhere)
your legs (wrapped around me, or entwined with mine)

i love your jokes
your mind
your way with words

i love every fiber of your body
i love every thread of your soul

i love you and everything about you

*
i give you this.
it's of no use to me.
you're not mine anymore
your eyes don't gleam
and i don't feel you pressed against me.
i give you this.
remember what you had
and how you broke me.
keep it.
throw it.
just whatever.
maybe give it to the next
one.
i guarantee you
she'll never love you
like i did.

and just a p.s.
read all the poems
i wrote about you
and ask yourself
why you
don't have a heart.

i loved you
and i love you still.
you never did,
you never will.

you would say "i love this movie"
you would say "i love this food"
you would say "i love to do this"
the way this sentence never ended? *"-you"

“As for Charles – he likes girls. If he’s drunk, I’ll do. But – just when I’ve managed to harden my heart, he’ll turn around and be so sweet. “
“You like him a lot, don’t you?”

The night crumbles to dust as I trace
every single crease, every nook, every edge of you.
I drink you in, you drink cheap wine:
you only kiss me with alcohol in your blood,
you cannot stomach me without
the drugs.
A pile of cigarette ash on the floor,
broken glass. Shattered ice cubes and
cigarette butts.
It’s a scene of decay; you and I
could only survive if you whispered
sweet nothings and I let you gut
me. You lead me on and I always
slip, and touch you and believe
this time will be the time you stay,
this time will be the time you remember last night
morning come,
this time will be the time
I
am
the
one.
It rains the first time and there’s a bottle
of scotch; we play cards; you’re drunk:
I strip you off; tonight you smile; tonight
you will not mind if I touch
your jaw
your lips
your waist
and below
and your heart
no – never your heart.
Then it’s a matter of time.
You always come when you need me and I
can never refuse to be the one
who lets your tongue
explore my mouth
if only drunk
if only for a while
if only for the night.
I’m there. I will do. For now.
I kiss
your lips
your throat
your neck
your collarbones
and down – way down – below
and your heart
no – never your hear.
You twist me round your little finger and I
would die and die and **** and die
a thousand times
to have you look at me and say
I’ll stay tonight*.
My Charles.
No – never mine.

I'm not sure if I want you anymore
or if I want to make you suffer
or if I want you to make me suffer
or if I want us to fix each other.

**** me until I'm out of breath
out of love
out of life

**** me until we can't be any closer
to each other
**** me until I know
whether I want to be yours
or not

**** me until you destroy me
**** my body like you ****** my soul

**** me
*******
oh we're ******

**** me until
there's either you and me
or *us

I’ve always been the outsider.
The girl who dreams.
The girl who laughs too much
and cries too much.

But most importantly,
I've always been
the girl who reads.

I raised myself with books.
In words I found salvation,
in those rows and rows of
soldier-like words
I found my closest friends.

From books alone, I learned
about friendship and family,
and love, and tolerance,
equality and death.

Like a sponge, I absorbed those ideas
and words, and phrases,
and all I read about,
and when the time was ripe,
the sponge bled out
with all the words
it had taken in,
and its ink blood
covered myriad pages.

I am so young, just a kid, really,
and my life so far has been
just a pile of books I’ve read.
I want to change this,
to create a new pile –
of the books I’ve written,
of the worlds I've made.

Clumsy poetry and short stories,
and unfinished novels,
and the constant voice
making up stories and characters
in the back of my mind -
that's what I live for,
and the air I breathe.

I’m so young, just a kid, really,
but I know what I want from my life –
I want to write books and shape the lives
of other little kids who will pick up my
books, and read them, and learn about life.

Do you see me first thing in the morning
when you wake up and your eyelids
are heavy with sleep?
Do you taste me in your coffee
when you try to chase away
your dreams?
Do I itch in your palms,
in your arms,
on your lips?
Do you feel that I'm
absent when you go back
to sleep?
When you feel like crying,
do you feel the ghost
of my clumsy embraces
and the ephemeral feeling
of my cheek to your cheek
and my lips on your lips?
Do you turn around mid-movie,
a lame joke on your lips,
and realise I'm not there
to hear it?
Do you feel the emptiness
where I used to sit on your
knees?
Do you miss the scent of me
and the taste of perfume
when you bite my neck?
Do you see me taking your clothes
off when you put them on
in the morning?
Am I still present
in your dreams?
Do you miss my rants
about freedom and equality
and solecisms and hatred
and depression?
Do you miss taking care of me?
Can you see me wrapped around
you when you shower
and the steam hides the places
where I used to be?
Do I vulgarly and rudely
interrupt your dreams
and haunt your thoughts
and ache inside when you breathe?

I hope you do.
I hope I am.
I hope you regret
that you left.
I hope you wish
you had stayed.

I hope I've become
your epitome of a
long-lost dream.

no matter how hard
i try to forget
i try to move on
i try to live on
i guess you’ll remain
in my heart you will stay
forever right there
to hurt me.

you’re wrenching my heart
you sting in my veins
you’re the bags under my eyes
the dry tears on my face
the undrawn lines on my skin
the ache from within.

and i guess from now on
when i’m lonely
alone
i guess from now on
now once you’re gone
my pain has a name

if somebody asks
my pain has a name.
my pain is a “he”.

you and I
is a collocation
that was never
meant to
exist

Hello, hello,
you sweet little child.
Hello, hello,
you innocent soul.

Can you see me cry?
Can you see the demons
reflected in my eyes?
Can you see the scars
inscribed on my skin?
Can you see through my mask,
so feeble, so terribly thin?
Can you see it peeling off,
can you see me rotting?

Hello, hello,
you sweet little child.
Hello, hello,
you innocent soul.

Are you afraid?
Are you scared of the
big bad scarred monster
on your doorstep?

My scars relinquishing in
sunlight,
the devils inside me
caught in a ****** war,
the pain that's decaying
my organs, my soul,
my body crumbling
like pastries to dust,
my tormented existence,
my struggle through life.
Gnawed at by self-hatred,
praised by self-harm,
thriving in blades,
awash with blood...

Can you see this?
Can you hear them?

Can you hear the voices
roaring in my head,
screaming, yelling,
howling
sweet little
"disgusting"s
"failure"s
"****"s
"good-for-nothing"s
"nobo­dy-needs-you"s
"ugly"s
"fat"s
"stupid"s
"pathetic"s
"you're better off dead"
?

Can you hear
the cry of my veins?
Can you hear my blood
begging for release?
Can you hear
my gut-wrenching
cries for help?
Can you hear my screams?

Can you see the figures
scrutinising me
deep inside my head?
Can you see the pain
bleeding down my
arms
and things?
Can you see me
ripping myself slowly
thread by ******* thread?

Hello, hello,
you sweet little child.
Hello, hello,
you innocent soul.

Can you recognise me?
Can you see yourself?

Don't stay, my sweet little girl,
don't stay,
run away,
my sweet little girl,
greetings from your
future self
on the path to decay.

one year ago
on this day
you came over
for the second time

we watched edward scissorhands
and we were all over each other

we drank my favorite tea
the divine-smelling one
with four red fruits
the one I'd been promising
to let you taste
for many months

we took our first pictures
as a couple

one year ago
this was one of the happiest days
in my life.

two weeks ago
we were fine
we were happy
two weeks ago I was yours

one week ago
I was not yours anymore

well look at us now

i bought a pack of cigarettes tonight, even though my lungs don't work quite right.
i sat on the stairs in the yard of the old house with its walls crumbling,
with its facade turned to dust.
the air was so cold it stung my fingers, frost licking my face,
turning my cheeks blood-red but nothing hurt
as much as you do.

i smoked a cigarette tonight, even though my lungs don't work quite right.
the smoke filled me up and i feared
it would leak out of all the holes you punched in me.
it didn't. i choked and i coughed and it felt a little like drowning.
like your mouth on my mouth, like your teeth on my neck.
i choked and i coughed and it felt a little like you
so i liked it.
who cares i almost died.

i smoked a second cigarette tonight, even though my lungs don't work quite right.
nicotine ran in my veins,
blue rivers along my pale skin and it felt, it really felt
a lot like love. a lot like you. a lot like us.
galaxies scattered across my skin, poison running in my blood,
yes, it felt a lot like us.
i didn't choke this time, but i think you would have laughed
at the way i ******
on the cigarette ****.

i smoked a third cigarette tonight, even though my lungs don't work quite right.
i swallowed cancer like a drug and it stung
at the back of my throat, and it burned and it burned and it burned
as ash gathered at the burning end
and fell to the ground like snowflakes,
little flakes of ash on my sneakers
and it reminded me of your kisses a little, i didn't choke this time.
i laughed. a bitter laugh.
you hurt at the back of my mind as i put
the cigarette out and i thought about the way
you'd look at me, boldness in your eyes, hair a little all over
the place and your mouth
shaped in a little "o"
as you blew circles of smoke out.

i smoked a fourth cigarette tonight, even though my lungs don't work quite right.
the cold stung but not as much as my lungs burnt and my brain burned
and you hurt.
i blew smoke out but never quite like you did,
and i thought it looked and was a little
ridiculous maybe
to burn the leaves of a plant wrapped in paper
and fill our fragile bodies with the exhausts
we breathe out smoke like broken steam engines,
ain't it funny, haha.
you'd laugh, harshly, you'd bite me, you were always
a little rough.

i smoked a fifth cigarette tonight, even though my lungs don't work quite right.
it's not half as venomous as you were, i decided.
i put it out.
cigarettes are so not worth the hype.
you were.
you are.

all i ask for
is your hand
in my hand;
your chest
pressed to my back;
your thighs to my thighs;
our tangled ankles
and your lips
at the nape of my neck.

and i'm so happy
with just
as much.

if i could
i would
heal every bit of broken soul
inside you
if i could
i would
undo your scars
and make your skin
a perfect canvas
but i can’t
and life’s a terrible painter
who ******* up and ruined
the painting that is you
and all i am capable of
is taking all my watercolours
and fixing your canvas
and painting the rainbow
and making it better
i ****
at painting
but it’s all i can do
i’m pathetic
i’m sorry
but i’ll do
my best to fix you
in my clumsy way.

you're not your hair:
you can cut it dye it curl it straighten it shave it bend it twist it;

you're not your face:
you can hide it under layers of make-up you can put on lenses you can change your face in a matter of minutes;

you're not your skin:
you can cut it draw on it bite it tear it;

you're not your body:
you can lose weight gain weight;

you're not your clothes:
strip them off;

never reduce
yourself
to
a colour
a number
an adjective
a noun

never reduce
yourself
to a simple
word

you are
the thoughts you have at 3 a.m.
the lame jokes you tell your friends
the art you create
the books you read
the pages you have dog-eared
the quotes you have highlighted
the coffee you never finished drinking
the movie you watch after midnight, wrapped in a blanket
the chocolate cake you ate that night with that girl
the slice of pizza you could've eaten but you gave to your best friend
the kiss that still burns on your lips
the cigarettes that sting in your lungs long after you smoked them
the dreams you dream
the worlds you build in your mind
the song that's stuck in your head
the moments you're in the shower
the iloveyous
the ikindaguessilikeyous
the icareforyous
the seeyoulaters
the words you say
the smiles you smile
the laughs you laugh
the loves you love
the hates you hate

you are
an entire universe:
you're stars
and planets
and galaxies
and asteroids
and comets

you are a cosmos
trapped in
a shell.

you are
a gazillion worlds
locked in
a human cage.

never think
of yourself
as of
anything
less.

every time
you touched me
it meant the world
to me.
interstellar explosions
showers of stardust
the milky way on
my skin
traced by your fingers
and lips
galaxies of emotion
so cosmic
so out of this world

i don't know how to live with the fact
that your hands were all over me
and for you
it would've made no difference
had it been somebody else

or should i say some body else

Food for maggots - out future,  our fate.
To hell with your beauty,
to hell with your brains,
to hell with your kindness,
to hell with your vain.
You live - and you blink - and you die.
To hell with your grace,
to hell with your "smart",
to hell with your "ugly",
to hell with your scars,
to hell with your pain
and to hell with your joy,
and to hell with your love
and to hell with your hate.
In vain, in vain, in vain!
Food for maggots - nothing  remains,
nothing ever stays, it's all in vain -
in vain, in vain, in vain.

hey, you say
he smiles and you
light up
he throws his arm around you
and replies, hey, bud
you want to cry and trace his lips
and make him
mutter your name
while you have
your tongue in his mouth
you want to touch him,
trace the map of your heart
all over his skin
but he can't know
he won't know
if only he knew you'd be dead meat
with ****** carved on your skin

she grins at you
and loops her arm through yours
and shows you her bra
does this dress make me look fat
and you wish you could say
you're beautiful
and touch her back as you
slide the dress down her sides
but she chuckles and says
i think that boy is cute
why won't he ask me out
and you know
she can never know
she won't ever know
if you ever touch her
she'll push you away
yell, ew, a ****

you're oh so pretentious
you, such little poser
you've only ever been with guys
you don't know what it's like
to be with a lady
what a grand faker
you're so not special
shut the **** up

you're being ridiculous
don't you like ***
well you've never had it
find someone to put you in bed
I promise you'll like it
the best time you've ever had
now don't be a freak

here's something unheard
not in *** ed
and not at home
who sleeps with whom
is a business of their own

they told me i could find out
how you feel about me
by the way you kiss me.

you kissed with all your strength
yet at the same time gentle
you kissed with passion and with rage
you kissed me all-consuming.

i could've judged by those
so many kisses
that i meant the world to you
and that you ******* adored me

oh! was i such a fool!
it turns out you could kiss me
like i was everything
and at the same time i meant
**N O T H I N G