Replaying a riff four times perfectly
One missed fret and the entire day ends disastrously
Replaying moments of kindness and warmth
To overcome the feverish idea that I hold no heart

Every fourth step, threes end in ******
Maimed images constantly creep
This subconscious ludovico technique
These thoughts come and go in no particular order

A seat at the table and a serviette on my lap
What if I leapt out my chair and suddenly attacked?
What if I aimed the knife towards my hand?
I constantly question if that’s who I am

I will have a picnic with her today, all joy and cheer
When these intrusive thoughts will inexplicably get near
And terrorize my attitude as well as my image
Disassociating with a perplexed and horrified visage

I’m so incredibly tired of existing
A cruel and ironic fate
I’ve missed out on so many opportunities
All because of this miserable headspace

One.

Two.

Three.

Four.

Fi-

Or...

Was...



It

four?

Better

start

again,

being

safe..



One.

Two.

Three.

Four.

Five.

Six.

Seven.



Start

Again.

Counting.

Every.

Single.

Thing.

He­re.



Cracks.

Wait?

How

long

was

that

there?



One.

Two.

Three.

Four.

Five.

Six.

Seven.
­


Scratching.

Poking.

Prodding.

Anxiety

makes

me

tick.



­Breathe.

One.

Out.

Two.

Breathe.

Three.

Out.



Four.

Brea­the.

Five.

Out.

Six.

Breathe.

Seven.



Haiku.

Seven.

Five­.

Sev-

Five.

Seven.

Five.



Seven

Doesn't

Have

Seven

Freaking

Numbers



Crap.

That

was

six.

Need

to

revise.



Seven.

Six.

Five.

Four.

Three.

Two.

­One.



In.

Out.

In.

Out.

In.

Out.

In.



Ignore

it.

But
­
I

Can't.

You

can.



But

I

simply

don't

have

the

strength.



I

just

can't

stop

ticking

right

n­ow.



Help

me.

Gonna

drown

and

die.

Save

me.



Seven.

S­ix.

Five.

Four.

Three.

Two.

One.



Now

it's

too

late

to

save

me.



The

numbers

have

already

won

this

one.

~
Her sweet dewed her fringe
to her forehead.
She had nibbled on the
ivy with leaves of gold
which she turned to powder.
Her eyes filled with passion
as she cups her hands to
drink the flame-laced
syrup born on from
Falling moons
~

Painting me
Like one of your French girls
Is a little worse than cliche.
Paint me in your mind
With rose petals for hips
And the most divine night sky
Beneath my lashes.
Speckle pigments across my skin
Freckles like wet sand, stuck.
Color my scars brightest
Impure veins like that of a leaf
Carrying stories, not water.
Paint my smile most of all
Paint it weighed down by stones
Too many for anyone to remember
Yet stretching, brightly
As if to reach the moon.
Above all else, paint me yours.