I should move to a brand new city
And teach myself how to die.
Just like Mistki sang
I'm here again.
I've been so many people in so many places I'm tired to ressurect.
The motion and the stumbles
Have gotten me tired.
And now I sit in bed or in the backyard.
Listening to my head or my mom mar.
Me, no-one else.
Telling me how she'll let me know what you can sense,
From your first sniff.
A toothpick and a q-tip and she burns it.
Brings it close to my nostril and tells me to snort it.
And oh is it hurting.
My ear my brain my sinuses begging.
She says ******* is 5 times the feeling
And Im so concerned, I only half confessed to **** why is she showing this to me?
Ah it's another trap I see.
I ask where did she get it?
How would you know mommy?
Have you done it?
Tell me I'll keep it a secret I promise.
"no"
I've had friends die from it.
Oh it's that type of trap, it was anticipative.
Another warning turned life story
Another life story incomplete because I'm not deserving.
Another life another city.
She does it to me, and I become it.
This poem was supposed to be about dissapearing not my lineage.
Now it's both.
A declaration that I won't continue it.
I promise.

Compensez acum pentru câte n-am trăit,

O mandibulă travertin, nu-mi mai filtrează plămânii

Decât când sunt singura

mint

Când sunt singură ajung la apogeul interogării.

Da, are dreptate acum m-am convins.

Nu mai *** spune că beau sau că fumez în plan social

Un viciu real e un viciu personal iar eu...

Eu îmi transform tot în viciu atât cât există în intimitatea propriei mele minți.

Îmi privatizez existența precum visam că voi face, un chin, o răutate de nedescris la fel *** spunea tata-totul se va întoarce când "ai grijă ce-ți dorești că poate se îndeplinește."

Tată, nu e un "poate" , vezi tu toate aceste spuse intră în contradicție;mi-ai spus că tot ce vreau, primesc și ai dreptate-nu e un "poate" , e unica certitudine.

Tată dacă ai știi că glumele despre un viitor malefic aveau să devină realitate pentru fiica ta, le-ai mai fi spus?

Și această frumusețe de a trăi și de a admira tot malefică rămâne în prisma unei existențe deteriorate, acrită de timp.

Tată dacă ți-aș fi spus că era prea târziu, ai mai fi venit?

Toată această ardoare a mea de a afla *** se poate trăi mă conduce dintr-o viață în alta.

Și așa schimb lumi, anotimpuri, oameni, existențe - eu avertizez dar niciuna dintre aceste vorbe nu sunt concrete, aceste discursuri discrete, aceste vise pe jumătate coerente-eu nu sunt poet când îmi găsesc vină, când mă blamez, eu nu sunt poet când previn oricât de frumos poate suna.

eu nu sunt poet, nu când fumez, nu când implor, nu când sufăr.

Tată, eu știu că nu mă vrei poet, ceva filozof delirând într-o râpă.

Tată, asta se întâmplă,asta se va întâmpla.

I live in a world of encrusted lies.
In a world of hellos that never come again after goodbyes
.
A world where they say you can't do anything right before you're worthless
.
I live in a world of constant distress.
A world where we choose hahas over *******
A world where we wait for red to turn into blue
.
I live in a world of worries
Where nobody gives a **** unless they're inside your story
.
A world of pretty lies and unspoken truths
A world with philosophy questioning our never ending route
.
What's a lie they say
Because they say at least one everyday.
But they're good aren't they?
I've been wrapped up in them for the past decade.
I'll drown in them by the time I'm 30.
Die with them when my coffin waits for me.

Mosquito bites
And hands on ***** tiles
Forgotten sights
Regretted smiles
I'll do better tommorow
I'll be more productive
It won't last forever
But it's the best that it could be.
Memories and laughter
In my head's now all a disaster.
Love and humid weather
I am so lonely I just forgot..
What was together?

I told my friend that love is silent until it's on the edge of dying out.
It seems like ~love~ calls out the moment you don't feel like loving anymore.
And I said this without knowing what love is.

loveless songs fix my teeth,
and make up my mind.
it's late and I can't stop coughing,
threw on my drapes so the light hides behind.
loveless songs they play their ever so lovely tunes.
if i close my eyes the music accompanies the walls of my mind pretty well.
ain't that cool?
we're doomed to live a life of rather meaninglessness.
so why do I waste my share?
I'm growing ruby strawberries on my windowsill but I let them die,
what a standard human I am.
i am counting down days and hours and seconds,
poured down oblivion' s throat,
just for the universe to throw it up on someone else.
calculating the molecular probability of soul mates.
i'm an overly clicheic cliché living in the hypocritical world of not wanting to be one.
i listen to the songs i find necessary,
music is less than just entertaining,
so i lay in my bed and continue to confuse me.
drowning in the gigantic pile of imaginary flower petals of the flowers that would've probably lived if I wasn't so careless.
I am a **** joy if you get what I'm saying.
Look at me amusing myself in my own writing!
i should go to sleep someday,
but everyone's too sick to close their eyes while the stars are up and too tired to keep them opened in the sunlight.
Oh save our broken generation.
Full of misbehaved and twisted individuals such as my own self.

i am so exhausted
of the cotidian
the daily
the unorthodox.
i want to be afloat,
no more of this suspended waiting
no more of this nonsense.
i want silence, not bliss,
i want not the love but a mere kiss,
a breath of air inspired into my throat warmly.
i want too much already...
a little more sleep
a little more warmth
PATIENCE
or,  maybe
death.

°
A shard of a body
That's what I was at 8
I remember knowing I was watched.
Never when I smiled, only when I endured.
Acid words, their silver impact
Midas made gold, so my skin must've shimmered.
A remnant of soul,
Waiting for twilight so I can crawl
Within myself and rest for the night.
From 7 to 9 I used to beg for love,
That's why I have so much pride today.
Infancy meant smothering the floor with my ****** knees and begging,
Pleading like a fly to a swatter, to be saved, to be forgiven.
I used to think to- myself "mercy is so hard to work for".
At 10 I took to nightly silence,
A knock at the door meant a visit and five meant I was the outsider.
Waiting for the neighbours to glance at each other while I was counting roaches, dead on the stairs.
A scrap of mind,
When I still thought god loved me, I used to pray,
To be taken and never given away.
To be given my knees back in exchange for me.
I used to ask to be given mind if death wasn't ready to take so young.
But church was empty and I was never accompanied just held by the hand.
A shard of body, a remnant of soul, a scrap of mind
I'd tell the child we've been dead and we're now gods.
She'd believe me,
She'd believe anything.
I should've killed you, child.
It would've been faster, a respectful execution.
I love you child.
Tonight you may be worth only one tear
But you have cried enough for me.

medusa can you feel me?
i've become hard of hearing.
medusa can you see me?
or are the slithers interfeering?
medusa i can feel you staring
why is counciousness abandoning me?
daring yet consoling,
this cigarette that i'm holding.
one more hit and im running
one more hit, i'll be glowing.
the fog in my head, medusa , is nothing but healing,
bet you all my ancestors are proud, ever so loving
surprinsed at the vices i'm honing.
medusa our turn always comes, you don't have to worry
we are sentenced allegory
condensed spring scented fury.
medusa spit on me.
i am anything but awake,
anything but aware
kiss my dreams away

fatalism și reavăn.
reavăn și fatalism.
n-am mai scris,
n-am mai scris.
mi-a mers gura prea puțin și acum mi-e capu-n groapă.
mă soarbe Oltul ?
Rămân o cruce ortodoxă, stingheră pe marginea drumului, îndoită de mașini în depășire.
reavăn... e reavăn după ploaie și îmi intră în vene.
fatalism slav și decăderea omului, cui i-am mai dat urechile mele?
asta nu sunt eu aici,
nu eu aud, nu eu simt.
ace și mâini atinse, drumuri scurse, reavăn și fatalism.
da n-am mai scris!
nu, nu, pentru că nu ***!
nu în București, nu în tramvai, nu in scaunul din dreapta, nu cu mâna lui tata strânsă pe volan, nu cu piciorul scuturându-mi în spital.
un chist pe ovar, un folicul hormonal habar n-am;tot e un reavăn tot e fatalism și eu iar n-am scris.
poate că nu mai am de ce.
viața e film destul nu mai are nevoie de scenarist, viața m-a depășit uite, e self-sustaining!
Tata a zis că i-am frânt inima când i-am zis să mă ia acasă la 2 ani, ce isteric.
Nu mai vreau să aud, nu mai vreau să simt atât de greu din cer curgându-mi la tălpi,
rămân reavăn și fatalism și nu mai scriu nimic, nimic.
reavăn sărută buzele astea - petale de iris lăsate în soare!
reavăn, reavăn sărută trupul ăsta și mintea ce duc oriunde în nicăieri!
reavăn, sărută fatalismul ăsta infantil și torturat și dă-mi înapoi tot ce a fost și poate fi eu!

as you look out the window with your deep set eyes you tell me how you think the earth's breathing if you focused enough.
ironically enough I've always seen that.
pretty broken doll tell your jokes and stories once more so I could draw another smile on my face.
teach me how you do it... Wait I think I've been doing it myself for too long.
I tell you to play me something on the drums you so angrily enchant.
Play me something so the vibration coming off the drums would wake me up again.
I sit down on the always broken bench waiting for you to sit next to me.
But you always stay behind hands on the bench almost wanting to take the bench away.
I wish I wouldn't have to look up as you speak.
"could you be my lookout this summer?"
"I would sure if I'm still here"
the pretty lines on your jaw drop as you think it through
I'm leaving honey, what does it mean to you?
"you can't, you need to stay here for me just one more year"
I tell you I can't though I'd like to tell you that I would love to stay one more year just to come back everyday for you to tell me what cracked you up and what broke you down.
I'd stay so maybe one day our eyes would be allowed to look at eachother.
but i tell you I can't because there's no way I could
and as I say it I'd like to shed a tear but I've trained myself to well
As I say it I look up once more to see the pretty lines get sharper almost like they've accepted.
Trust you trust me don't you?
With your love interest, music taste, sexuality, drugs and life stories
As the bell rings we hide behind questions.
Are we both afraid of the same thing?
Couldn't be right?
You're wanted I'm not.
Correction
I want you, you don't.
Bad influence
It's you who made me want to turn my guts upside down for a drop of the same hallucinating I have every night in my dreams.
But it's you who gives me hope and despair.
Soft spoken we'll never be close to that.
Concave destroyed lover
I can't compare.
Do you feel these things anymore or have you given them up to the overdose?
Would you laugh at my sloppy poetry and prose?
You probably would.
Senseless *******
You know fixing you is a desire of mine
But humans can't get fixed love
Not by individuals at least.
And everyday as I tell you your eyes are beautiful for their central heterochromia
Everyday as you don't believe it so I need to make up another description.
I'll enjoy it and know that you're well enough.
I'm probably inexsitent in your mutilated brain
Since our worlds are far apart
But honey we're separetely the same.
We just never made contact.
And now I know as I saw the tears curdle up in your eyes
That maybe just maybe you're not as lost as I thought you'd be.

Neón lines on broken machinery
Warm showers and cold lingerie.
Neon lights repel and embrace me
Warm showers are just bath wannabes
Skyscrapers at night
Irking the moon
No humans in sight
The surface is cool.
Neon lights can't warm it up
They're just pretty to look at.
But I swallow them up slowly so maybe
I'll be considered holy.
And I enter my warm shower, only warm place I have left.
I let it combine the neon lights with the water.
So I can die slowly in the fluid neon and rest.

Well thought out impulsive decisions,
Not wise but planned.
Still impulsive just measured.
My being.
That's all my life has ever been
And the moment I think I know the world.
It turns back and spits on me.
you thought...

Gravitația situației
Poate că eu nu înțeleg.
Dormitul e o distracție.
Că mă ascund nu neg.
Într-o constantă rotație.
Eu nu fac turul complet.
Plutesc poate prea mult în ultimul timp.
Distruge-mă dacă poți.
Noaptea se transformă în anotimp.
Și ne primește pe toți.
Eu nu mai stau trează.
Fac parte din delincvenții nocturni.
Ne uităm la lună și așteptăm următoarea faza.
Ne uităm la stele și la cerul bătrân.
Se pare că a devenit o pasiune acestă tortură diurnă.
Dar nu pare așa rău când suntem împreună.
Deși "treaz".
E greu de obținut zilele acestea.
O să rămân fără răgaz.
Dacă mă las prizonieră în noaptea grea.

I miss the Istanbul mists
And Bucharests's dissapointments
I watch the street's misfits,
And measure their arrogances.
****, I'm salivating...
For these sporadic romances.
You see it's raining now and I don't expect abeyances.
Wish the rain would sing me back into sleeping.
Greecian exhalation
And American expectation
I'm living in a fragment.
Illegal teleportation
My withdrawals have become desperation,
No more time to lament.
The scent of international alienation
It aches and it digs
The immortal veneration
Of all these useless schemes.
I exert into mindless illusions
And pray to yield its fruits
But these are altiloquent pretentions
And real life seems so crude.
I become cosmical equation
A simple empyrean constellation
And continue breathing solely in my imagination.

Bruised violet sky of the mornings
Question my empathy
Blood red midnight skies
Take care of me.
It's been the same for days
Me and hurting for others.
I'm trying to find different ways
Of turning love into a color
And hate into desire.
It's been a couple of long nights
Of manufacturing dreams made out of worn out luster.
I'm staring right into the lights
Of bright disaster.
Love me rotting wood
Loosening up to the wind
Keep me painted in ****
I'm just a poisonous fiend.
Fading away into the blue

I remember
That day when we went for a "small" getaway.
Still not summer
But it was hot enough that day.
That day we saw
Maybe the most beautifully surreal sunset.
Respecting no law
We just sat and stared at it.
Couldn't take our eyes off
The magnificent illusions of the sun.

We drove off
And the music begun.
On our merry way of contemplating
About planets and their orbiting
Stars and their loved nobodies.
We sang away to all the melodies.

Night was swallowing up our car
But we we're still marveling at every star.
And it's one of those only times I felt free
That's what freedom felt like to me.

It was also the first time I felt this type of love
Platonic
In love with someone's soul
Deliric
In love with the world
I'm in.
The only moment I had with no worry
And i thought this is the perfect moment to write  about it
One of my only happy memories.

It seems so ethereal now
So unreachable.
But to that moment I bow
Now I'm alone.
For that moment now I grieve.
There's none of that freedom left for me.
But the getaway remains
In our beloved rotting brains.

She says I sound like the flavour she smokes every now and then.
Velvet hookah smoke.
She's afraid, she's not.
I guess I am pretty frightening.
She says you're too real for me.
So different from what I imagined you to be.
She says my life's going too well for me to be negative.
And I laugh.
It's 4:39 and I want nobody.
Not a soul, not à hand to touch me.
People are tiring.
With their words and repetitive situations,
I seldom rather silence so I don't become a répétition of myself.
I take her outside and hand her a slim lighting it up blindly.
She smokes and stops talking.
"give me one"  so I take the cigarette and take it to my chest and out my nose.
Such a surprised grimace "you know how to inhale nicotine huh?"
I take one more and tell her I now understand why people smoke ever so desperately.
The placebo vice of normativity.
Smoking is like meeting people.
Seemingly good, foolish and totally unhealthy.
I'm tired of this patterned living.
She says how can your mind go to so many places?
Said that she could drown in my thoughts and I'd still find the simplicity of others fascinating.
Which I am not denying.
My mind's à pretty big ballroom.
With lacquered black floors perfectly made to reflect sound.
And she says she's scared.
Scared that I'm too complex,
Scared because I belong in too many places.
I tell her she's just confused and restless.
I tell her she should think of me less and let the nicotine in her body rest.
And I do confess.
That whole night was meaningless.

Do know
That when I put that ciggarete on my soft lips
I've given up
To the world's blunts and hits
I've changed my motto to **** everything.
Do know that when I inhale the devil's fragrance
I'd probably be madly in love with him
Like I've always been.
Bathing in the world of what they call sin
I'm loving it.
But yes
,
Do know that when that ciggarete is smoked
I've probably put down all my rules and walls
Probably decided that life wouldn't end if I try its finest poisons.

oh how you believe,
that the imbecility surrounding will dissipate,
that all that is unjust you can eradicate.
foolishly hoping and dreaming for a day,
when the unjust will finally be fair.
how you cant take in the real,
maybe that's why i feel so non-existent,
i have been too aware for my own good.
.
trebuie înghițită ideea de a trăi în imbecilitatea mediului,
de a-ți păstra șirul gândurilor într-o lume plină de jeg.
visez la nopți în cluburi goale de sub pat
gol și anost
sufăr cu strălucire.

I noticed
a girl with scissor earrings on the bus,
What an amusing tiny anecdote ha!
Two more in different intervals reading in their seats...
(lucky bastarrds who get to seat and to read in these hellish buses)
I digress, one was reading Osho and the other a book called "The relic".
I stare,
that's what I do.
Always.
Stare and laugh then wait for reactions.
Lately the amount of green eyes around me have made me unfaithful to the 2% promise.
Also every crystal blue has been painful.
-please don't watch me unless your gaze is lighter than mine-
There's delight to this dull compression.
We leave crying,
we come back jubilant in sorrow.
What generational wander!
I've been staring and deafening myself to the attentions of others,
Thinking every word addressed may as well be a deathwish.
Give up, you don't want to argue with me...at least not today.
I promised myself a 9 blossomed on my skin, as if mold has inherently carved itself into me.
I'm keeping myself awake for that promise now.
Once it's over I'll promise myself some other futile dream.
Life has been...tame.

Dusted willow songs
Like elderberry resting in the creases of my lips.
The air in my lungs isn't where it belongs,
It's swirling hellishly around heartbeats.
Jarring how this flora rekindles
My mind at night.
Terrifying how my dependency fires
Rue on and **** on sight.
Gravediggers bury my limbs back into your hair for me to feel,
Real.
This touch like baby's-breath, lingers
And stains.
Oh how I know ill never get it off,
Never wash away the rupture of the sound
Of your voice-I'm jealous of the walls in your house, how they must bathe in joy when you speak.
What they must hear I envy every creak.
I am calm I refuse to drown in this fog
I want to breathe in for once, alive.
Difuse this morning reborn by night
Ground down this head of mine, whimper like a dog...
To time eating me raw, snapping at my ankles, rummaging through all,
Let it last longer
Let it never fall.

picături de cafea pe cizmele mele albe din dulap,
lăsate din toamnă să se holbeze în întuneric
praf ce plutește prin lumină feeric, am deschis geamul, sper că merit.
doare subit ceva ce nu simt iar eu din nou am doar 9 ani sub pătură, uitându-mă în gol...
şi caut un clește încins cu care să mă scot afară din mine până nu puşc dinadins.
trec zilele rămân îndrăgostită
de tine și de zidurile ce ne țin în viață
de tine și de primăvară.
orice cameră e de-un bolnăvicios amar, afară respiră sper ca gândurile să mă mintă.
seara stau și miros vară, și e mireasma singurătății, așa de dulce, atât de urâtă.
măcar luna stă nemișcată și când îmi deschid ochii miroase a tot ce am iubit vreodată.
mă ascult pe mine câteodată și sunt tânără
nu mai vreau bani, mâncare sau speranțe
vreau să fiu aici.

solitudine
poate că tu știi mai bine
*** mă simt.
poate că nu vei știi vreodată.
îmi rumegă creierul niște poze, niște intenții, niște gânduri
o duceam mai bine fără.
12 ani de școală formativă care m-a îndrumat să devin o larvă.
sunt doar un copil veșnic nemulțumit, o să treacă, nu ?
mă gândesc la cuvântul "unrequited" de două săptămâni cred că ești tu.
însemnătăți infinite și totuși o fi al iubirii
o fi restul rămas de la magazin când dau 30 de lei pe țigări
o fi creanga ruptă din cireș sau dud când îți venea uber-ul
cam acru
de n-aș avea atâta furie aș zice că nu te-am iubit
aș zice că iubesc amarnic.
n-aș mai zice nimic.
mă ustură ochii
m-au luat în brațe străinii.

sper să plouă încă puțin
să spele țiglele pe care mi-am stins țigările
să șteargă și ultimele urme rămase din mine.
ți-aş spune că nu mai am loc de mine.
că m-am scârbit să-mi tot aud vocea atât de tare, când vorbesc și când tac, încât am căutat tot ce-mi este opus.
o vocea înceată care dă impresia de blândețe, o liniște atât de fină m-am simțit intrus.
ți-aş spune că dau pe afară...
eu, însumi, fizic când nu mai găsesc destul loc în casă încât trebuie să fug
dar și ca aerul îmbâcsit dintr-un autobuz înghițit ca într-o tortură de către pasageri,
nu mai am loc în mine.
aș spune de ură sau de ciudă dar e mai degrabă de o iubire neîmpărtaşită pentru viață.
mai degrabă nu mai am loc de așteptarea asta care pare eternă.
nici nu mai știu ce aștept și de ce
așteptam odată o atingere mai fină decât mâna-mi
dar poate că șmirghelul acesta îmi este sortit și nu mă mai *** ascunde după singurătatea mătăsoasă a altora când îmi țin în frâu solitudini mult mai acre.
poate că generozitatea atingerii este doar o pâclă din care eu nu mai *** ieși și rămân cu impresia că atingerea vindecă.
simt *** rânjește cineva în spatele meu tot timpul și se excită când îmi vede lacrimile.
îmi aud numele șoptit bolnav de către ceva muribund de parcă mă vrea alături iar eu...
eu doar aștept
pentru un piept mai puțin înnodat.

Make sure the doors are open!
So I can stumble in and out with no problem
So you can hear the trample and the bust
Of the bathroom floors as I spill my guts
To love and to decay,
Too pretty to abandon what a frivolous display.
Somehow I know what will make me ache even in the smallest of doses.
My body hates me but my mind hypnotises,
The 7 seconds of drunkeness spilled in euphoric dancing I will pay forever
A 3 day lasting hangover for a fever.
For a few moments when all I feel is beautiful.
Worth the world ringing in my ears, the shame rumbling in my stomach, the haze of it all.
I now no longer feel you, just the world breaking underneath me
For Nina's Baltimore to play and my chest to burn I'm free.
This pain must be reality.
Bent over I'm walking so much farther than I expected,
So fragile, so puny, so ashamed in this shamelessness.
May the day rule and the night linger less,
My mistakes ready to undress for some peace,
Of mind because body will be restless.
Where have you gotten yourself this time spider lilly,
This pit of petals none of them perfuming,
Your dying breath this lifeless body.
Know that you will be the one dying.

How is it that
everyone
Is so good at
destroying themselves
?

§
Mercy shouldn't warm me up
The way it does sometimes
The way it disgusts me.
Shredding the skin on the chords unknowingly
To feel something.
Showering these calloused tips hoping,
My touch to be satin, my voice unbreaking
Mercy shouldn't taste so sweet as it's realising its toxin.
Loom over me, tell me I'm suffering, tell me you agree occasionally.
Hollow out my eye sockets burn my gums they're all aching.
The laced up corset of my ribs is breaking.
All these playful discussions feel like my family's selling me, all this misplaced care, this sporadic goodwill.
Maximise my lifespan make sure I don't die until
I fulfill the system of profanity while grinning.
I am produce I am porcelain I am me.
To be sold, to be passed on, inherited.
What a great joke I'm gatekeeping.

gravat între degete
e un simțământ, o dominanță
al meu de deținut, al meu de păstrat
ochii mei o sfioasă prelingere, sub limbă picură, gheață
vreau să eman, vreau să atrag orice suflare pe care îmi pun ochii-
ai pierdut, punct lovit.
am gravat între degete,
ce e în vis ajunge și în realitate iar undeva mâna ta alege, privirea curge
pe mine.
hai caută, ce am de gând să-ți dau cu atâta grație
arată-mi căldură să simți *** mă topesc, *** băltesc de dor, *** implor o admirație.
te rog atinge ce nu a mai fost de atins, vreau să simt asurzitor cât de mult sunt dorită
nimic mai mult - o clipă de compromis.
strânge tot ce poate fi eu să nu mai respir
împachetează coastele acestea într-o gura de aer împrumutată, ține-o suvenir.
ia-mă cu totul nu mai vreau să simt eu, te rog.
înlocuiește această uzură de zi cu zi cu o obsesie demnă de urmărit, vreau să simt *** mă vrei în disperare- caută-mă
ce contează motivația, mângâie acest schelet inedit și neted, iartă-mă că doar atât *** fi.
un parazit ce-ți vrea atingerea pentru un moment de liniște.

Skin
Too much skin.
Too much space.
Too many flashing lights.
Epilepsy.
Too much skin.
Carnal wishes without discretion.
Killing me.
Too much skin around me.
Too much skin for me too see.
Smoothly.
Lights pulsating under the layers.
I want to feel skin other than mine.
I've gotten tired of wasting time.
Coliding and condoning myself for not looking better.
For not making other layers of skin want mine the way I want them.
No-one particularly.
Tonight I just want to feel loved and I just ain't enough.
Skin.
Kilometers that my fingers want to run over.
Skin stretching over structured bones, taking the hues of the blood passing through.
How does it feel you fool?
To have someone love you thoroughly?
From your veins to nose cartilages ?
How does it feel tell me?
Incoherently I'm thinking if I can find love in my own skin.
Too used to it so negative.
Tell me how does it feel?
To have skin touch yours that is not evil?
How does it feel to not hate the skin you're touching?
How does it feel to love feeling?
Skin.
Too much skin.
Too much space.
Epilepsy.
How would  one's skin ever survive loving me?

What am I to do with the peonies that've sprung,
In my lung,
Since you last kissed me?
My veins thawed from spring and your touch I'm becoming-
The lovers card flipped along with the fool debating beginnings.

Spare me of the self-hatred tonight
Spare me of the pain until sunlight.
Spare me of the sad dreams
I deserve at least one please.
Spare me of the desires and wishes
No-one ever knows what their future is.
Spare me of the cruelty and sour taste
I am tired of every spike of pain my hand creates.
Spare me of this disaster
Spare me yet I have no master.
Who the **** in this world will spare me of the truth?
I keep on bitting from life's poisonous fruit.
Who'd spare me of the true face of earth?
Who'll love the unlovable?
We're afraid of the truth
Yet we're unpredictable.
Who'll spare us all from the war?
If we're all our own murderers at the core?
Spare me I'm already dying
Why should we find the truth if we're all lying?