My alibi is

simply that I don't want to --


betray my comrades.

Contagion you have made some ill, some die
Some weak, some weaker still but I
Have found in you an unexpected Alibi.
Confined I find like mind apt to remind
Of a former time. Yet, your spiky crown
First afflicting then affecting did come down.

Let the babble stop
Let the brain farts cease
Let pleasure be your guide
And the poet slip into their persona,
Like a performance uniform,
A slip dress
An existential throw up of thoughts like
Bad Chinese food.
The kind that climbs out of Tupperware,
slippers ready

Of Tupperware and ready slippers
***** out takeaway rice.
Performance uniforms sit up in bed,
Babbling about existential poets.
The bad Chinese food
Waltzes with its guide,
Brain dribbles out of nostrils.
Dear night-shoes,
This babble has ceased,
Pleasurely.

Like a clockwork's rhyme
they grow on him,
the soft moan of her heels.
Here she comes, they tell him
as they gently pry loose
of her tender feet.

A quiver is set into motion
like strings of a cello
consumed by touch
every time her voice breaks free
like a fugitive
from its own abode.

The visiting breeze crosses by
the slow hum
of her breathing,
and carries the gasps
in hurried echoes
to remind him she's checked in.

A mischief rolled into smile
escapes her lips
to touch a heart so shy,
only to leave it
and **** with pain
while making it a willing alibi.

i wish i had no face.
that way i could always have an excuse.

hey do you want to come out with us? were going to get some drinks.

"no i cant, sorry" ill say, gesturing knowingly towards the ether where my eyes, nose and mouth should be.

its the perfect alibi.
ill stand out so much
i might actually fit in.
sure it may take awhile
but people always adjust to things
even the abnormal
even if what they have to adjust to is technically nothing.
just skin over bone, no expression or words.

instead i just feel like an actor
like another life form.
like everyone can see it but me.

im too afraid to admit
that i have no one else to blame.

i wish i had no face

It's almost funny how things change. How surprised I am that no matter how stuck in the past I tend to be life around me still moves on, it's like my heart beats backwards while time ticks forward. My heart beats rapidly, knowing where I was going before I recognized the turns I was taking. I'm a sucker for memories and I came here to try and breathe like I used to be able to do but it's different. The snow has melted much like who I used to be and there are no deep conversations just a half moon and a lit up skyline. I want to lean against the rails and remember the ghost of somebody who pressed me up against them but much like him they're gone. They were thrown away like our time together. I remember walking along the edge to overlook the chunks of ice thinking maybe if I fell onto one of them they'd take me somewhere better, now I'm too scared to climb up. How many calories would I burn falling into the lapping waves and fighting to not drown in them? Not enough. Never enough. And I want to say that's not the point but it is. I can't see a forward so I walk backwards and retrace the steps to who I used to be and it brings me back to sickness and I don't want to fight it because pills have to be taken with food and I don't eat enough to fit them into my life. This is what I've become, or its who I've always been. All I can think about is how alone I am and will be and I'm over the moon that soon I'll have everyone I love with me again, it tears me apart to think of when they leave, leave me to figure out if I'm more than any alibi I've ever shown. I'm trapped and I chose this for myself but that doesn't make it hurt any less. It was a self fulfilling prophecy, I wanted to escape who I've been but she catches up with me every time I cry in the parking lot I used to feel so alive in, every time I hear about self inflicted wounds I remember the feeling of my own and I wish they were there again to remind me I'm human and I should treat myself as such. But I'm empty, as empty as the railing that doesn't recognize me as empty as the ice less water and as empty as a plate of food. I'm not sick I'm stuck and I don't want help my Astoria will claim me and when it does I'll claw my way out because I'm a fighter and no matter what I've been through I've always proved that. My mother told me I always play the victim when I try to tell her how I feel and I let her have that. The only victim I've ever been is a victim of myself, of my mind and my heart and I'd dare say my soul if I thought I had one. There's no philosopher in the world who can save me now and no person who thinks to. I don't want to be saved, I just want to feel alive. And some days I do but today I don't. Right now I just want to close my eyes and remember things my brain has let disappear, I want to make something out of nothing and tell someone how I feel without thinking I'm being too much trouble or drawing attention to myself. I want to be alive again but I let such little things **** me slowly and its up to me. Always up to me.