i start to mourn it
when its not over.
my body leaves traces
of unspoken distortions
of reality in motion:

our first kiss, our first
date, our first hopes and
mistakes, will they matter
in the long run, will they
turn into a free fall?

trying to cherish what we
have gone through i feel
so isolated by your unspeakable
truths, your saddened distance
is a blessing in disguise: i fear

i can not look you any longer in
the eyes. your remarkable sighs,
the silence that stomps on the tip
of your tongue whenever i tell you
all i want is to talk, all i want is to

have you, feel you close, make you
promise i am the one thing you really,
really want. i find myself wondering if
that's all because i never had you in
the first place: i wouldn't be begging

you to tell me if you were truly mine,
if you were on my side. i feel unloved
and unlovable, it's not your fault if
you don't show what you can't show,
it's not your fault. all i've ever wanted

in this life was to feel that someone chose
me, prioritized me over everything and
everyone: i've prayed for that kind of thing
to happen with the desperation of a small
insect not to be pushed against the wall.

that will ultimately be my downfall: to still
believe i am not worthy if i am not being
loved, to believe life was meant to be lived
in love, haven't i had enough? i spend days
paralysed in bed, crying my eyes out to the

memory of a future tense in which you are
something i can come to, a home, a haven,
a muddy love letter. i can no longer wait
for you to be mine. you've never wanted that.
yet i don't want to be alone, i don't want to let

it go. why should i speak hard truths when i can
devour sweet blindness? why should i believe
it's over? lingering has always been my worst
and best endeavour. i just wish you made the effort.
staying would be less painful.

We learn to smile with our lips peeled back,
half-feral, half-forgotten,
daughters of flesh and teeth,
tasting the world as it tears through us—

The earth calls us by name,
whispering whorls and wants like lullabies,
beckoning hearts that never knew mercy,
braiding hair with thorns and boughs.

We answer in hunger,
all iron and salt, thirst and thistle,
skin pulling tight over gnarled roots and longing,
nerves quivering like a candle burning at both ends.

We sharpen ourselves on what remains—
cracked knuckles, raw knees,
holding the ache like a birthright,
swallowing each bruise,
never begging, only bleeding.

You left me crying in the hotel bathroom
You left me spying in the restaurant too

You saw me for who I am
Then went up and ran
While I’m working on my tan
Trying not be who I am

Gotta stop begging you to stay
And turning up the Lana del rey
Cause I’m no one’s Brooklyn baby
I’m feeling just a bit crazy

Here, the wind whips
The desert sand
Into a furious haze
That blinds all in
It's vicinity

Here, my neighbor is
Dragged out and ******
And my other neighbor
Is drugged out, ******
Different burden, different labor

I pray,
On my knees
Toward the east.
I pray for change
I beg and plead,
Please

I fear that one day, I will run out of words.
I fear that there will come a time
when every word I speak, write or think falls flat and bland.
That the meaning will be stripped,
and all intentions will be rendered dull after years of use.
My writings and work will be repetitive, a pointless task… a fading chant.
The cycle continues, with no way of slowing.
I drag my feet, digging them into the earth,
but still it moves. My heels are so ******, and my blisters are festering.
My fear is already growing so large,
that even before half of my life has gone,
my words have already begun to run out.
How am I fading so quickly?
How long until I vanish completely?
Will any part of me remain?
With everything I have barely done.
I’m beg, beg, begging you. Please.
I need my words to linger, just a little longer.