Oof

Ow

You got me.

What now

Tss

Ah

What a
crushing
blow.

Mm

Yah

You showed me

the overground, the
boom-boom, boom-boom,
the repetitive rhythm
of youth, of you, of
your hands between my thighs,
of yellow-golden-brown
sun stains on the wall,
of yawns interrupted by kisses.
that train lulled me to sleep,
it opened my heart and
it broke me, silently,
into a saltwater version of truth;
where am i? what am i
supposed to be doing here?
why can't i see you?
i scream into my pillow
these rhetorical tortures
until my throat is numb and
my head feels like
that train;
boom-boom. boom-boom. boom-boom.

Ill ***** my guts out with one more word from you
Itll leak to my feet like a bottle of shampoo.
           Tears from the young me reappear on my face
But those howls ill keep someplace safe.
           This ring is from someone that loves me
But it burns my finger til i set it free.
           If im here just to save you from lonliness
Well sorry i cant save something i cant caress.
           If i told you what you old me
I bet youd have run and run and run to flee
           But jokes on you cos you came back to this
But my old heart and my new heart cannot coexist
           Everytime you broke me down then asked me back
Well lets just say that the heart i had for you will never be fully intact

Plenty of reasons to cry but not been able to do from ages
What should I call this a fake happiness or a tried conspiracy
To just burn myself in the flames of hatred that the world is throwing at me
The heart is demanding answers
Even the heaviest of rock guitar riffs are not helping me this time to overcome the screams of the heart.
Just burning feeling is a constant
Is it all about money and possessions and degrees?
I am unable to decode these patterns.

The sky is crying, just like me
The clouds keep screaming, out to me.
They boom and roar and bang against my roof,
I wish I could calm them down the way they made my stress and tears disappear.

I promise to write till I have no words with me.
I will write till I've exceeded my limit and can no longer do no more.
And even once my hands are unable to write, I will stay loyal to you.
I will admire the art that you are.

At my lowest,
You held my hands and listened to my withering heart.
You locked eyes with my darkest holes and smiled.
You gave me a pen and whispered, "Write.Anywhere, colour your pain and let me feel it"

During my drought,
We fought.
Countless of times.
I began to lose hope in us but you stayed.
You pushed pens, pencils and papers in my direction and told me to write.
"Good or bad just write, I'm not here to judge", you sang to me.
But I refused.
Blocking your lullaby because I was afraid.
Afraid that I would let you down if it was bad.
I only wanted the best for you.
The best from me.

The drought got worse.
I couldn't write and my heart ached
My souls cried,
My hands itched.
I was craving you.
So I wrote.
Good or bad because ultimately
You won't judge me.

During my moments of happiness.
I wrote a lot,
I wrote till the tips of my hands turned purple.
Till I could feel my own heart beat synchronise with the movement of the pen.
Till my arm cried in pain as my triceps and biceps contracted and relaxed.
I could not stop.
I simply still cannot stop.

You watched me write.
You watched my body grow in anticipation.
Grow anxious to touch a pen.
You smiled and whispered to me
"You're finally writing your heart"

I turned back and looked at you.
Engraved with people's lives.
Coloured with their greatest dreams and nightmares.
Inked with so much of their emotions.

I laughed and turned back.
Jotted down so gracefully.
"She is my heart"

Spite contorted smiles
And lips
Drenched in green
Sought the satins that never
Satisfy – Sheets, fallen,
Wings, blistered,
And holes burnt through the
Bottoms of shoes.

So I pace myself parallel
The corner of one left
Eye, peripheral and
Gazing to the
Two-step-stumble
I now partake;
An answer to
Her dance with
Impending desire.

Me, being the reluctant,
Me, being the timid, the torrent
And soon to blow over.

I know I’ll leave,
She didn’t,
And more importantly,
I know she’d find home,
Discovered, empty
With little more than
Lint in pocket, abandoned,
Just one lonely shiver
And looking for warm.

So if my cold hadn’t taken over
Not quite yet,
I’d give her a
Blanket,
It’s the best I can do,
It’s all I can do,
But at least it’s
Something I can do.