You're my fault,
The product of my imagination,
Everything in life I wanted,
Everyone I wanted to live in stagnation,
I'd rather live in my anger,
Then let it live in me,
And if the meds aren't in my head,
It's all the broken images of what I wanted life to be.

One step up
Reach to the left
One hand after the other
Grip. Slip. Crunch.
On the ground,

Stretch and pull
Out of a right angle
Heat and ice
Hang in distortion
Pressing into a straight line

Bones rearranged
Cracked and torn
Bent out of form
Numbing pain zings
Restriction in movement

Melt into blank stares
Therapy, therapy, repeat!
Doctor calls and late-night sprawls
Shape a new reality.
Bending into strength

My body is broken
But doesn't really matter
How badly beat up I get
My soul still wants
To pick a fight

I guess us fighters
Are just made like that
We never really know
When and how to quit
We're too **** tough
For our own good

We just want that fire
So we keep pushing
On and forward
Forward and on

I grip the stained pen....
trying to stay in between the lines.
my hands are shaking, palms sweaty.
pressing the metal ball down towards the crumpled paper, pressing and pressing but nothing comes out....
a tear falls from my cheek as the dry cartridge remind me of you.
stall notebooks lining my book shelf.
I need the ink to bleed from me as you did
but the words are gone since you left.

"I hate that they were right

you were too good to be true

because you were
a fairy tale

my subconscious

A projection
of what I wanted

my cravings

all which

would never amount
to anything but that".

Love,romance

The commonest emotion

I've seen ,heard and felt

Pitiful if you ask me

It's beginning blinds us so

That the middle and end is a blur

Just another page we've torn of our lives

The greatest of them fall

So why bother then

It's simple

It's hope when there's non

Even the most eloquent or the majority

Do promises such pleasure

But I haven't seen one
That met such expectations

Just like our fingers

We can't be loved the same

One could be broken person

who is promised a good stitching

Other needs a sense of completion

The purpose of it is still a mystery

That its not worth holding my breath for.

I wish I was a robot with no feelings in my heart,
I wouldn’t worry about comments piercing me like a dart.

Those times when I don’t understand what I feel,
My eyes cloud with tears and my knees kneel.

When my world turns dark and there’s no one around,
The only place my body surrenders is the ground.

All these emotions haunting my spirit to seal,
I have no hope and forget to heal.

I wish I could be strong and have a new start,
I wish I was a robot with no feelings in my heart.

Played Me Twice

I cared—
but you showed me you didn’t.
Twice you hurt me,
played in my face,
toyed with my feelings,
left me broken—
mentally scarred.

You lied,
again and again.
Said you loved me,
said I was pretty,
said you wouldn’t leave,
that we’d last more than a year.
But words were just words—
empty promises,
fading echoes.

Now I don’t believe in love.
I don’t trust.
I don’t do long-term
because of you.
We weren’t even long distance—
same area,
same streets,
almost every day together.

You broke up with me
two days before your birthday.
I had gifts—
but they never made it to you.
I cried every night,
poured my heart out
to friends who couldn’t fix it.

We “got back together”
the night before my cruise,
but we never really did,
did we?
You posted you were single—
and I didn’t even hurt
the same way.

10/10/23—
the first time we broke.
Months of silence,
but every couple weeks,
you’d text,
give me hope,
like maybe,
just maybe
this time would be different.

But it never was.

I still love you—
but I hate you too.
I hope you grow up,
stop playing with hearts
like they’re toys.

I wish you well,
but I hope you remember—
you played me twice.