I'm sorry, really.
I hadn't meant to bother you by
Messaging you everyday for a week,
Each following one more frantic than the last,
Because you wouldn't respond.

I was scared.
Really, really scared.
Scared that you had done something to yourself...

Scared that, maybe, you
Stayed in bed too long
Cut too deep
Went too many days without eating
Too many days skipping your meds-
Or maybe, took all your skipped pills all at once---

It's irrational, I know.
I'm sorry.

...

I remember, I've done this before,
I was... 10, it was 2020.
I remember, my best friend, Kaydence, wouldn't respond to my texts
for a month.
We had fought,
It was some stupid Minecraft game.
And then, she just
Stopped texting
Back.

I was lonely, it was quarantine after all, and I didn't have no one else to talk to.
I texted her every single day
Cried every single day.
I was being dramatic, obviously,
I'm always so **** dramatic.

When she came back, she acted like nothing had happened.
Her mom had just taken away her phone, or something.
I didn't have to worry.

...I think that month I spent, alone,
Thats when it had started to get bad.

...

When you did respond,
you told me that you were sorry.
That you were
alive.
I think you understood where my worry came from.

I asked you where you had been,
and you said that you were just doing school and sleeping.
It was another depressive episode.

Oh, well.

I feel bad to feel relieved,
But
It could've been worse.
You could've
Cut too deep
Or stayed in bed
Or skipped your meds
Or taken too many...

You could've
Left me.

I said sorry for being such a bother,
Said that "I hope you feel better."
And even though thats not quite right thing to say,
But I think that's the closest I could've gotten.

I once checked into an old hotel
that’s served guests for many a year.
The white-clad staff will serve you well
and greet you brimming with cheer.

Its handsome brick and stone façade
shines gold in the bright morning sun.
Inside, the red velvet furnishings’ a nod
to the lovers’ tall tales there spun.

The rooms are filled with patchouli scent,
or perhaps with a strong note of musk.
At first you’ll easily make the rent
and stay there from dawn until dusk.

Oh, how well could I in that chamber sleep
on starry fields of Elysium each night,
my baggage packed in cotton I’d keep
to stow it from whatever gave fright.

But the longer this hospitality I had
the more a locked hospital it became;
the doors that’d welcomed this young lad
soon rusted, harder to open again.

I chatted with the friendly concierge
and noticed the crease of his smile
was curled into the quirk of a sneer
while his light humor shifted to bile.

The mattress that once was thick and soft
grew coarse and lumpy with age
while the vistas seen from the gilded loft
were obscured by the bars of a cage.

The red velvet’s colors began to bleed.
All was gilded with the gold of fools.
Once this hotel had for me filled a need —
but it sought to make me its ghoul.

This hostel had to hostile turned,
its host was revealed as a warden.
With time I learned its charms to spurn
and escape to a greener garden.

Even now that hooking hotel calls,
a sultry siren who woefully wails
and summons her guests — or thralls? —
to deep sleep in her heavenly jail.

In the fridge
There sits the bottle of Joy
Every Thursday She becomes my friend
Every Friday She and I fight

In the drawer
There sits the bottle of Pain
I try to keep it away
But every Saturday
I find it open

In the bin
There sits the bottle of Regret
With its deafening yells
Every Sunday morning

Three Drinks and I are friends
And then we fight
And then we make up again.

It was a hell of a day
Sun and shade
Chequered your face chess board
And I was checked,
Heady between sips of beer and silent
like the smoke rising from your cigarette.
It burnt ruby, and I thought of jewels
And all the beautiful foolish things
I would buy you,
If we weren't here on a tuesday -
Mid-morning.
The awning weeps weary drops
From the drain that hasn't been cleaned since the place opened.
It has the colour of dark ale,
I stare at the pale in my pint glass,
think of the half a dozen things
responsibilities and togetherness
That could be part of us -
But are sadly too vast for these shoulders.

You hold out the yellowed filter tip
Lined red with the colour on your lips
Messily smeared - like it was done
The night before -
But I'd watch you adorn that ****
With shaking fingers,
Wobbly with all the worries of nothing
And everything.
You shift restless, pale arms stretched
Across flaking bits of bench,
drenched a weak grey by years and years of rain.
I rearrange the ashtray
And you smile at me, gap toothed and tired
Vacant as the breeze just dancing through.

'I'm bored' your voice slurs,
Like the thin trail of wine down your glass,
The redness settles and colours the stem
Colours your teeth.
It'll taste sour if I kiss you,
But I won't. I smoke.
Exhale the burn, blast it to
The clouds that creep across the sky
Lazy like each blink.
The world fades,
Black then bright.
Black the bright.
I think there might be an epiphany in my lungs
That song of something exciting.
It dances with possibility and makes
Me fidget in my seat
Maybe
Might be
Could be
Possibly.
Expectation makes me shrink into my sweater all holes and broken stitches, that itch as I pass you the last bit.
You smoke it, flick it
And all the potential goes with it
'Do you want another drink?'

Falling onto his back
But I want to fall on my own
Standing only leaning towards him
He is helping me to cope
Now I realize this
And it is not funny at all
I thought I was stronger
But it was his strength I was measuring
And I needed it
Though now the new times have come
Still wanna love him
But let him go.
So that I finally can simply hold his hand
Without putting all my weight and sorrow
On his shoulder.

I wanna have a bright tomorrow
And see it positively for my own
My greatness is hard to find
In insecure times
When I need to remind myself
Sometimes in rhymes
That my self worth
Is not connected to others
That it's also not dependent on success
That in fact I am already capable
To feel strong and safe on my own
Despite all the trauma I have gone through.

It is hard though
Cause one part still fears
Needs a saviour
Doesn't trust
Doesn't want to rely on myself
Doesn't know that I can help.

How to reach my self,
My hurt inner child?
How to let my partner go
And to rewire myself
With myself?

Can anybody understand what I mean?
I have a deep wound within.
I am working so ******* myself,
Really trying different techniques,
In the end art is what's helping my health and the stone inside of me shrinks.

Though the wound is looking for a substitute
And I don't want to feel like a ******* :D
I just want to give enough love to myself  
Isn't it enough to help myself?

How to end the unhealthy dependency
And still keep my relationship safe?
Does anybody know some kind of recipe?
Because I'm really looking for a way...

Wicked is your tongue

Saying forgive me

And I am sorry

Love is poisonous

From your mouth

I feel tainted and alone

Each touch that grazes my skin

I wonder if I could just leave

With you hand lingering in the air

Tangled in my shadow

Would you keep drowning

In your insincerity

Or would you finally realize

You will never have me

on a staircase in frankfurt, german financial centre.

a habesha lady in company of two brothers; one of them, a rastafarian, is carrying a beautiful young girl in his arms.

the habesha lady grabs into the girl's ***** blonde hair, saying: "her hair looks so good."

by the sound of her voice, i sense clearly that she has been on strong drugs excessively.

what will be her fate?
and, more importantly, was this girl her daughter?