but I don't recognize the words,
at this moment,
I don't even recognize my existence,
My mind is somewhere between the
waves of the ocean,
playing between the grains of sand,
swirling like the princess it is,
a princess that will
trap you with her offer of kindness,
fuck you over and over again.
i feel like a fucking mistake
like a glitch in this fucked-up system
an error that wasn't meant to exist
it’s like everything i touch turns to shit,
my mistakes are all i can create
it’s the tragic design of my fate
& most of the time i don't wanna be here
on this planet anymore
anyway, who cares if i stay?
Not tired enough to die,
Just tired enough to quit.
Quit of everything I have,
Because I have a lot of stuff,
That should hold me to life,
But it doesn't.
I know it will hurt if I don't have them anymore,
But pain is what keeps telling me "I'm damn alive",
When I don't want to.
Does that change anything?
Do I change anything with my existence?
I know I do,
But I'll keep deceiving myself,
Because they are not the changes I wanted.
sweet nyx, my goddess of the night.
you are the deity and reminder
that even within abysmal darkness
we are capable of excelling infinite heights.
I will be your muse:
weaving epic tales of love and loss,
depictions of existence
and resplendent, radiant light
as I guide you through this ineffable
journey of tiresome, exuberant life.
Do you remember the first time you realized that there was such a thing as death?
It wasn't in the sad dog your best friend had hanging around in her backyard but it could have been.
Maybe it was in the bloody gums of the homeless you frequently passed on the way to the bus stop.
Avert your eyes, your mother would tell you but they were glued to the fleshy drops of fluids on shirts that used to be clean.
I started looking at the wrinkles on my hands as fun entertainment while waiting for my father to finish his physical therapy.
I also read the Secret Garden on down times.
i beg as if in need.
between today and me.
holding out my hand,
i see not mine,
but the person
"yesterday and tomorrow".
the pillowman screams
messing and mixing
with who i ought to be-
tonight is no different.
i walk in circles,
and fraud joviality,
never to be anything.
Eight of us
And the blinding light of stars
For that moment
As we laid together under the sky
Shoulder against shoulder
And watched as the blinding light inched towards us
Waiting for the onrush of wind
The split second of weightlessness
And a sign that this is where we needed to be
there’s not much that we can do
to stop the world from turning.
it goes - spinning, and twisting,
and we try to hold on for dear life.
the children in the playgrounds
point their hands at the sky and cry,
“the moon, the moon! do you see!
she is coming to visit! see, see!”
as she tumbles down towards us.
some days we exist without sunlight
and some days the sky is blue and pink,
and green and gold. when the northern lights
first escaped from our bloodstream,
i thought the world was ending.
when the colours first pooled in the oceans
and in the corners of your eyes,
the painters didn’t know what to do.
when our lungs started to collapse,
when the cars won’t start
and the streets are filled.
there’s junk growing in our rib cages and
we’ve still never fallen in love.
did you hear the poets praying?
did you see what it looked like,
right before we doomed the world to die?
our daughters and sons never forgave us.
the children in the playgrounds
bounce the moon like a basketball
and the sky becomes quiet once more.
where did all the people go?
the streets are empty
and the sky is dark,
and all of the poets
lie awake in the night.
For 28 years I've been giving life and love to others,
Whether it's holding there hands
Or moping there tears back with my fingers.
There's been pieces of me I'll never get back,
There's pieces of me been returned that I never knew I had.
There's bits of us we dream of returning..
But when we gift someone our time or love
There's parts of us out there being passed on.....
From friend to family to lover
The parts that you gave
that very piece you gave could help fix another and another and another and another
I believed for years that the parts I gave would find me light
If not in my self than to at least guide another safetly
"Into my arms"
But as the seasons pass by
And we laugh and we cry
I'm haunted by this feeling of never being anything more than a person who's pick.pick picking
The parts someone could love