Wet tears against
White wall against
Warm cheek

Loose hands beside
Two people beside
Each other

Several stiff breaths
A few more steps

One stands
To say they
Can't stand them
Anymore

Against turns to beside
And slightly turned away

Enough to say it's over
But too little to miss the day

The other person walks forward
Not too far ahead
If you tried to you could reach them
but see, your hands are dead

Maybe you could catch them
Maybe we all could've

But directions find directions
And we were facing corners

We leave each other behind
And are left behind as well
We do it all the time
If only we could tell

That against turns to beside
And beside turns to far away
Further and further we drift
Until we return to clay

I hate my house
Every corner every corridor
I hate the doorknobs, hate the windows
Despise the bump on the kitchen floor

Every drip of the bathroom tap is agony
The backyard and every tree
I can't stand the way it screeches
Against the lightest breeze

I hate the chairs, I hate the tables
Light bulbs, curtains, endless stains
Sockets stuffed with cables
Set fire to my brain

I hate the way my house stares at me
I wish it would just stop
The wallpaper I have memorised
Is now my life's' backdrop

The doors slam against my hands
The shower burns my feet
My heavy mind with all its' might
Runs up and down my street

My heart is fixed by every string
I'm sewn into the thick carpet
I'm baked onto the plates
I will never ever leave, this house that I hate

My mind is a forest
Of vast sweeping pine
A continent of conifers
In this head of mine

Contemplation arrives as thin soapy clouds
Silent rivers trickle feeling
In the bush, trails of thought
Go for miles freewheeling

There are no people in these silent woods
No creature makes a sound
This is where I can be safe
In a place I can't be found

she said
she was mine, and
i was mine too.

now,
how can someone like me
who disguises himself
can carry two souls aboard
when it is not even meant
to carry one.

i think we should
be allowed to cry
in coffeeshops

or any other place
when, even in public,
we are so overcome

with  f e e l i n g

that it spills over
maybe into our
nighttime coffee

anywhere
we finally feel
quiet, calm, safety

wash over us
briefly,
for no good reason

what's the use in
sitting there, alone
working, reading

drinking things with
stupid names and pretending
we have it all together

i think we should
celebrate overflowing
which is how i've always

really felt about
crying, anyway
it's all so much

just to exist in a world
with everything to experience
in so little time

and it's really
no wonder our delicate
little vessels

can't handle it
all without some
overflow

what's the point
in doing it all and never
letting yourself be full of it

so full that it
spills, runs, drips
from your insides

because there's simply
not enough room for
you to hold it all

i want it all
even if it stings
even when it

really, really, hurts
like deep down in
my bones hurts

and i want the rest
especially when it
feels like my chest

will explode if i
even think of inhaling
another bit of life

i want to cry because
everything hurts so much
even the best parts

i think we should just
let each other be open,
maybe a little too open

what does that
even mean anyway?

i think we should
be allowed to cry
in coffeeshops.

there's happiness
and there's sorrow.

there's life
and there's regret.

there's sin
and there's confession.

there's me
and there's poetry.