I see myself from the outside.
They observe me as they are.
I laugh.
I smile.
I render a friendly gesture.
But they do not know.
And how could they?
We are tethered together, but not the same.
I grow tired of this place.
I grow tired of this dance.
I grow tired of this stage.
I grow tired of the applause.
I grow tired of this routine.

I await the end of my solitude.

in a corner
under the bed
asking questions about the dead
how to brake something fix
and how to fix something broke.
in a corner
in a room
with nothing else left to do
wondering thought wounder away
when will the day be that you'll go away
when will that corner expand
to a new land far away
until then
brake whats fixed
and fix whats broke
until that corner turns to another ghost
or what use to be.

Broken sunglasses
Sitting on my dresser
If I can find the part
Out there somewhere
I can fix them

Jeans too small
In a drawer in my dresser
If I can lose some weight
With diet and exercise
I can wear them

An unframed print
Waiting for a frame on my dresser
It was for a friend
That I don’t talk to anymore
But I could

That dresser is full of “if”s
It’s got drawers and drawers
Of “should’ve”s and “could’ve”s
Things I need to do
And fix.

her eyes,
you’d mistake it
for the stars.
her lips,
they shine
as light dawns upon.
“will it melt
with a touch?”
I ask.
She turns away,
she laughs.
“will you fix me
if it does?”

Flat tire?
Give it some air.

A tear in your clothes?
Stitch it up.

Dead car battery?
Use a jump start.

Ripping tights?
Add a drop of nail polish remover.

Loose nail?
Use a hammer.

Clock stop working?
Change the batteries.

Bleeding finger?
Get a Band-Aid.

Squeaky door?
Use some oil.

Not feeling well?
Go see a doctor.

Broken heart?
Not a cast,
not any amount of duct tape,
not any doctor,
not any batteries,
no type of stitch,
no kind of Band-Aid
no matter how much money you have,
will never fix it.

Chest full to the brim
Waterfalls spill over

You pick up the piece
There falls another

While bending to help
I see scissors on my lover
Laid in his hands
The blood provides cover

You cut out a piece
There falls another

With tired eyes
I look to you and say
"Thanks for putting me back together".

If diaries could bleed
This would get ugly
I know I need help
But I'd rather be alone
I can go to therapy
And tell all my sob
Stories and tragedies
It wouldn't matter
In the end because
I'm still dead
Abandoned in a coffin
In the back of my head
My best friends
Brought me roses
Instead of tiger lilies
Because they don't
Really know me
I'll be buried in white
When I finally
Rest my mind
Because no one likes
My gothic side
I hope they'll play
My favourite songs
The ones I left on loop
But they won't
No one knows
What it is I do
And with all this
Spare time I'd say
That's probably okay
Aside from watching Ru
I sit in my room
Thinking about things
Life and death
And all that stuff
Pondering the galaxies
Instead of facing
My own reality
Because the truth is
I can only be
So different
So those demons
That you thought left
They're all still here
And they're all my friends
Better than the ones
Who currently hold
That ugly claim
Someone's got to leave
It won't be them
And it won't be me
I guess we both
Know what that means