The game stops being fun,
When you spend a night full-throttle,
And can't remember if your headache's,
from a needle or a bottle.
The game stops being cool,
When you throw up in your yard,
When you look inside your mirror,
And behind your eye's you're scarred.
The game stops being fine,
When you start to fear a hug,
Because you almost check their pockets,
For some money, for some drugs.
The game comes to an end,
When you realize what you are,
When you give in to your urges,
And you OD in your car.

I never met him.

That did not give me the free reign to judge him, but I did.

I compared him to the countless flawed heroes that fail to hold up to the damsel's doe-eyed trust.

I wronged him by comparing him to the villain that steals into the secret wishes of maiden's lustful desires and vandalizes the sanctuary of their imagination.

I flirted with him in abandon not counting the risk of falling in love with every dimpled smile or deep-throated laughter.

I lusted after him and panted after him hoping that he would be doing the same for indeed lust must be stronger than love.

Ultimately I collapsed in exhaustion and dust sought dust to be united with it, once for all, defiled with it.

It was him who stepped forward and picked me up, dusted me altogether and set me up on a mantlepiece, a prized possession ready to be loved.

(c) Anavah 2018

Where do I belong,

in this made up town.
Surrounded by fake crowns,
and bodies walking around.

I do not belong with royalty,
Nor with the common.

I’m broken and made,

into what I am today.

I wear this façade,

to not be out flawed.
Though I fit here,

It is not where I belong.

Note

Attaching honours
and dispatching lives;
So grins the new day
and greets the Great Flaw

Note

The Fusing :
Polarise
and apply
weapon to wound
(as the weatherman dictates)

Note

Taughtless and young
Fight your way from family
and take oath
with no protest:
A moral clumsiness

Note

We'll sort out that 'population problem'
and lunge out our burrowed lives
in saturation
of our unmended sorrows

I'm no perfect human.
I make flaws.
But my flaws don't define who I am.

But the one thing that makes you can't love me,
is the fact I don't have the perfect body,
or the perfect beautiful face.

Should I love you?
Even that is all the reason why you can't love me?
Even I love you so badly,
it haunts me every day.

But how can I love you,
if I don't care about who I am.
But should I change for you?
I don't deserve you.
I don't deserve a person who can't
accept other flaws.
Then I can't love you.
Even if I can love you more than enough.

There is a flaw so big
that nothing dares to
approach.
An aching gap within
this soul.
I’m damaged goods;
who would want the
dented can at the store?
Theres rips and tears
upon my heart and mind.
You cannot walk to
me, for i’ve put
spikes to protect myself.
You cannot fly to
me, for the air you breath
is poisoned.
I’ve surrounded myself
on my own island.
Ashamed at what
others took from me.
Embarrassed that i’ve
been abused in the
worst way.
This secret is one we
hold close, “for who
could learn to love me?”
No.
Thats not what i
ask. I ask; how can i
ever let someone
love me?