The hate you keep inside won’t help you float.
But you cling to it, so below you.

Push it under you, to get above the waves.
But eventually the swell will drag you to hell.

Cling to it so below you.
It’s weight will stretch your arms.
Drag you down.

Down into the undertow. Against progress.
So vile, repugnant and insipid. You rot.
Your fingernails leave scars on hate.
You cling to it so.
But shout opposed to such accusation.

Now low enough the crash of the waves blind you.
Squinting through their spray, you struggle.
Treading in denial as you try to pull your hate to breast.

I’d reach out to you, if your hate wouldn’t drag us down together.
And we’d be clinging to something so below you.

the sky is so blue,
the ******
topsy-turvy vase dribbling sun-spit
crashing around
with its mucus rays
stumbling, heaving on doorsteps
punching drunkenly through windows
giddy and chaotic as it *****
air greedily upwards
windmilling glory
away from us as we exhale-
"what a perfect day
the perfect day to stay
inside
the perfect day to **** away"
the swaying, nauseous people say,
and the sky, the tipsy ******,
giggles as it throws itself
blue, unsubtle, with ripped tights,
glistening thighs, come-hither eyes,
unsteady, with love,
at the trees.

Dear people I love,
I'm sorry I let out my stress on you.
(Because often it's the people you're closest to who get hurt the most when you're angry at everything but them.)
I'm sorry you have to deal with my uptight, stress-case, mess of a personality.
(Because some things bring out the worst side in you, a side you wish nobody had to see. A side hidden beneath smiles and laughs and true happiness. The side that's all your fault.)
Sorry. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry.
(One sorry for the people you didn't mean to hurt.)
(One sorry for the air which absorbed your negative energy.)
(One sorry for your palms which have been dug into far too many times.)
(One sorry for your eyes which have cried too many frustrated tears.)
(And one last sorry for you. I'm sorry you have to feel this way, that you think it's all your fault.)
(But that doesn't mean there's nothing you can do to change it.)
-I. Quill

I can feel it within
Growing bigger and bigger
Twisting and pulsing

It feeds off negativity
Little quirks that make me crazy
Laziness and lacking responsibility

It grows and grows
Festering inside
Until finally it boils over
Only to restart again

it's killing me
inside
and out
but
makes me
strong
somehow

virus
in the town
me & you
cuddle
in the house

New but old
New feelings
But old friends
New time
Old place
New boat
Old sea
New outside
Old inside
New friends
Old feelings
Old but new