[insert number of] days since the ember lungs of my longing
last drew breath
And you are theirs
( … the air…)
And they are yours
( … the lungs…)
And you are mine
And we belong nowhere and
to no one

I could never read
                             tealeaf's,
because I thought it tasted
like nicotine flooded ashtrays..

translating censorship was like
                                         morse-code,
for every breath serenaded my
                                    lack of interest..

Maybe hate is just an aspect,
means of time that was or will
do, or spill, eventually, ****
the love we drowned in, remained still...

Maybe hate is another form,
a state of matter, a lapse of reason,
a part of a personal, secret decision,
to save our mind, to protect freedom...

Maybe I have learned to lie
unconsciously to unlearn love,
making excuses to stop,
hoping to run again a year above...

Maybe I've forgotten truth
by will and by a certain choice,
to give my utmost shame a voice,
to take a beating without cause...

Maybe all the time I've known
the difference, but that is, hence
torn up in bitter ignorance'
twisted, deep, black, blissful hands.

Running inside, closing down and shutting off
It might be easy for some
It's torture to me... I torture myself.
No one cares when I disappear
No one notices
My phone doesn't ring.
Maybe I miss Facebook events
Some of which included a family death
And still, my phone didn't ring.
No one knocks on my door
No questions are asked of what's going on
With me,
in me.
When I announce my retraction
They slightly caring folks will await
A Facebook update
They don't call.
The whole world goes on
while I'm trying to not post my depression
for the five friends that care.
Although the care only reaches as far as
waiting for my facebook post
telling them I'm "ok"
      But
            I'm
                  Not

It hurts sometimes
It screams inside
Is this pain really mine?
It clenches together in my insides
Making me dream, wishing for a better time.
I'll do just fine
That's always my line.
If something's not there
You're supposed to bring yourself to it,
But what can I seek
when whatever I need
ceases to exist out of my mind?
They say my reckless head helps me,
I tell myself I can use it to encourage myself,
But still it hurts me all the same.
You see, I use it to give what I haven't got
It's of no use because it kills with a slightly stronger dose.

I can try to forget
It can't last long,
Nothing's supposed to be pain free.
However there's other things
I just can't be bothered to feel,
And if I almost do I just stop:
Because they're not the most important;
They don't come back day by day,
Just to join me in the night.
I never had a "daddy" to sing a lullaby.
For years I didn't want one,
Half convinced still I wasn't missing out,
Yet now it's starting to hurt
Then I realise I'll never find my soulmate.
The percentage isn't in my favour,
How could it ever be?
How do you find your one person
out of 7.5 billion?
If I can't have a father,
how could I get an eternal partner?
Lacking strengthens my need,
For that perfect guy in my head to love me.
He's not here though,
And he never will be,
Tough as it is, I'll never be away from him.
Lack creates need,
tries to make up for things:
This is how it feels when you can't fill either gap.

Spaces are filled by made up places.
Spaces are areas without meaning,
Places are of meaning or association, unempty.
The space is one half of a non-existing f a m i l y.
My place is where I can have a future boyfriend made of better things.
My reckless head
Is supposed to give hope and safety,
Shelter me from reality.
My reckless head
Don't they know it breaks me,
To dream of things
That can never be?

Spaces are there.
Places are put there.
Needed
Unwanted
Despair
Desired
Anyone else there?
Is there a difference that you see?
All my minor sorrows seem the same to me.

in the blanket of night
i know of ruin
and on quiet early mornings
my grave-heart
is still

I gave you my heart
And in return you gave me nothing,
I opened all my windows and doors
But you kept all yours shut,
I tried so hard to make you laugh
But the most you could manage was a smile,
I bought you gifts
And you gave me a bracelet.

A token of the love you never show,
A reason for me to keep trying,
A way to feel the relief,
A bracelet.

No emotion,
No charisma.
But a bracelet.

A little, shiny, sterling silver bracelet.
No charms and no colour.

Just a bracelet.