i am sick to my stomach
of all these panic attacks,
the butterflies are losing
their colours and their strength.

Today will pass
And so will the days that follow after.
It will not be the same,
But it will be okay.
The pain stings, numbs, and sometimes
Leaves a stain,
But you have to make sure
None of this is in vain.
Don’t meet it with eyes that analyze
And try to quantify the pain,
There’s only so much you will discover
All to your disdain.
Sometimes it feels as though you’re not worthy
Of making good things last,
But that’s why the present is the present,
And the past, is the past.

Said forever isn't my word
never knew you would turn it into a sword
digging deeper until it hurts
Though our fights were the worse
cause there were actually never the fights.
But now i see this empty space,
it feels like an ultimate sway just to chase
I told myself it's over, good and enough
but then again i wish it was none

and as you comes by
all my thoughts flys away
as if like they never exist
all my compliants seals away
as if like they were meant to be
all my hurt heals away
as if like it have to be
I'm telling it that was good and enough
and it denys as if it is all rough.
craving and hoping for renewal

begin the day ; a **** taught of features
in need of clean linen,
    unswallowable meds
    and a diaper change
routine ; that'll teach ya !

they ask her the day of the week
   her name
what year it is
   when is your birthday ?
do you feel any pain ?
   do you know where you are ?

flailing in memory
they just turn off the overheads
  and let her settle into her senility
attend to the physical basics
whilst she's suckered into her own storage unit
  operating like a humming fridge
   with its door slight ajar
    and the small hot bulb
     finking on and winking off

                      - perish well 
                       & in comfort Dear

It’s like the only time I can see outside of this hole
Is when I’m trying to make sure others don’t see
That I’m digging it deeper
And
Deeper
And
Deeper
And falling
Further
And
Further
And
Further
Until I can’t get out

Losing you
is a bitter taste
on my lips.
And I was a child
who had to learn
to know
there was a taste
other than
sweetness.

Every day I lose a part of the past me
to gain a part of the future me.