I can't collect my thoughts They're too scattered I think of her falling I wonder what her last thought was I hope she wasn't scared The tag they left in her house "For disposal of human waste" She's human waste now We all are, we all become The house smelled awful Everything decays Everyone dies Nothing lasts I shouldn't be so choked up about this I'm alone now So freeing No one will notice if I'm gone I could take off to Korea Or hang myself in the garage There is a hole in the centre of my chest And I thought it couldn't get bigger But like an infinitely expanding universe My being expands into nothingness I worry others can see it sometimes They notice I am not whole The sky is too heavy against me I lose daylight and night alike Every moment merges into the next People fill that universe in my chest Sometimes, rarely But I consume them Like a black hole of fire Or a plague I consume everything And I can't help but feel Like the world would be better Without me in it I'm not scared to go I'm not scared to leave this behind Let the antimatter break me apart Limb by limb, shred me I can't write any more My thoughts are everywhere and nowhere I'll stick to tasks Mindless busy work Pretend we talk now like we never did Speak to the emptiness as though It could speak back somehow Let it destroy me and rebuild me again
No more writing. No more reading. Depression is slowly taking everything I loved. But I'll fight it, every day. Write ****** poetry no one reads. Cook and clean and act normal. I'm so tired. I've never felt so lonely and defeated. Nothing in life is working out right now but I'll rest easy someday knowing I've tried my hardest and fought this every step of the way.
9 pm in Cubao, It was only my second bottle, but how come I can't recall whether I left the house just an hour ago? Ah, I wanted to escape from the chaos that is the metro. But I loathe this particular place, so why here again? The record stores were even shut like they'll never open doors again. That's another magical thing about vintage shops—they look hopeless except they're everything but. But I'm half grateful, at least one less memory of this place are shut closed, too. Though I am less woeful, knowing this is not just another equally less woeful night. After the last bottle, I blew the city a kiss, bracing myself for the unfamiliar ride. I've stopped counting the months in which I've been dying to see the sun rise by the beach and not by the concrete jungles of BGC. I softly let go of all my uncertainties, but holding onto the excitement firmly. Oh, I can't wait much longer for the ocean breeze.
your spark was so deep, intense and warm you defied the gods and gave me your fire I had wandered through frozen wilderness couldn't remember feeling heat against ice heart I melted, held to your words and arms didn't even consider that I could get hurt your body gets used to always feeling cold but the fire restored feeling in every finger tip skin against skin where you healed my frostbite so of course, when you left and the cold set in again I felt the sharp curse of a million needles piercing me
your spark was so deep, intense and warm that I never noticed when everything burned down creating another frozen wasteland to navigate the difference is now I remember that fire exists even if I don't have a paper map to find you or enough dry wood to hold a flame of my own with the memory of you, I can recreate a fire for the next person who has lost their light or spark
I'll bury all my secrets in my skin, come away with innocence but bleed my truthful sins. the world around me feels like a tight cage and "I love you", is just a camouflage for your next episode of rage.
If you do love me, let me go I'll probably run away before I truly know my heart is too black to care, is it destroyed if it was never really there?
I'll find my penance, delivered to my true state if I'm alone I have no one to hate, but myself.
My love was banished long ago, if you still care don't ever let me know.
Angels will lie to keep control making over heaven like some paradise we all want to go dead trees are painted white and she calls them beauty, art.
My selfish thoughts colour my life and I call that my heart.
If I had to fix myself I don't know where I'd start But I suppose, I'd cut each limb to the bone and tear my entire self apart.
inspired partly by ***** by Slipknot. and the insanity that is my life and mind lately.
poetry is masochism seeing the cataclysm both inside and around and for every fresh wound every word you've stabbed poetry is picking at your scab rather than letting it heal watching how each layer peels poetry is getting hurt using your voice to assert by showing your cuts scars, bruises, guts to everyone in the world letting your emotions unfurl poetry is being carved feeding others when you're starved being open and true words for others to turn to let them rip out your beauty aesthetics becomes duty