My life is an overflowing hamper
To which I refuse to wash
Although I try to pick up the mess
A new mess starts
As clothes fall out one by one
And for everyone one article picked up
Another one is displayed across the floor
To the point where I don't even try with the mess anymore
And I'm just walking over clothes like they're an art piece
In this case the renowned artist is me
And a week from now, from when I gave up making this mess clean
I complain
And complain
And complain
As if I expect someone to pick up this mess I've made
Someone other than me

i'll never forget the universe i saw in your eyes,
the look which sparked a flame inside of me,
a flame that no else could spark up,
not even with a million tries.

you will always mean the world to me,
my love for you,
will always be a secret held by the sea,
because i've stopped leaving clues.

even so;

don't you dare forget the nights we've spent,
i'm craving for your scent,
i'm still addicted to your smile,
but your number is something i've lost the courage to dial.

used to get drunk with you,
now i get drunk on you,
tried to escape you by getting intoxicated,
but missing you became ten times worse and i guess it's fated.

it's my fate; for everyone will eventually leave me,
for everyone will eventually get tired of me,
for i am not worthy enough and only loneliness will be there for me.


"you are my shooting star wish", he said.
was i really?
maybe we've completely misunderstood what shooting stars are.
maybe shooting stars are just the cigarettes angels throw away before god could catch them smoking.

i'm starting to think that's what i really was.
maybe i am your shooting star.
maybe i was just a cigarette that you were done smoking so you threw me away before you caught on fire.

im scared of dying
although everyone has done it
and we all have it in common
one day you and i
will be the dirt
and whats etched onto our stones
wont matter to our cold-to-touch hearts
our lungs wont puff cigarettes or posioned air
in fact we wont breathe at all
just the abyss of our memories swelling nothingness
all of the world left behind
yet you're buried into it
with everyone else that has ever lived
if there is an after life
i hope to see gogh and plath
because i belong with people like them
and my whole life i'll be searching
for souls like mine
i know i am hopeless yet hopeful at the same messy, indecisive time
the fear of death
is not only the fear of pain
and the road less traveled afterwards
it's the fear of dying not knowing myself
and being trapped forever inside
the box i always contained myself in
and still feeling cricks in my neck
from not loving myself enough
when people tell you
that it's inevitable and you should "just get over it"
do they realise how impossible that is
for a broken heart like me?
i am a derailed train and a puzzle piece no one understands
and i am a writer who suffers for art and because i am this....
this mess of a person
not even living
i just walk
and talk
and breathe
sometimes exhaling with a sigh
it pains me to think that by the time
death is knocking on my door
i still will not have lived

He...
He made me feel alive,
And you...
you make me feel secure.
But I never liked feeling secure -
I thrive on the chaos,
I create it.
The craziness makes me feel sane
and gives me the clarity so lacking when I first created the mess.
Now I go along fixing it;
Solving problems,
Working my *** off
All while smoking myself into oblivion.
Bars every night at midnight,
My bed left untouched most hours of the day -
With the trash over flowing
And clothes strewn all over the room.
He fed my wild spirit,
ours on the road make me feel more at home than any place ever could.
Now I have a home and now I have you -
But something in me is lacking,
I thrive on the chaos,
I was never meant to stay.

shall i compare thee to a summers day?
i admire shakespeare for being such a yaknow, writer
and i wish i could equate to his flowing of words and make hidden messages between the metaphors
i try my hardest
but amogst the other angsty teens who bleed tears and numbness
it's hard to compare thee to a summers day when thats what everyone is doing
but it's so true
you are the flowers that bloom out of my ribcage after winter has been in my lungs for some time
and you are the sunshine that peaks through to warm my heart
you are the summer rain and wind that makes me flutter like the butterflies in the south
but you are also a human
and sometimes you turn to winter
or spring
or fall
but i love thee til mine death
and theres something poetic about the old english
this modern english makes me feel less of a romantic lover and writer all together
i want to compare thee to cold bedsheets after a sweaty day or the splash of water onto my feet when the ashpalt gets too hot for touch
i want you to be my metaphor for everything
i want it to be simple and complicated and use really big words because im pretentious
but i just want to love you
and as we progress into the robot era
i still sit here writing my love for you
bleeding for you
this is not romeo and juliet
and i never really know what im doing
im actually quite a mess
and this doesnt make sense
but the spark of light for my love of you will never dim to darkness
and i will hold the candle to the heavens as an offering for you to be the eternal light
this is rambling on and on probably
but i love thee
je t'aime
ich liebe dich
i love you
do you compare me to a summer day?
am i colorful like a meadow and soft like a cloud?
am i your greatest living, breathing, loving figuruative language?
or am i another hopeless (hopeful) romantic that is another page in a story that you wont speak of or analyze enough to understand
will you skim me?
i sometimes doubt your knowledge of love for me
i wonder if it's surface love
or if it pulls your heart to your stomach to ache when my touch and laugh is unavailable
i wonder if you mourn at the thought of my pain
and if romeo and juliet is a plausable scenerio
ha ha- joking
i sometimes doubt
but i know thee loves
and im sorry that im like this
but at the same time im not
anyways,
and yes, anyways is a word (at least to me)
(english breaks its own rules all the time)
i shall compare thee to a summers day
and thee shall be loved

I want to wake up the sleepy corners of your elbows with my lips,
and feel the sunrise slide through your skin into your veins.
I want to taste your stretching sighs,
they'll feel like night time on my tongue.
We should stay in bed,
the trail of warmth you leave makes my insides mimic the sun itself.
Every time we touch,
it feels as if every nerve in each of my finger tips has gained its own heartbeat that races as I trace circles along your skin.
Your name tastes better than any other word that has ever escaped my lips.
My eyes drip honey when I talk about you.
My parents warned me about the drugs on the street,
but never about the ones with brown eyes and a steady heart beat.

you spilled ink onto my heart
oh you left such a terrible mess
the more i try to expel it with each word i write,
the messier it seems to become
i cannot wash you away
you've stained my blood black
i am trying to find the red
so that i can live again
it seems hopeless, your imprint on me,
the permanent ink
as if your hand print lays over my heart
and deep into my soul
claimed me as your own

I close my eyes, I breathe deep and air inflates my weary bones.

As I exhale I try to focus on the moment. The moment I'm living in. The hours that are porous to worries from the past. Life's episodes that cannot be altered. Except in the the continuous role play acted out in my mind, to put right the regret.

As I inhale, breathing life into my lungs, I'm told to control my attention. I'll admit, control is one thing I don't have. As although fluid and never ending my attention is often running short. Concentrate. My future lays dormant so leave it be.  Though my mind wraps itself tightly around the possibilities.

As I exhale, I focus on the body that has remained strong and healthy, the self-healing heart that has been put through its paces and a mind that is overly critical.

I open my eyes and as the sounds around me crispen and the smells around me awaken and the sun light floods my pupils, I realise. Why allow myself to consume the present with worries from the past and future.

Life is fast and beautiful. And it's now.

When something is lost,
The importance of it is found,
Everyone gives such a fuss,
Until it is safe and sound.