I am really good at creating relationship

But for what ? If i don't really need them.

Do I lie to myself about the fact that i don't need them or i really don't need them ?
I think, they just make me feel normal in a society.

But why ? After all, they all lie and I am the real one, and they feel bad about my behaviour because they don't want to be seen that way or this way.
Really ? You can't come around me because i make you look different ?

Did you ever ask yourself that maybe you were always with people that don't act truly with you ? Maybe you feel different with me because i am the only one that shows you what the world really is.

I won't change, if what i do best is showing you the real world.

i look for signs
in all the cardboard signs
never find them
keep my money

keep the windows open
keep cold hands
keep my lighter busy
devil dancing all the way behind me

not a pretty picture
by day, a five year old child
who needs to be told what to do

if they hadn't have cut out my tongue
old boy, I'd really have a lot to say
about the guy in the purple bandanna,
hadn't seen him in months, but he re-emerged
recently,
he is still short, his hair is still curly
he still carries himself importantly

looking so ridiculous to me
it's been mean out lately

a woman is yelling at him
he calls her a ****
she keeps right on yelling
she really has a lot to say

she keeps on walking away in both directions
and she keeps on coming back

she is not going to shut the **** up

Ask me what I read
I can give you what you really want.
Walk in the dry dark.
Get what you want, then and again.

I'm far from fine, feeling fanatic
unloading my emotions
action automatic
slide slow and smooth
stay silent and static
just going through the motions
though inside, I'm frantic

a lifetime of gestation;
of making myself,
of bringing myself
back from you,
of trying to get over someone I was
only ever under.

bend me, shape me
whichever way you’d like me
for I could be the apple of your eye if only you’d
let me;
- kiss me to
      pulp

you turned me inside out,
naked,
viscerally
      exposed -
heart beating tenderly not upon my sleeve but
atop my inverted chest;
I asked you to cradle it,
care
      swat me like a fly;
      a throwaway affair.

saying you care about ‘this’,
but not me, I think

      lacklustre lover lacking the
      love in the
      - making

and above all, I keep thinking about how unrequited love
is the sweetest kind of self-inflicted wound.
something that never was shouldn’t be so much,
      oh but it hurts just right.

I’m forever pulling cells,
bits of myself apart to
examine, deconstruct.
cytoplasmic, holding it all together,

I'm just looking at your scars, you said.
      would you like to add another?

suture me then pick me apart
- I’d let you.
It's not your fault you didn't
know, don't
know how I feel, not really;
I don't want you to run
better to have a piece of you than
      none.

we only do this to ourselves,
I don't blame you.

this mouth tastes like an ashtray
I'm sorry,
it’s just that a lot of sweet nothings have died and
burnt away in here before they could be said.

everything changes yet it all stays the same
we know how this story goes,
so please don't tell me I'm
beautiful from all angles
because I can’t take it. I can’t.

rising for him, a flowerbed for the spring
blush as pink, which,
bleeding into the edge of the skyline at sunset,
anamorphic, consumes.

      [HE LOVES ME HE LOVES ME NOT
      HE LOVES ME HE LOVES ME NOT]

my heart is so heavy
with the ways in which I love you
quickening,
the birth of something new -
or maybe I just have a penchant for self-destruction.

and on getting out alive:
we’re all here,
doctoring our hearts,
recovering from the cataclysm of it all.