do not let yourself fall in love with someone who is similar to me. for someone like myself will kiss you at all of the most beautiful places in the world, just like art galleries, beaches, and sanctuaries, because then you will never be able to visit such places again without having the taste of blood lingering in your lips.

do not let yourself fall in love with someone who is similar to me. if it takes remembering your name among the lonesome souls, i would forget my own if it means remembering yours. i will make you believe that storms are peaceful and that suffering is a pleasure. you will be swept away by the yearning in craving over something that is consistently reaching but never ready to hold you.

do not let yourself fall in love with someone who is similar to me. with someone who are reminiscent like me, i will wreck your home and hurl apologies at you, which will break apart on the floor and hurt you when you walk on them. i will come to fret about having loved you so passionately. i will always be regretful that i gave it my all without stopping to consider that i was becoming increasingly hurting so bad and exhausted. i will always be sorry that i let myself be fooled by the illusion of your love.

do not let yourself fall in love with someone that obviously acts like me—loves like me for the reason that they are all ghosts from the pieces you broke in me. keeping your safe distance from someone like me is not something you should consider doing. people like me are time bombs; when my mission is complete, i will spatter sorrow all over your walls in violent hues that would let you regret your door had never known my name. i'll never master the art of being gentle. despite the weight of our shared history, i would not be flushed away by the chapter of our repressed memories. you will never be free of the shadows you left behind. and the ghosts will forever haunt you.

humans will always find a way to end things and leave.
we always do.

and when i am gone, you will fully understand
the reason why storms are named after humans.

NOW LIFE’S GONNA BE DESPAIR
LIFE’S GONNA BE ****** AND FROZEN
LIFE’S GONNA NEVER BE HAPPY AGAIN
LIKE I HAD WHEN I WAS YOUNG

‘CAUSE I REGRET THE DECISION I’VE MADE
‘CAUSE I BROKE THE BRIDGES I BUILT
‘CAUSE I LEFT THE ONES I LOVED
WHICH DESTROYED MY FUTURE
AND STAINED MY BLOOD

I’M NOT THE ONE I WAS
OR I ASSUMED ME TO BE
I CAN’T LIVE HERE ANYMORE
I’M SO SURE AND I GUARANTEE

‘CAUSE IT’S IN MY ROOTS, IT’S IN MY VEINS
IT’S IN MY BLOOD, IT’S IN MY BRAIN
TO BE CARELESS, TO BE RECKLESS
TO DESTROY EVERYTHING, TO FINISH MYSELF  

AND SO, I MISS MY BEST FRIEND I HAD
I MISS MY CHILDHOOD I PLAYED
I MISS THE FLASHBACKS I ADORE
WHEN LIFE WAS A PARTY TO BE THROWN
BUT THAT ALL WAS TWO YEARS BEFORE

Is there a feeling worse than regret?
Knowing you’ve done something against yourself and only you are to blame?
What’s more poisonous than being able to live and relive the events of the past?
Than being able to see the rippling effects your actions have?
I cannot imagine anything worse
Than to be stuck in my own body
Than to experience myself so intensely
Knowing what I did
Knowing who I hurt.
I cannot imagine anything more frustrating
Than making mistakes and then knowing
How I could have done better and
Realising the limits of my own cognition
And the stupidity of my own ego.

I ask myself why
But the question only drives me mad.
I spit at my own reflection and
Cower into a corner and long for
A few seconds of non-existence.
I am ugly,
Ugly in the soul,
Ugly in the bone,
And no
These mistakes are not normal.
How can I be my own victim and perpetrator so easily?
And then wake up with dread that I’m not necessarily safe for myself?
I am stuck.
I did know better
But I didn’t do any better,
So what the actual f*ck?!

I’m an expert
at what I do.
Every drop
of my every being
is good at being me.

It’s my only choice.
every action I do
trapped in myself
in my choices
in my mistakes
in my beautiful mind
as most have

It’s what I was
always made to be.

Since it was written
in the stars
mostly deep in
cells of my blood
in the coded chains
in the atoms
that make up
the long depths
of my soul:

I am me and
I am ******* good at it.

I'm glad I never met your face;
I'm glad  you're far from home;
I'm glad our meetings never came,
so I could cry in bed alone.

I'm glad our worlds were not the same;
I'm glad we  had our different zones;
Of time and space; of heart and mind—
of suffering—all which is my own.

For if we met, and found each other
Mapped every corner, bend, and contour,
I'd find I'd regret the day that I met you,
since seeing you would've hurt me more.

The two ol' pals are facing each other.

He passes a glass of poison
to his dear guest, leaning
near the front door, slightly opened;
and he's learning the reason—

why he's standing there,
about to storm out of the stone-cold apartment—
'bout to burst in tears
shedding the vivid droplets

that shouldn't be belonging to a mere ghost.
Yet he's fleeting, escaping the scene still,
while the owner of the kitchenette
is putting back the bottle

    to where it belonged;
    and he's gone, present no longer.

The drink on the rock—left on the shelf—
is evaporating, following the vaporized guest,
leaving the scent of faint alcohol
that lulls the other friend to regretful sleep.