Main street
The ebb of traffic leaves me sick

This is a city of repetitious fits
Transparent monotony

But just maybe by then i’ll be north and you’ll be south
just how we’ve always been on different paths
but somehow ended up at the same place again and again.
Meet me in Amsterdam.
When you’ve toured every major city
and I’ve seen enough landscapes.
Would you spare a week from all of this and escape?
Just to feel like we’re sixteen again
when we planned that we’ll do this one day.
We said we’d live.
I know you said a lot of things.
Yeah, so the future didn’t turn out the way we hoped,
but i’m hopeful that one day you will
Meet me in Amsterdam.
Where we’ll experience night, day, and beautiful weather.
See and do all kinds of things together.
Where we could pretend we’re in another universe
Where we ended up happily ever.
Where I could finally say goodbye to you forever.
Maybe when we leave, I’ll go north and you’ll go south.
Or maybe we’ll somehow end up at the same place.

me, after i traced dirt up my arms and underneath my skin. i can still find you in my veins, turning blood into a maelstrom, this isn't what rain is supposed to feel like, i can taste wire fences on the tip of my tongue but i still can't get the smell of you out of my mouth

me, choking on dead air, static playing on an endless loop in my jaw, deaddeaddead i'm dead i can feel breath rattling in my lungs and i'm dead this must be what corpses feel like

me, imagining what corpses feel like

me, imagining what corpses feel like

me, imagining what corpses feel like

me, me, me, me, me, looped around three hundred times, me, not entirely there, me not there at all, me, me, me, dead dead dead, static, static, static, static, static, static,

me, rubbing rope burns into my thighs in the middle of a panic attack

me, imagining lighting myself on fire in the middle of the night

me, lighting myself on fire in the middle of the night

me, thinking about dying

me, feeling dead but not dying

me, clenching my hands so hard i can feel my entire body vibrating with it i'm a god i'm immortal hit me ******* hit me i swear to god i won't ******* bleed

me, static, dead, dead, dead, dead, ******* static on repeat, a record broken in three different places, static fuzzy on my slippery tongue

me, smashed to pieces, unholy lovely thing

me, blood blistering between my teeth

you, being lit on fire in the middle of the night

you, dead

All hail the king.

Alright, now, son, back down, don't get excited, don't push, stop shoving, you're fine, get up, keep walking, don't make me do thi-

From birth
he was different
from birth, he was blue, he was ice
he was odd, he was funny, he walked, he talked, he ate funny
he received soap, notebooks for school, he wrote things
he laughed, and he wondered
at age 12 he received his first laptop
took him 2 weeks and he crammed it full of poems
he crammed it full

All hail the king.

Fast forward, 10 years, where is he now
22 years old and he hasn't wrote a thing
he hasn't felt a thing
Oh, lord, please forgive me, an artist life is short, an artists li-

All hail.
All bow.

Don't forget, when he's gone, please, don't forget when
when he's gone
Because all the time spent staring back
at gas-station bathrooms can't have been for nothing
the dissection, the logic, the hate, must be remembered
an artists life is short

All hail the king.

my most recent bad decision
was to let even a day go by without telling you
that you're my everything
that i hang on every word you say and
i resent every second that you make my heart
beat faster than it should
because your laughter rings in my ears like the
morning after a rock concert
and every time i hear it i can't help the flutter in my chest

my most recent bad decision
is placing sunsets in your smile and
the ocean in your eyes when
i have no right to have put them there
when you have no right to have coaxed me to
even if you didn't mean to

and my most recent bad decision
was writing you into poems that make you out
to be a golden hearted glory
when the true story is a bit more gory
see the sunsets in your smile
are burning holes in my chest with a magnifying glass
and the oceans in your eyes
have been known to drown girls like me

so i'll rip up these words and i'll swallow them down
and pretend that you never happened
that i never saw the sunsets and i never saw the ocean
and i never
dreamt of lying next to you
and watching your chest rise and fall with the tide but
my most recent bad decision
is getting lost between love and hate
between friend and more
when you're sat across from me
talking about something
for at least ten minutes now
and instead of listening,
i've been writing all this down.

everything seems the same
then repeat
I can't express my feelings right
then repeat
I can't even make them look like a poem
then repeat
that's the thing about repetition
then repeat
it seems like it sounds nice
then repeat
but it sounds so ****** and agh

It's 2 in the morning and I'm still awake,
drinking alone, again.
It's not like I have the most interesting job to wake up to
I just deliver words to people's homes
and get chased by dogs every now and then  
wondering if they got bad news or not
and how they feel about it

At night, I deliver the words to myself
With the pen in my hand, staining the paper
crafting each word with stories of days that passed me by
Sitting in the dark writing while others are standing
out there in the cold harsh reality, living and breathing
expecting release
but never did much to achieve that freedom
aside from complaining about it every single day
I never did much either
Maybe I got so used at being a prisoner
That the idea of freedom seems more like a myth
than something we all deserve

After I finished my final bottle, the last of its kind
I walked out and went home, hoping I did my best to drown
my demons and my feelings
It's not until I reached my door that I realized they ******* know how to swim
and they do it so well I might as well let them

I decided I don't want to go home
It's hardly a home anyway
It's just a bunch of furniture crammed in a room
So I would feel less empty


With my pen and my paper I walked
my footsteps behind me echoing until they too,
became silent
I threw my keys into the ocean
and should anyone find it, I hope they won't be disappointed
of what they'd find behind the door it opens

I stood at the edge, trying to write a letter
addressed to no one in particular
I wanted to sum it all up in a few words
but I couldn't
I keep worrying about the people
who won't be receiving their letters
And who would deliver mine?


I ended up writing six pages worth of
words I don't even remember writing
All the letters I have inside my bag flew like pigeons on a good day
and I silently wished for the wind to bring them
all to the right addresses


as for my letter addressed to no one in particular
Some of them landed on a puddle
some of them landed on dog ****
As for me, I landed on the concrete
between 6th and 7th street

I hate this
I hate you for this

what in the world gave you the right
to violate my privacy
my own space
and do it like is yours

what in the world gave you the right
to take away from me what's mine
and do it like is yours

what in the world gave you the right
to love me like this and leave
and do it like is yours