& I think maybe that’s what’s fked me up the most
The people that have hurt me the most were those that were close
& those that didn’t care
Smiled, acted polite & shared
Their fake, crowd pleasing personas
Smile to my face, then vanish into black
Only to text back
Oh sorry, it’s been hectic
I’ve been soo busy
Far away from you
But would you like to come out for a brew
Meanwhile the people that tell me they love me
The people that tell me they’ve always had MY best interests in mind while they themselves made decisions that affected me
Leaving me for my own good
Staying away from me for my own good
Telling me that I’m too good
& which one is better
Which one is worse
Or more real
Is anything real..
All I know is that I’m tired of the ****
This technological abyss
Where people can come & go as they please
IT’S NOT OKAY
I will not come out to play
I will not twirl & dance for you
Every time you want to wind me up
For old times sake
So you can recreate
A distant memory of former bliss
What is this?
But utter confusion
If you think I’ll ever spin near your orbit again
& no we can’t “stay friends”
For fks sake
Just leave me be
ignorance is what my mind seeks
when i learn of the secrets he keeps
My love was free
Unlike yours, on a spree
To collect any she
Willing to trust thee
he opened the cage
and let me out
only to catch me
in his clout
nothing like a
good cup of tea
while the clouds
bellow like an angry sea
You lived in my teenage dreams
Nothing has changed, it seems
Your face always dominates
Every time my mind illustrates
You’re still stuck in my head
Even when my heart lies in a new bed
Cicadas hum quietly,
amongst the summer choir.
birds on their wire's.
Keep from harm's way,
but thorted by desire-
Blinds colored gray
block out humanity.
These dreams speak to me through insanity,
a tv plays white noise,
my mind is in calamity.
As nightmares creep in through my eyelids,
amid the darkness of this quiet house.
This is my Strauss-
wooden floors entirely silent,
the thoughts inside are violent.
Recalling Baptist Hospital.
No cart rhythmically on call,
a nurse alloting me two pearls to swallow.
Making the sea of seretonin flow,
making happiness through my body grow.
I take my trazadone
no longer resembling a pearl,
my toes curl.
At the bitter taste,
following the nightmares that make haste
to follow me to bed,
praying I don't wake up dead.
I'm knocking on a door when I know nobody's home but I'd rather keep knocking than feel alone again
The static is louder than the doorbell sounding and everything is
Pounding pounding pounding
In my head and telling me that going to bed is the answer but how am I supposed to sleep when the world is churning with cancer
So I'll keep standing here making noise that no one will ever hear in fear that the gift I once bled has become something you consider dead
The elder version of me that didn't know how to sleep or breathe or eat has come and gone and I'm not sleeping on the front lawn anymore
I'm not staring at the grass and hoping it absorbs me to the core
Instead I'm breathing and eating and sleeping but no one answers the door when I pour pour pour my feelings out on paper
This new version of me doesn't shop at first class vapor and doesn't draw pain from the smoke or the poke of the disdain that haunts me like a hurricane haunts a city full of big dreams and the lawns full of greens
Instead it's bliss
I'm living in a world where everything feels like your first kiss and it's magic and none of it is tragic and yet the words can't find their way to my tongue and it's like a towel has been wrung over my head because the water is drip drip dripping
onto the dead words I fill this note with while I try to find some confidence to cope with the idea that I was sad for so long I could've been a brand at Ikea
But now when I try to put the happy I feel into words it all sounds a bit too sappy and I just want to convey the happiness the way I used to betray my sadness
by spilling it's truths into my mouths standby poet chatter because I just want to write about the reality that matters
and marble monuments
to the past.
the fox is screaming
a lovers moan.
The moon is rising,
waiting stars impatient,
their song so blatant.
The mud is cooling
as the breeze caresses.
Breath is fleeting
and darkness possesses.
Routine -- a dastardly habit fed
to control you, and your mind
give your body a boring rhyme
to dance to and not feel tempted
into the lands of chance and reason
letting you decide when to wake
when or how you take your break
because to trust your dedication is treason
and foolhardy, why they must train
you when to go to bed and when to wake
and of course how you should operate.
Oh all the things to teach your brain
but like bleeding out a poison, time
is always on your side, for nature
she likes things the way they were
your natural rhythm, denying it a crime!
That is her insight, as you sit awake alone
the clock ticking faster than before
the coming day a dreaded chore
your days spent sick now like a precious stone.
How is one supposed to go to sleep at night
when they know what comes with day
the hum drum, daily toil and you left to fray?
This is the story of man's modern plight.