Raise a glass and drink up til the bottle is done;
Here's to addictions unconquered
Here's to suicides attached to names not known well enough to grieve for
Here's to the burden one passes onto another when one gets too comfortable
Here's to those who cared when no one else did
Here's to those adolescent walks in the dark chasing shadows
Here's to us speaking til we fell asleep mid sentences
Here's to the lovers who kicked us out the house then kicked us in the head for leaving
Here's to walking in circles with each step painless for the first time in forever & staring out into nothing astounded
Here's to smoking for the first time in months and thinking back to one night years before and the self-inflicted concussions that followed
Here's to the faces we can't look at anymore without our chests caving inward & hating ourselves
Here's to the fascia tissue unzipped & exposed and cringed at & regretted & better left forgotten the next morning
Here's to our sorries telepathically sent & unsent
Here's to forgiveness reached in silence
Here's to time healing nothing but changing everything
Here's to first kisses and final goodbyes
Here's to when she wore his dress for the first time and he her boots
Every vice has it's versa and every versa it's vice, right? right. so
Here's to holding hands with another for another first with heart pounding and surrounding eyes staring or going out of their way not to stare the closer they'd get
Here's to saying **** everyone & everything else when you know beyond a doubt what's right is right
Here's to ugly faces made pretty up-close and seeing pretty faces turn ugly
Here's to spending those last pennies on the first pack of cigarettes in years and looking into foodbanks & catshelters incase nothing got better
Here's to laughing hysterically after getting told you were cheated on, knowing you won't be the paranoid ******* for breaking up again and the hangover-like realisation two days later when the worthlessness settled in
Here's to those lonely walks home covered in blood & punching busstops & ******* in the middle of the street undisturbed by a single soul in-passing
Here's to that hour writhing in a floored mattress screaming the same name over & over again to no answer
Here's to things not working out as planned and it being upto you for that to be for a reason,
Here's to being comatosed & frostbit in pisssoaked jeans as crying family waited for the ambulance to arrive
(surely, I'm not the only one who was supposed to die at thirteen but didn't?)
Here's to the writers who changed how we wrote, the gentle man obsessed with mud turnt muck & thunderstorms & ******* and the pretty French boy and the boundless reclusive femcel before her time
Here's to the men & women we could never become
Here's to love stated but no longer felt, and vice versa and vice versa.

And
Here's to this, the final top up of the night! -too drunk or too tired? either or- and what a night it's been, considering the weight of all those nights before;

Here's to all those loves that never worked out & all those suicidal nights alone trembling with fear of the following day & the next, all leading to you and I sharing this wonderful day together.
Honestly? I wouldn't trade it for the world

brainless shuffle
c r a w l i n g
nerveless

fog lifts.

tingling fingers
gut drop (you have one of those now)

look up,
knife to chest
the seasons passed without you.


and just like that you can mourn the end of love.

Tangled unfinished thoughts  
rehearse midnight waltzes
in attempts to fill the gaps
left behind by transient dreams

You say that you’re proud 
That I’m by your side 
You shout it out loud 
While your chest being wide

Am I your crown
Making you feel like a king
Or just a bangle 
Adoring you but meaningless

Am I the light 
Of the candle that illuminates you 
Or just the wax 
The leftover after the fire burns out 

I question myself 
I have all these doubts 
They sit on the shelf 
Covered by clouds 

I think what would be 
If it was not me 
Would you be still happy
If I was nobody

I contemplate
the inevitability of
                   Death
                          Over the course of a
Cigarette
As Otis Redding plays.
                         I should really stop smoking...

A box of shadows lies dormant in a cluttered altar
Seething in circuitous rage it ravages for a state of tranquility
Clinging to clichés it finds a familiar maze of cognition to pace
Crunch
Time
Crunch
Less of it...
A prosaic necrosis leeching at the lungs of the pure until the labyrinth halts and coughs for another chance to die
But there
A smile permeates
the glass of the half empty and
the being forges on in the wish
of a kiss beyond birth
But no one could want such a putrescent jinn
A miscegenation of indolence and desperation half-cocked to quake at the cackle of a shred of hope...
Her illiterate alliterations go as far as a pebble into the deep where once
She found her depths