Do you know what it’s like,
to finally have your life the way you want it
just to have it torn from your fingers as you scream and cry for help?

What does my life matter to you?
Love, loss, it’s all part of life they say
Why am I in black and blue, red tainting my clothes?
Why can I not dwell in the yellow and light as she did?
Why did he stay in the dark, just as I have?
Can I leave the dark?

What am I supposed to say to his family?
What am I supposed to say to them all?
I can’t let go, and I can’t move on.
And neither should you.

So why do you?
Why do you bury him away and pretend that none of his faults existed?
The boy I knew wasn’t a saint!
Far from it!
He was a messed up, depressed, annoying little *******!
And he was my friend!
I can’t just say goodbye after that.

Falling silent when I speak
Clamour loudly as I weep
Stitched up mouth, who am I now?
Grunts of pain, the only sound

Ignored back then and still today
Excluded always, as I fade
Then they ask me why I'm quiet
I don't choose to sit in silence

Are you ok? I'm just fine
My reply, a dotted line
That which i ask is what I fear
Query turned, and so I steer

I speak of games, I speak of songs
I ignore the list of wrongs
All the shadows' whispered words
They cause my skull to hurt

I am calm, I am the storm
In the dark I'll be reborn
In my lust I drive away
They do not need to stay

Woe is me, I'm all alone
Typing poems on my phone
Isolated by personality
Dissociated from reality

This page is too vast of an estate; too generous of an allowance, for my meagre heartache. Perhaps another language would do, employing whose alien words; My heart's entirety concisely expressed in such characters, though they be but a few.

Care and speak
Respect
Freedom of belief

Four friends together for dinner,
Made speeches while the night grew thinner,
First was, “I’d like to make a toast,
To the man who needs friends the most.”

The second went with a smile,
And said, “Let’s scorn people so vile,
That decide to brag, tease and boast,
To the man who needs friends the most.”

The third stood, his face full of food,
And said, though his manners were crude,
“Let us dedicate this fine roast,
To the man who needs friends the most.”

“We’re all good people are we not?
Unless there’s something I’ve forgot,
Let’s announce ourselves,” said the host,
“To the man who needs friends the most.”

To me,
My words,
Are my thoughts.
Milk in a pan drifting,
Lazily in mexican waves,
On tiptoes with fingertips,
Stroking the three litre line.

to you
my words are
the time you blinked
and clots of milk swelled into pregnant pufferfishes
and a siren hissed incessant incantions you swore fate birthed to hex your mind
and a trident foamed at the mouth relishing the theft of nature's permission to shapeshift  into a lightening bolt and to zap your stove a blistering white in three times ten to the eight metres per second