we’re going to be okay
aren’t we
three messes broken by the same people
two hearts shattered
all mentally ill
it’s in the family !
One erratic and spilling everything and everywhere
pun intended
one grounded and lonely on the ground
broken by a girl too toxic to have
the other both erratic and messy and lonely
loneliest

***** is what you are
***** is grunge under the nails
How your gritty tales told pail
In comparison to your dingy secrets
Infectious with your soiled lies
Excrement from bitter lips
Words that never did or ever will mean ****,
Exit from your waste-filled ships.

***** is what you are,
In this way, toxic barrels rot the frogs
Or how you irradiated touch melts minds,
A walking cancer cell, and everything you say is terminal
You’re what turtles suffer, plastic nooses
To hang your head upon loose laurels kept,
***** is all that you are.

***** is what you are,
It’s diesel exhaust exhausting to deal with you
Laborious and full of smog
All for the hope you could find an in
And in the end, gaslight me again.

***** is what you are,
Like toxic markers, or lead paint
And the more you color, the more I’m unimpressed
You are sadness incarnate,
You have bad habits by definition,
And the more you try to get close
I remind myself why I fly further away.

***** is what you are.

When all our friends faded away,
We stuck together.
I didn’t think it was okay,
The way they treated you.
Yet, here we are,
Feeling like deja vu,
Wondering why,
I stayed.

I try to be kind,
I try to be nice,
But judging by how you act,
I must be blind.
You make jokes,
And I laugh,
But we both know,
The facts.

I know my place,
So I’ll let you have your way.

I’ll be your punching bag,
What did I do to make you so mad?
I thought friends were supposed to have,
Each other's backs.
Is it bad,
That I like being your punching bag?

When you're desperate,
You take what you can get.
So when I have your attention,
I don’t complain.
Though you may berate me,
I’ll hold my head up high.
Because I’d rather have you,
Then be on my lonesome.

I understand my post,
We both know how this goes.

I’ll be your punching bag,
What did I do to make you so mad?
I thought friends were supposed to have,
Each other's backs.
Is it bad,
That I like being your punching bag?

Is this how friendship works?
You throw your friends to the dirt?

i said, would you wear my shoes
you said no, you have never used such shoes, you don’t imagine you can
and i said well that’s good
wear this hat then, i said
i will walk with you in the scorching sun, maybe offer you shade
you said no, you got to make appearances
would you read my soul, i asked
you said - no, it’s not what i read
i said okay, what if i give my shoes, hats, soul, blood and flesh
no you said, you don’t feel like it
okay, i said, i’ll write everything down then
but i restrained the spill,
until my body was full of perforations

You smell like summer
You taste like moon
Till my eyes opened
It's almost june

You hunt like runner
You run like rust
Till my skin
Turns to dust

So call me drunk
Three am
I will pick up
What a Shame
Then I'll cry
Whom to blame?

I lost my way
As ocean stray
May locate stars
But as it rains
All my metaphors
Slips away
Whom to blame?

It was cold in your dorm.
I choked on my silences.
I felt unwelcome,
and briefly— desired.

You walked me to the stop,
Said I was almost running—
As I waited for my bus,
the plastic bench felt cozier.

stifled, i feel
because i am a storm you would forget
the wreckage i leave isn't to your taste
i was not wishing you couldn't withstand me
that was never why i came on too strong
i just wanted to sway with you in the tides
i wanted to savor you in the highs and lows
i just wanted to be your personal storm
just that although i get it, who wants a storm
but i am a storm nonetheless
and no one likes a storm that stays
when it does you find a new home
you tell the world it wrecked you

You gave me a rose - a fragile thing ; a glorious gift. You told me to treasure it as that will be the last time, the last gift I will receive from you.

You told me to wait, but I don't wait for love. Why should I wait? When it's there right in your hands. That grasp it. Not told in words. No poem. No script. That three worded sentence - I love you.

Love doesn't wait, if you wait it may be too late. It can also be poisonous. A darkness. A void - shadows that lurk and grab you by the shoulders.

This rose rots. It is no longer fresh; vibrant and pure. It's shape a carcass - reminiscent of a dead crow. This crow was cruelly hunted - shot and blood spilling.

Petals crumble. You crumble, falling to the ground, curling into yourself. You crave safety like being in your mother's womb again. Soft and delicate.

You poison yourself. Thinking is this what love is? Not being able to live anymore without them. Thoughts are just burdensome. A bottomless pit of shadows; a darker self creeping in the black.

I wake up, feeling sick. Nauseous and dizzy. To realise poison flows through my veins. I see you , curled in on yourself - stillness in your bones. I question myself with the dagger in my palms. Love is dead - rotting away.

You are the dagger in my palms - the blood in my body, the blood inside of me. In veins. You are the wound - just like the beginning of our story. Predicted and needed.