Antibiotics may be the greatest discovery of human kind.
Lord knows its saved our soul many of times!
Its halo can be seen in a petri dish.
In the smiles of children on hospital wards.

But antibiotics aren't just drugs, or are you my drug?

Because your halo is keeping bad things away from me, my petri dish is clean!
Yet, the goodness is seeping from my bones and I get weaker with every day that I'm in love with you.

To my antibiotic, resistance is futile but finishing the course might **** me.

You say if I'm actively suicidal you'll have to commit me, so can I please verify whether this is a passive or active feeling?
You don't seem to understand that I am passively active at all times, that suicide is not something you have to die to commit.
You don't grasp that I am both fine and alive while being broken and empty, all at the same time.
You don't see that I can comprehend that something is wrong with my mind for the way it whispers to me of deaths inviting embrace, that I know this isn't normal, but oh, oh do I wish it was.
You ask me to rate my feelings on a scale of 1-5, quantifying my mind's nuances before I have a chance to explain that I don't even know myself half the time.
Do your best, you say.

My best ran out when I stepped over the threshold, next time I'll know not to waste it on a visit to you.

I could read your eyes
like the simplest of children's books
I knew the words you spoke
as if I spoke them myself
We
were one in the same
Our hearts broke together
and we spent years
piecing them back, together
I know
every crack of your skin,
every vein in your body
I know the scents that make you weak
and the words that make you fall apart;
and in return
you knew my whole being
We shared an unspoken connection
-why didn’t that stop
my weak faith?
I was given a human
to read me like I ached to be read
yet I always knew that we would not remain
If you asked me why
I could not tell you
I think you knew it too
I'd catch your eye when those songs played
while those voices spoke of yearning for a broken connection
and I'd find them to be as wet as mine
I admire
your faith in us
whether it was because you truly believed it
or because you were afraid of the alternative
I admire that you would confidently tell me that our bond would remain
that we would only get better
Right until the very end
Maybe it was my fault that we didn't
Maybe I wasn't meant to have someone like you,
someone who stole away my independence and gave me another half
Maybe I was meant to be surrounded by distant people
for I wasn't ready
We were sent to each other for a purpose
for when we met
we were both on the edge of breaking
So we broke together
our pieces entertwining themselves
so as to not be alone

Poem you're never finished
grow wings under one gaze
take roots in another
poem
poem claim a place in one soul
or take the fly
instead.

we sit. weary pupils dilate as we watch
the dying day mourn lilac tears onto
rosy cloud-cheeks,
eyes widen like it's an action movie
and the night has begun to wake
its warriors - or worse,
it's a documentary, and
someone's burning van gogh's stars
back into oblivion. lord, we're watching
universes fall and bleed
-but the film stops there.
our sentiments are unscripted,
it's just that chill that creeps up our
collars and strokes our
amygdalae enviously-
               and i daresay, to our sightcaptor
        who begins to reach her way in
                    and withdraw, simultaneously,
      i dare speak:

          do
          not
        touch
          me

but it's hard to stay cool
when you love the face of the sun
and must sing her to sleep.

I get anxious.
I feel vacant.
I get random bouts of inspiration, but definitely not motivation.
My thoughts don't have the proper translation.
**** these moments of exasperation.
Maybe it's not meant for these situations to awaken.

You are my favorite unfinished song,
the jumble of words stuck inside my mind,
but whose chained melody I could not find
not when every lullaby has gone wrong.
This song of sorrow with nothing but flats
yearns for your voice to serenade my blues.
Let it all be for naught, you have your muse,
whilst I'm stuck in the echoes of our lasts.
Yet like a train of thought circling my mind,
soon you'll wither - an ephemeral phase,
without a hint, without another trace,
opts to leave, with me left bereft behind.
All the music and the lyrics are due,
but not today, not when I can't have you.


(k.p)